SUMMARY: angst/past conflict reconnecting between ex-military partners.
METAPHOR: 🐺 ✰ 🦁
CHARACTERS: ‘the wolf’ THEO , ‘the lion’ RØD
“…You never took it off.” his fingers reaching towards the wolf’s neck, wrapped in a black rusted ribbon chocker, before the lion could even touch it, his hand curled away by the sudden sharp movement from the other figure, “And I thought you threw yours away-” his silver eyes, fierces sideways from the lion’s half mooned ear cuffs, poorly painted in black as well, he stepped a foot forward, brushing off the lion’s shoulder on purpose, heading to an opposite direction, “-In the name of ‘orders’ no?” he spits. the lion stands in silence, while the wolf blandly turns on his computer, they both sat, one on the bed, the other on the chair facing the screen to game on.
the lion hesitates to word a feeling, but lightly starts to open-up different topic “I apologize again for disturbing your peace theo, your grandpa insisted and I-” the wolf, stubbornly interrupts: “Told you already! you can freely take the bed tonight.” “You- When are you sleepin’ though?” “I don’t sleep.” the lion stares back at the wolf’s skull with a blank face, he chuckles a bit, a surprise hum for the wolf ears, “Guess some things never change, huh?” the wolf slightly shivers, leaning his body closer at the desk, helplessly shrinking off any distance from the lion, but the lion without a call, lays his whole body comfortably on the squeaky bed.
for a moment, he reminisces about the past, the bitter past to theo but sweet to rød, “The army.” a complete hollow in the air follows, a second after, “Those first years in the camp… do you think about those days?” utterly the wolf ignores his presence, coldly puts on his headphones, intact, a way to close off the conversation–the lion notices the discomfort, but doesn’t back down.
“…Remember the good times, ignore anything else. Just tell me you miss it, that what you felt was real. Theo?”
“…”
“Say it,”
“…”
“…It's all I'm asking.”
the lion voice weighting down, he shuffled his body away from the wolf, perhaps a hurtful grunt leaves his throat, yet the wolf breath rising, out of the lion’s sight, fingers tensed up over his dusty keyboard, immersed-pretend in whatever loop he fell into, at last, the lion in defeat, shutting his ruby eyes, he mutters to himself:
“Would it kill you to say it.”
a note, left besides the sleeping lion, written:
“I do.”
🌆 Talk about Miniopolis (+2)
⤷ “This amazing jungle is nothing but concrete, exhaust grease, and precarious heights. Miniopolis is the city I love to hate.”
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