Our love is a dead thing, Keiji whispers and his voice is the wind that blows through an abandoned house, the kind that pushes against rotting wood, making it creak like an old life that is slowly but surely crumbling to dust.
Their love is a dead thing, but that doesn't mean that it's gone. It's a corpse stripped bare by time and the passing seasons, leaving hollow bones behind. The weathered ivory curve of a rib cage and the deep green of a vine that twists around it; the dark flecks of dirt and the bright flowers that grow from it.
Our love is a dead thing, Koutarou agrees, and he's the heavy silence that weighs down after the end; the gravity that everything succumbs to, given enough time. Eventually, even skeletons crumble. The flowers that grow inside them will wilt. But just because something is dead, that doesn't have to mean that it isn't beautiful.
Their love is the stagnant air in an empty space, silent, heavy, unmoving except for the wind, when it deigns to come by. Their love is the moment that all breaths cease, the stillness of lips that will never move again, not against themselves, not against another's. Their love is the silence that rings out loudly after the final beat of a pulse.
Still, Keiji muses, with a sigh so full of longing that it could crush a beating heart to nothing more than shredded muscle and blood. I would take this love, over any other.
Koutarou's chuckles reverberate through the air, like a phantom heartbeat, like the echo of a memory, loud at first and then softer, softer, until it fades into nothing at all. Everything fades, everything will, and Keiji has learned to stop fearing that, has learned to not to dig his heels in and resist a beginning and middle just because there will be an end. Koutarou has stopped seeing an ending as some kind of failure, and has begun to see it as part of a natural progression.
Besides, they reason, to themselves and to each other, things don't always need to have one ending. Sometimes, an ending isn't an ending but a continuation into something else, something different. A body; a skeleton; a garden; a pile of dust. One thing turns into another, in the never ending passage of time. It isn't always entirely gone.
Their love is a dead thing, but sometimes, even that can make them feel like they're alive.
FILL: Team Kyoutani Kentarou/Yahaba Shigeru, T
word count: 415
Our love is a dead thing, Keiji whispers and his voice is the wind that blows through an abandoned house, the kind that pushes against rotting wood, making it creak like an old life that is slowly but surely crumbling to dust.
Their love is a dead thing, but that doesn't mean that it's gone. It's a corpse stripped bare by time and the passing seasons, leaving hollow bones behind. The weathered ivory curve of a rib cage and the deep green of a vine that twists around it; the dark flecks of dirt and the bright flowers that grow from it.
Our love is a dead thing, Koutarou agrees, and he's the heavy silence that weighs down after the end; the gravity that everything succumbs to, given enough time. Eventually, even skeletons crumble. The flowers that grow inside them will wilt. But just because something is dead, that doesn't have to mean that it isn't beautiful.
Their love is the stagnant air in an empty space, silent, heavy, unmoving except for the wind, when it deigns to come by. Their love is the moment that all breaths cease, the stillness of lips that will never move again, not against themselves, not against another's. Their love is the silence that rings out loudly after the final beat of a pulse.
Still, Keiji muses, with a sigh so full of longing that it could crush a beating heart to nothing more than shredded muscle and blood. I would take this love, over any other.
Koutarou's chuckles reverberate through the air, like a phantom heartbeat, like the echo of a memory, loud at first and then softer, softer, until it fades into nothing at all. Everything fades, everything will, and Keiji has learned to stop fearing that, has learned to not to dig his heels in and resist a beginning and middle just because there will be an end. Koutarou has stopped seeing an ending as some kind of failure, and has begun to see it as part of a natural progression.
Besides, they reason, to themselves and to each other, things don't always need to have one ending. Sometimes, an ending isn't an ending but a continuation into something else, something different. A body; a skeleton; a garden; a pile of dust. One thing turns into another, in the never ending passage of time. It isn't always entirely gone.
Their love is a dead thing, but sometimes, even that can make them feel like they're alive.