#tallow writes

[tallowcat]

Day 5: Red (Janyew)

;^)

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Red. Janne’s life had always splayed with red.

Red was the colour of the floors on the night he grew fearful of closing his eyes. Red was the colour at the tips of fingers. Red was the colour of the feelings in their eyes.

 Janne lived his life in red.

 Red was the feelings of hate. Red was the swipe of finger over a wound. Red was the smear on his cheek. Red was the absence in his cheeks upon the words.

 Red was a feeling.

 Red was the knowledge he’d been graced with. Red was the burn of the sun in Al-Khampis. Red was the blister of his knuckles on stone. Red was when it all fell apart.

 Red was when he spoke, when he saw, when he breathed.

Red was the crosses and the circles upon a paper, and red was the failure of words that wouldn’t work.

Red was the sharp smile he gave, the sharp look in their eyes when the whispers and rumors caught up.

 Red was the burn of the hilt. Red was the glare in his eyes. Red was the feeling of want, of desire.

 Red was the feeling of being left alone.

Red was the lies on open lips, was the ‘tsk’s and the scolds. Red was when she spoke, when he spoke, when they spoke. Red was the feeling of it all jumbling together.

 Yew made his life bloom a brilliant red.

 Red was the blush of embarrassment on Yew’s cheeks. Red was the blossom that the brush of hands caused in his heart. Red was the skip of a beat at a glance.

Red was the loveliness of a smile towards him.

Red was the tinkle of words given to him by Yew.

 Red was what the Geneolgia family had spilled. Red was the colour Yew evoked. Red was all the Geneolgia’s cared to share.

 Red was desire.

 Red was revenge.

 Red was the warmth of a shared bed. Red was the joining of fingers. Red was the colour of their cheeks and noses on sick days.

Red was the colour of bonding.

 Red was the colour the Geneolgia’s had spilled. Red was the colour of his parents on the floor.

Red was the colour of their insides sprinkled out. Red was rage that burned inside him.

 Red was deceit. Red was a liar. Red was a bastard.

 Red hurt.

 Red hurt him. Red hurt Yew.

 Red was want and desire upon his finger tips.

 Red was the scream in Yew’s throat at his begging. Red was a feeling in his stomach at Yew’s eyes.

Red was something he wanted to forget, to forget Yew, to forget the kinder colours he had painted in his mind. Red was the colour of soiled hands.

 Red was a glare. Red was a snarl. Red was a sword. Red was a wound. Red was a win. Red was something he grasped at.

 Janne didn’t want to see what colours Yew inspired in them, in those ‘avengers’. He wanted nothing. Yet he held on.

 Red was the colour of Yew’s feelings. Red was the colour of his own, too.

 Red was failure. Red was pain. Red was a cross. Red was a fall.

 Red was fire. Red was burning.

 The burns on his arms had shone a brilliant red for days upon days.

 Red was a tumble. Red was determination. Red was a stagger.

Red was failure.

 Red was blood.

 Red was when he fell. Red was when he wheezed and gasped. Red was what clogged his throat, stopped him from breathing, from grasping, from gasping.

Red was what spilled into places it wasn’t meant to be.

Red was what spilled from what they’d left of him, the holes, the cuts, the vomiting.

 Red was what tumbled through his mind at Yew’s appearance. Red was Yew’s eyes. Red was Yew’s sadness, the smear on his cheek that of his own insides. Red was Yew’s tears.

 Red was the feel of Yew’s hands once more. Red was the burn of their contact. Red was the dull throb in his head. Red was the selfishness.

 Red was the feel of Yew once more.

 Red was death.

 Red was that of second chances. Red was anger. Red was betrayal. Red was hot desire. Red was want. Red was a hand grasping for his mothers in the dark.

Red was fear of the night.

 Red was failure.

 Red was the bow of his head to Agnes. Red was the sting at the back of his throat as he swallowed down the bile.

Red was the burn of pity he felt from them. Red was when they brushed him. Red was fake.

 Red was not real.

 Red was the brush of fingers. Red was the feel of him, of Yew. Red was the beat of his heart. Red was the blood rushing to his cheeks,.

 Red was Yew’s gentle forgiveness.

Janne had spent his life with red.

 Red was the feel of trust. Red was the change in desire, in need, in wants.

Red was the joining of their shoulders. Red was the laughter in the air. Red was when he said something he didn’t understand.

 Red was his life with Yew.

 Red was the swallow of bile.

 Red was Yew’s hands on his cheeks. Red was the twinkle in his eyes. Red was the heat of his heart in the moment. Red held a brilliance all different to the one he’d been chasing with a single mind for so long.

 Red was the touch of Yew’s lips on his own.

 Red was the weight of trust in his hand. Red was the squeeze of Yew’s nerves. Red was the flush down his neck. Red was the feel of a ring on his finger.

 Red was a shared bed on cold days. Red was ‘good morning’s and ‘goodnights’. Red was meals in comfort.

Red was belonging.

 Red was family.

Yew was family.

 Red was the absolute. Red was forever. Red was feelings. Red was promises. Red was vows.

 Red was ‘I love you’.

[tallowcat]

Day 3: Umbrella (Batnun;; Agnes x Alternis)

How the actual hell can you not love that name???

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It was raining. Again, Agnes almost found herself saying.

It felt like the dreary days just weren’t ending, one flowing into the next like a bad cold that clung to your chest. It wasn’t a kind thing, and Agnes found herself liking it less and less. Rain could be lovely, yes, but too much just felt down.

