the interval between ragged breaths

send me writing prompts if you want! (no AI usage here)

[50maybe]

what sort of sorcery can make a mere glance feel so earth-shattering? what manner of witchcraft can produce a physical effect in one's body without touch? what kind of power can exist inside another's eyes? am i under a spell of sorts? is that why i can only hear three words inside my head at all times?

alex claremont-diaz. alex claremont-diaz. three little words that carry monumental meaning.

whenever i hear those words something deep inside me wakes up from a long, uneventful slumber, my blood suddenly running hotter, faster, as if i'm gasping for air in a tightly sealed room. my heart, this stupidly treacherous muscle, races like it recognizes to whom it belongs to.

that is silly, isn't it? so silly how a muscle can dictate your every waking thought, your every waking experience. my heart is running my mind, not the other way around.

alex claremont-diaz. i'm spellbound, caught in a gravitational pull so intense it carries everything to him and his magnetic brown eyes. i cannot look at them or else i'm never to be found again, drowned in a deep ocean of warmth.

can you die in another's eyes? can a person have this much power in only a pair of eyes? can i willingly offer myself in sacrifice?

i feel i already have. i'm helpless and on my knees, my heart beating out of tempo in my open palms, mouth agape for... anything. everything he wishes to give me.

in this sense, i hate the man.

is that hatred enough to make me stop longing for his hands to touch me, cupping all the broken pieces of my soul with care and desire, the same desire i feel so intensely?

no, it is not. it will never be enough.

[50maybe]

peace, in yusuf al-kaysani's line of work, is nothing more than a brief interlude.

it's sharing baklava with andy, watching her normally distant blue eyes light up with excitement, her pleased smile broadening as she savours every bite as if it was her first.

it's playing cards with booker (pretending to ignore when he openly cheats) during cold evenings between assignments, a quiet comradery settling between them, hours flying by as they pretend to argue over the smallest details.

it's sharing meals with nile, answering all her questions about being immortal and having so much knowledge about the world (not that yusuf even thinks he knows that much).

and peace is nicolò - in every soft smile they share in passing, on the warmth of his skin whenever he brushes past, in his steadfast belief in the good in people. when nicolò takes yusuf's hand in his like it belongs there, their fingers intertwining like perfect puzzle pieces, yusuf savors it like the treasure it is.

he's at peace. he is made it home.

[50maybe]

the thing about pain not a lot of people mention is that it lodges inside like shrapnel. it stays with you long after you physically heal; an emotional ghost that is very hard to shake.

after millenia, dying should feel easy to nicolò. he has been torn apart more times than he can count on both hands, in some of the most terrifying ways a human can think about his own demise, and yet he remains, mouth gaping open and eyes wide, sorving the dusty breath of life once again.

it's exhausting, living like this. especially when your heart aches for another every time you return, gasping frantically from the depths.

"yusuf," nicolò breathes quietly this time, fingers fumbling in the dirt where he had fallen, gunshot wound to the chest still burning, a knife wound to his side still mending itself as he searches for his lifeline.

a beat passes until he feels the wet touch of fingers on his, grasping for what they can get in the middle of this wreckage, and nicolò's heart actually beats faster at that mere brush, his skin coming alive from that man's touch alone.

"i'm here, my love," yusuf gasps, entwining their fingers firmly now, and when nicolò lifts his head to check, he looks straight out of a carnage - his neck mending from a gruesome cut, his previous white linen shirt plastered with blood-red stains but thankfully still here, still breathing, still fighting. "i'm still here."

nicolò kneels closer to where he is, picking up his gun because this fight is not over, not yet and not anytime soon. he places his gun in yusuf's hand, takes another one that's strapped around his ankle and pulls the safety off, his heart rate skyrocketting.

they are still here, together.