Adronitis: Frustration with how long it takes to get to know someone. @rawfrce
I. a thread of erstwhile glory — that hunger for power: burns at the throat, leaves the shell unsheltered by the harsh reality of hardship and everything similar — now returned to a single, whole being. it’s an odd sensation, that sheen of forsaken humanity, persistent as it is ( undoubtedly ) restless, fusing so deeply within the pores and faded flaws of his pallid complexion, adhesive clinging to every inch of these metaphorical tethers, ensuring its permanency.
he recalls not the length of time in which, at the accompanying of his brother, they resided within the underworld. days mean nothing in such a cruel, merciless place; seconds feel like minutes, minutes feel like hours, and hours? like days. like several months, even, dare he think, but it’s a necessary damnation to one that must recompense.
II. when they return, battered in a thin layer of approaching fatigue and heed, his stare is reserved only for one: her. Rey. the name parts at the mind as if in sudden resurgence. beam in unseeable murkiness, torching the way to the trove of unspeakable riches. there’s a portion of him, clawing at the recesses of his foundation like a beast towards its cage — howls at the name, rouses forth a sort of warmth, permeating the brunt of his intent as a, perhaps, last resort — that aches to draw close, to envelop oneself in the blanket of her indescribable holiness.
Rey, a woman of strength, surpassing the labors of her strain by reducing the lowly demon into little more than ash. Rey, a woman of tenacity, unchained and unfettered by her complications, instead reaching forward as a means to remedy them, to find resolution. that portion of him thrums in her presence, it seems, and for a cursory second he initially believes himself returned to months ago, when frailty ate at his skin and ink writhed under his jurisdiction.
he looks to her, eyes her with the same intensity he imagines gifting her when caught between the throes of forced separation.
III. her efforts are futile, but still she persists. the amount of words spoken between them remains slight, as though they’ve yet to truly speak at all — which, in a way, has some truth. she, always the persistent, bears the weight of it, carefully articulating the topics she determines worthy enough of vocalization. menial subjects, talks of the hereafter, rhetorics concerning the foreseeable future. she speaks a great deal, all with some kind purpose, though her efforts only evoke short acknowledgments — if one at all, depending on the circumstance.
a token of offering lays in her grasp. he need not peer close enough to recognize the sight of bound leather, holding together pieces of the untrodden. it’s placed atop the table nearest him before she, inevitably, departs when graced with a lone nod of muted gratitude. for a time, he doesn’t pay it further inspection, but the sway of temptation ultimately unfastens his grasp astray as he reaches for the hardback, fingers tracing the intricate cover in deliberate slowness. its title falls unprecedented to the curious eye.
a collection of poetry sits before him.
before he can truly consider his meager set of options, he’s already opening it.
IV. it’s grown increasingly difficult to circumvent the fact of his looming humanity. memories are clearer, lucid, repetition a diverging constant to what his resolve continuously strives to be. however, it’s now come to the point that said memories are unavoidable. in fact, the admittance an inward shame, it’s almost as though he’s returned to the past, to that fleeting time which speaks of serenity — a selfish breed of serenity, what with his evident misdeeds still present throughout the earth at the time, but serenity nonetheless. he recalls it well — but, more specifically, the times confined in that stuffy van, he and her left at its heart alone. her, perusing the pages of his prized book, brow contorted in concentration, uttering each word with struggle and, in the process, triumph at fulfilling the entirety of a page. he recalls his time beside her, watching her, providing aid should she ask.
he recalls other moments, similar yet not nearly so, where the timbre of his being rocks at the core, thunders in his chest, every word rolling off the tongue so vividly, so passionately. she would watch silently, but what he remembers enjoying most was beholding a glimpse at her ever glowing expression, smile tucked deep at her lips, peace in her gaze. he remembers himself with a secret wish, a yearning to be source to that dazzling smile once again.
when one tastes the feeling of reliving such things, it goes beyond sentimentality or foolishness.
when one tastes the feeling of pure, unrivaled tranquility, even the most hardened cannot deny the way it tugs at the heart.
V. he finds her not long after, focus bottomless in the midway of a book, and he silently occupies the cushion next to her. if she noticed his arrival and ensuing transfer of distance, she imparts no indication. old times settle within, former wounds reopening, and for several minutes it maintains that vigor. she, reading whatever it is captures her interest — and he, regarding the sight in a medley of emotion. maybe it’s the apparent domesticity that strikes him at an impasse; maybe it’s the visible evidence that what his numerous recollections bestow him truly transpired.
suddenly, the silence between them withers.
“What?” her attention unwinds from the hardback, puzzled.
“Chiaroscuro. Unless you desire a headache, don’t squint at the words. Read it aloud, if need be,” he moves to stand, but a hand stops him, latching the bone of his wrist in gentle grip. in one sweep of the arm such grip would be no more, and he considers the possibility momentarily, but he ultimately responds with nothing.
perhaps sensing his supposed willingness to appraise her action, she relinquishes her grasp. “Stay with me, for a little longer?” it’s quiet, vulnerable.
in lieu of verbalizing, the rear of his figure reacquaints itself with cushion. his head inclines soon after, leveling with the source of their attention. “Go on.”
