drabble of these two stuck in the practice room together because of a very bad storm and grumbly!!!
The weight of his own sin weighs heavier than usual… (@soricol) (@runest)
Slowly, Marco lowers his violin to count the seconds before lightning strikes again and then the seconds it takes for thunder to follow after. He’s trying hard tonight to force a sense of liberal nonchalant but try as he might, his best effort goes to waste – Sori sees through him. (he always has)
The atmosphere around them weighs heavily with thick humidity. It’s too distracting. And as Sori sits abnormally idle on the piano bench, Marco can feel his partners irritation radiate in waves off his skin. His fingers are still posed on the edge of ivory keys, but don’t press hard enough to make a sound – even though he’s in close proximity to Marco, he still seems to be miles away, has been seemingly miles away for weeks now. The only way Marco is reassured of his presence to be true now, and not a trick made up of his illusions is when Sori jerks from the clap of thunder outside.
It’s almost as if the last of what once was the honeymoon stage, where everything is sickeningly sweet and rich, has long since turned sour as it draws nearer to the end, an altogether bitter rancid tang remains on his lips.
Personally, Marco drawls comfort from the sound of thunderstorms. He’s likes the desolate feeling it leaves. He’s always drawn comfort from seeking shelter from the rain, only this time the storm is no longer a thing of cold rain, and noise. The storm is in the words he leaves unsaid, it’s tangled in Sori’s tense limbs, and it goes with him where ever he goes. It clings more and more to Sori after every instance they meet.
The time to let go is near. The time came and went a long time ago (he should’ve heeded the warning signs.)
And he supposes that he can understand Sori’s frustration regarding the unfairness of it all. Whenever he turns over the different aspects of their relashionship in the late of night, or moments of quiet he thinks of how he knows so many of Sori’s secrets yet Sori knows so little (if any) of his.
Lightning strikes again. And in the time it takes Marco to count the seconds, lights flicker briefly before the power goes out. They’re soon left in complete darkness. He almost hear the slump in Sori’s shoulders as the piano bench scraps against the tiles.
Let him leave. It’s better this way. Marco thinks, more like reasons with himself, putting the violin into its hard case. The door clicks after Sori leaves before the following clap of thunder – strangely, the thunder never comes and this makes the blood running in his veins turn cold.
“Sori.” Marco calls, after opening the door. His voice echos down the endless corridors, into the pitch blackness of the hallway - only bouncing off the various instruments. What he’s met with instead is the pale silver wisps of a man, not fully a ghost, not fully a man standing directly in front of Sori.
“Sori.” Marco whispers, voice hoarse. And holds his hand out, “Don’t be afraid.” And with that the ghost of his mentor fades, and Marco moves to pull Sori into his arms, and holds him close. Gingerly, pets the back of Sori’s head as he hugs him. It’s more of a measure to reassure himself that’s he’s alright.
And for a moment he wonders if he truly is losing sight of reality. (What if Sori is only a wonderfully crafted figment of his own illusion...?)
