feel your weight
ozen
“Can’t be any different for you,” he says, like a sigh but not slurred. “We’re the ones doing this together for a reason.” He can feel her eyes on him, brief as they are, but he doesn’t disturb the glance with one from his end. She’s in his memory anyway, and even if it doesn’t hurt to seize what you can while it’s still there, something tells him to let her have this one for herself. Instead, he undoes his vest and some buttons on his dress shirt, shrugging off the former and laying it carefully between them on the perch. There’s something about the air that feels inescapable, history and heat having nothing to do with it this time around.
The future, maybe, and how it’ll be here but not the way anyone would expect.
He closes his eyes and takes it all in, braving its must. Allows himself to slouch, hands clasped together in his lap. One leg sticks out, the other one bent at the knee. Rolling his neck, he takes his time with this and everything else that follows. “How do you really feel?”
He says for a reason like there's no greater weight to it, a casual submission to what’s ultimately a cause out of their hands. She quiets then, as if on the verge of coming to an admission of her own, only for it to be an absent hum. It’d be selfish of her otherwise.
Instead, Asana turns, gaze direct and even as she studies him. Her imagination can only go so far. She’d let it run rampant in the days leading up to tonight, helpless to the grief of circumstance, the pulse of want. Searching for a face she hasn’t held in what feels like a whole lifetime, and might not ever see again.
Even now, there’s a tepid hesitation to cross that threshold right away. Her eyes fall to the line of his shoulders, then drop to his hands, the ring with its dull glint in the low light. It wouldn’t be so bad, would it? Like this, how they are. How they will be if that’s even a possibility.
“How I really feel?” Asana repeats with an exhale. It wouldn’t be Ozen to not ask a loaded question. She glances away for a moment, then looks at him again, heavy with consideration. After some time, she decides at last. “I feel like we’re losing something.”
To ourselves. From each other. It’s hard to say if it’s a matter of one over the other or both.














