i fell in love with a war
Casimir exhales low and thankful as the dead grass under him turns to snow and the sky above him and Thorn melts into a symphony of colors like he’s never seen before. His breath billows into a plume where it floats out of his mouth, drifting away like the painful memories float out of his head and off back to wherever they bury themselves. Under him, the blood soaks into the snow, seeping deep into the white until is disappears like a stain getting soaked up by a fresh towel. His broad shoulders loosen, not quite dropping in relief but some of the fight that so often threads through them morphing away.
Above him and Thorn, the lights are truly magnificent. They float through the air, a cacophony of colors, and Casimir doesn’t think he’s seen that much beauty shoved in one vast sky in all his years alive. It takes his breath away in a very literal sense, it hitching in his chest, jaw dropping slightly at the marvel. He wants to turn his face towards Thorn to see the memories playing across his face, but the lights enrapture and ensnare his attention.
Why would anyone ever want to leave a place of such beauty? Casimir thinks of all the wonderful things Thorn adorns himself with; the glittering rings, the tattoos that encircle him, the lush and clinging clothing that draws the eye, and he wonders if he brings the beauty with him to make up for what he’s lost.
He asked Thorn if he was running earlier this evening, a question which feels a million years old and several lifetimes away. Now, staring up at the sky and flickering knowing eyes to the curve of Thorn’s face, he thinks he understands what he’s running from. Or, perhaps more aptly now, what he’s running towards.
The words are thick in his throat like tears would be, and though for once he genuinely wants to ask Thorn something about him (instead of just being told, chattered at endlessly), he finds he can’t. Instead, he nudges Thorn’s hand on the table with his, a slight touch that sends pain and heat racing up his arm, and meets his eyes with open, curious ones. It’s an invitation, he hopes, to share. Casimir will listen. He’s always been a good listener.
Above him and Thorn, the lights are truly magnificent. They float through the air, a cacophony of colors, and Casimir doesn’t think he’s seen that much beauty shoved in one vast sky in all his years alive. It takes his breath away in a very literal sense, it hitching in his chest, jaw dropping slightly at the marvel. He wants to turn his face towards Thorn to see the memories playing across his face, but the lights enrapture and ensnare his attention.
Why would anyone ever want to leave a place of such beauty? Casimir thinks of all the wonderful things Thorn adorns himself with; the glittering rings, the tattoos that encircle him, the lush and clinging clothing that draws the eye, and he wonders if he brings the beauty with him to make up for what he’s lost.
He asked Thorn if he was running earlier this evening, a question which feels a million years old and several lifetimes away. Now, staring up at the sky and flickering knowing eyes to the curve of Thorn’s face, he thinks he understands what he’s running from. Or, perhaps more aptly now, what he’s running towards.
The words are thick in his throat like tears would be, and though for once he genuinely wants to ask Thorn something about him (instead of just being told, chattered at endlessly), he finds he can’t. Instead, he nudges Thorn’s hand on the table with his, a slight touch that sends pain and heat racing up his arm, and meets his eyes with open, curious ones. It’s an invitation, he hopes, to share. Casimir will listen. He’s always been a good listener.
Casimir
and nobody told me it ended
