Ursche

Hazardously thrown here but Cycnis!?!!

[huatea]

He stood before Eden’s grave, the stone wet with rain and tears alike. Once, he had believed so fiercely in the future, so stubbornly in the possibility of miracles. As long as there is even the littlest hope left, I’ll never let go, he had whispered, voice trembling but resolute, a mantra for a world that had seemed too wide to contain him.

Now, staring at the smooth, unyielding surface of the headstone, he could hardly remember what had given him the courage to speak such protagonist-style nonsense. The words felt foreign, a memory of someone he once was. Yet it did not matter.

Time had gnawed at him, slowly, insistently, until the edges of that hope frayed. He had been forced, again and again, to release the grip he had once held so tightly. He let the silence settle around him, cold and absolute, letting the rain soak through coat and sleeve, as if the world itself were absolving him of his past insistence.

He did not speak. There was nothing left to say. Only the memory of who he had been, and the ache of knowing some things could never return.

[huatea]

It was past midnight when Lukas drove toward home. Though the path had shifted over time, the rhythm of the journey lingered, a silent waltz through darkness alone. Rain clung to his coat like slugs, siphoning warmth as if the night itself were drawing it out. Needles of water hammered against the windshield, tracing cold, relentless paths.

Slowing around the familiar turn, a figure appeared beneath a small umbrella. Two quick taps against the car window made him start. He cut the engine, stepped out, and shrugged off his coat gently covering Kyan.

“The heater is a little hot in the car,” Lukas said, umbrella tilting, droplets shaking onto the wet ground.

Kyan glanced at the open door. No warmth met him, only the scent of rain and Lukas’ faint cologne. The words did not add up, but he smiled anyway.

“What took you so long?”

“Rain slowed me down,” Lukas replied, his shoulders brushing the edge of the umbrella. His eyes lingered on Kyan, with a softness only for him.

“Why didn’t you call me?”

“It’s not safe while driving,” Kyan smiled.

They fell into step beneath the too-small umbrella, shoulders brushing, each movement careful and unspoken. Lukas did not ask why Kyan had waited, and Kyan offered no explanation. Coming out only made one more person wet, a meaningless act, but he just wanted to. Sometimes meaningless actions is what brings sparks of joy.

[huatea]

Walking along the familiar path, he looked up, and as always, the trees seemed to change like magic. This time was no different. Among a sky of green, specks of amber scorched the edges, subtle heralds of autumn. They say hair holds memories; you could see it in the stubborn ruby leaves that refused to bend.

He wondered if trees remembered too.

Amid light laughter and the faint scent of yeast from a nearby bakery, two pairs of footsteps drifted in and out of sync. They were not deaf to the world: the shadow of seven trees flickered like flames in a lantern, but the candle had not burned out yet. In its final glory, a few sparks still flared, unnoticed by them both.

“Honestly, I have lived with him for a while now, but it is still hard to get used to,” Lukas admitted, words tumbling out as if they had been waiting for release. “Maybe it is because I have only ever lived with family before… or maybe it is just his stubborn streak.”

Kyan let out a low laugh. “Could not it be both?”

Lukas blew a strand of hair out of his eyes, a small huff escaping. “He means well. I know that. I cannot really ask for more. It is just, he is scattered. Forgetful. The kind of person who leaves trails everywhere he goes.”

“Would not be Aidan if he was not a mess.” Kyan nodded, shelving away the little tug of recognition at the mention of family. He would ask, one day.

Under an orange sky ablaze, the two came upon the empty playground and settled side by side on the swings, chains creaking as they pushed gently off the ground.

It was all too familiar, these quiet moments with him. It felt as if no time had passed since high school, as if nothing had changed.

“These swings got smaller,” Kyan stretched his legs. “I swear they were not this low back then. And that was not even long ago.”

Lukas laughed, loud, unguarded, the sound bubbling free of pressure.

Kyan smiled, the sound pulling something loose in him. “You know, my parents used to joke about me being old enough to date. They would tease me, drop names of classmates, ‘What about her? What about him? You are always around them.’ “ He shook his head, laughing softly at the memory. “I brushed it off every time. It felt ridiculous back then.”

Lukas tilted his head, curiosity flickering in his eyes. “And now?”

Kyan hesitated, fingers tightening slightly on the swing’s chain. The creak of metal, the hush of the breeze, the scent of leaves, it all seemed to hold its breath. “Now…” His voice trailed, gentled, as though the words might break if he forced them. “I thought… if it is you, I would not mind giving it a try.”

Lukas turned, the fading light catching on his face as if the sky itself waited for his answer.

“Can we?”

———-

Adapted @sssymn LuKy writing with an extra confession scene. Just a little writing swap ~ A fair amount of the words aren’t mine.

[huatea]

The length of the mirror stretched, holding the cracked image of a perfect daughter. A body fixed in glass, hard and objective, grasping her whole form without mercy. Each rise of breath, each curl of fingers, every twitch of muscle laid bare. No lips moved, no gaze shifted - only silence, honed until it pressed against her skull like a blade.

She knew it was in her head. Of course it was. But what if it wasn’t?

Was she the Djinn dreaming she was human, or a human hostage under the Djinn? Perhaps it’s neither, only another pointless justification.

A twitch at the mouth - the faintest fracture of composure, spread across her skin like cracks on the Volto. The silence pressed closer, thick, pulsing over the thud of her heartbeat. Her knuckles whitened against her will, tendons straining, then loosening, violence half-born and abandoned. The tick of the clock dragged her room into landscapes of time she was never allowed to leave behind.

But if leaving for the stars could cover her eyes, she would gladly remain blind.

[huatea]

His fingers crashed against the keys, notes flung like sparks, dragging him from Dorian into Enigmatic. A ladder that climbed with no summit. The staffs refused their right to silence. He carved black scars across their bones, frantic desire lines, a map written in red. Each interval gaped like an open wound, each ascent a promise collapsing before the summit.

What the pen could not contain, the piano tore out of him - cascading scales, fractured chords, a storm channeled into rhythm. The mountain within - that ancient pyre, the 화 lit long before his first breath - roared awake. Unreachable. Inextinguishable. He tried to harness it with the crooked logic of the Enigmatic, but it only mocked him, burning his fingertips like a blade possessed by Puck. His anger twisted into riddles.

The paper tore. Again.

A new page. A fresh wound. The room lay littered with ashes. He struck harder, again, again, letting embers streak down his fingers into ivory. It was never enough to quench the mountain, but enough to make it speak. The staff’s magic clasped the desire lines, melding the ends of 2 strings. Calcifer’s kin spilling wild across and beyond the five lines, as though David himself wrestled melody from the blaze.

[huatea]

Glancing past the rim of her cup, she watched the stream curl around her in a false embrace. Her plastered smile carried only cold numbness, the expression of a ghost tethered by casual warmth. Sugar spilled from her lips like honey, lacing the air with a slow, teasing pull, though every syllable scattered like refracted light in a vast indifferent ocean. Her limbs swayed easily with the rhythm of conversation, a rehearsed number, like binary. Each breath pressed heavy in her chest, like a lover who asked too much. The weight was intimate, irresistible, that she almost welcomed it. Surrender, for the first time did not feel like defeat. Because that is love. Perhaps it feels like a release. A sip of tea warms the numbness, lulling away the quiet which the sand promised beneath countless moons.

She was seductive, a breeze that whispered of a void more intimate than the morning sun. Still, the last sip burned between her hands.

[huatea]

He curled beneath the blankets, the fortress he built to keep the world at bay. Outside, nothing could touch him; the cotton walls stood firm against the sharp edges of daylight, against voices that asked too much. But inside, no peace held. The silence pressed in heavy, and his thoughts were thrashing waves on promontory. Each breath was a gasp against the flood, each heartbeat a hammer striking inside his chest. The air inside thicken with heat but it carried no comfort. Inside, shards of a shattered mirror whispered icy betrayals, embedding themselves in his heart and threading through every fingertip and toe, The fortress kept the world out - but it was a glided cage. He was with a tempest that refused to quiet.