Her fingers tightened on each other. Would it continue like this much longer? She hoped not. Too much rain would be bad for them all. And people could get sick! She didn’t want there to be in influx of people calling in and out because they were ill.

Her fingers tightened together.

And what of the people who didn’t live in the city? She was certain too much rain would cause them a loss. Or even those in the city, what if the rain piled so high, too high, much too high? What of the animals outside? Those unfortunate to have no shelter to run to?

Her fingers squeezed again.

And what of her own? What of her friends? Was it this horrible thunderous weather everywhere? Were they okay? Was it worse there? Was she overreacting?

Was it-?

Agnes’ eyes found their way upward, looking at the cover provided to her.

“You’ll get sick, standing out here…” Oh. “Alternis?” “I, er….wouldn’t like to see you get ill from it.”

Her eyes softened and her fingers relaxed their grip on each other. It was just like Alternis, wasn’t it? To think of an umbrella and of another persons possible sickness. She gave him a smile, unable to help the amusement behind it. Alternis could have a surprisingly soft voice, especially when coupled with that horribly brilliant blush on his face.

He blushed much too easily. Agnes thought it was cute.

She didn’t dare say it. She knew Alternis found embarrassment and nerves in showing his face.

She relaxed. She felt trusted when he was so willing to show her. It wasn’t everyday someone could see him in the flesh.

“Thank you, Alternis.” “Of course…Agnes.”

Ah, he always skipped around speaking her name, as if worried, as if scared, as if unsure. She could see it, after everything they went through. After all of it he still held some anger about him, towards himself. Some horrible thoughts she wished she could sooth from him.

She didn’t think him deserving of that. He’d more than made up for anything he may have done before.

“It’s raining a lot,” she hummed, watching him from the corner of her eye. “Yes, hopefully it lightens up soon, it can’t be good for the people to have every day be like this.” He sounded sad. She could guess on which particular people he was thinking on.

Agnes didn’t want to know if it was because he could sympathize.

She looked back to the rain. The sky, and its blotchy sadness, held an odd sense of appeal, she found. Maybe if it hadn’t been raining day in and day out she’d find some beauty in it. She looked back to him, his eyes a world away.

And his shoulder wet.

It wasn’t a very big umbrella.

Agnes lifted her hand to take the handle from him, earning something that was, most certainly not, a squeak. No, never a squeak, not from Alternis. Never a cute squeak. Agnes fought that down.

She gripped the handle where his hand had involuntarily let go.

“Agnes?” “Come here.” “Excuse me?” he looked almost frightened. “I said, come here, Alternis, you’re going to get sick.” He seemed to fluster, unsure on what to exactly do. “It’s much too small.”

She could already see the blotches of a bright red blush working around his face and down his neck. She couldn’t help but smile. He did look cute, all flustered and red eared.

“That’s fine,” she nodded.

Sometimes, she’d found, you just needed to push firmly with Alternis. He was a bit hopeless sometimes. “But-!” Alternis didn’t squeak, she had to remind herself, so that must have been something else.

She could feel him shaking from the point of their shoulders pressed together. He was warm, warmer than she’d expected. But, he did tend to wear quite warm clothing. She was a bit jealous. Maybe she could borrow something of his. For days like this, cold, rainiy.

Choosing to save him some pride she made it a point not to look at him too directly. Though she already knew his face would be in a state of red fluster and complete confusion. He was never much good at hiding how he felt when out of armour.

“It’d be pretty,” she murmured, relaxed against him, “if it wasn’t…so much.” Very eloquent. Alternis was quiet and she worried she’d made him too uncomfortable. She was still learning the boundaries on how much she could push.

“It would be,” he agreed softly, taking the handle back from her. She looked at him, puzzled. “I mean… It is, er, if we just pretend it hasn’t been happening for days.”

It was cold.

She found herself leaning into him. Agnes was almost surprised to find him relaxed. “Are you cold?” she asked, already guessing the answer. “No. Are you?” “A bit,” she confessed.

“Ah,” he didn’t seem to know what to do with himself. “Alternis?” “Y-Yes?” “Can we just…stay here for a bit?”

He seemed surprised. Agnes thought it was cute. She thought Alternis was very cute. From his flusters to his nerves. He was very cute.

“Of course.” “You’ll stay?” Had they fallen closer than before? She felt very warm, very comfortable, and very safe. Things she’d easily begun to associate with being with Alternis. She had to calm the skip of her heart.

“Of course, Agnes, I don’t plan on leaving you alone.” “Me too,” she found herself saying without thought. “Hmm?” “I’ll stay with you too.”

She watched his hand tighten on the handle, finding herself slumping against him. Alternis, she decided, was very warm, very cute, and very much someone she wanted to stay around.

“Thank you.”

[tallowcat]

one more

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Janne could understand that Yew was a huge nerd. Loved his books and whatnot, would keep his nose stuck in a book for hours, days really, if he was allowed. Which was fine, Yew could be a nerd all he wanted.

 What Janne didn’t like was the phrase ‘just one more chapter’. Because with yew, ‘one more chapter’ became ‘one more book’. And this could be fine, if Janne wanted to he could go do something else. But sometimes Janne really had no patience for ‘one more chapter’. Sometimes Janne hated being outdone by a dead tree.

“Yew, come on…” “One more chapter, Janne, just hang on…” what made it worse was Yew practically shooing him off with his hand. Now that just stung.

 “Yew.”

“Mm?” So… they’d gotten to this stage.

Janne huffed, picking himself up and grabbing the first slip of paper he could. That really wasn’t hard considering Yew seemed to scatter things on his desk when he was busy, or suddenly got absorbed in a particularly good book. