im listening to the great comet and im having so many feelings so you all get to deal with a fanfic im gonna write on my phone in the span of 15 minutes (lunch period) inspired by a musical none of you have listened to. if you want to listen to the song, listen to pierre & natasha from great comet
commie stared at the new ideology. qui stood, looking flustered upon his arrival. qui flounders, looking visibly displaced, before quis shoulders fall limp.
“authoritarian communist.” is all qui says, looking at him with the same eyes that have looked at him for reassurance hundreds of times before.
“tankie.” he corrects softly, wishing for the teasing nickname to come from quem again.
“you..you knew ancom?”
he stared at the ideology he had tried so hard to detest. who he had tried to feel nothing but reproach. but now, all that was left in him was pity. pity for an ideology once full of fire, and now lifeless.
“yes. qui..qui meant to me the world.”
“quis here now. once i leave..tell quem to forgive me.”
“i will but..but qui-“
“no i know. i know that all is over. i know i have no chance to be grieved. but still im tormented, by the fact i have stolen quem. by the wrongs ive done to qui’s name. tell quem that i beg quem to forgive me. to forgive me for everything.”
“yes i-i will tell quem. i will tell quem everything. but i wish to know one thing. did you love me? even as this bad man?”
“don’t call yourself bad.” post-left hisses, emotion sparking in quems eyes. and then its gone, the same dejectedness returning. “but..i’m not sure i’ll ever know.”
qui began to cry. hard, shuddering breaths, and the deepest sorrow filled commie’s chest. a few tears trickled down commie’s own face. he hoped that qui didn’t see it.
“if you ever need someone, should you return, i am always at your aid, post-left.”
“don’t speak to me like that.” qui gasps. “i am not worth it.”
“stop! stop. you have your whole life ahead you.”
“no i don’t, tankie. all is over.”
“all over?”
and commie stills. and takes a long breath.
“if i were not myself, but the brightest, handsomest, man, and if we were human. i would get down on one knee, this minute, and ask for your hand. and i would ask for you love.”
for the first time, in much too long, post left smiled. and tears of happiness and gratitude broke the dam of sadness.
“thank you, tankie.” qui says, before pressing a gentle kiss to his lips.
“thank you.”
post-left hurries from the room.
and post-left is gone.
the only lingering of quem left in the world, a slight tingle on an authoritarian’s lips.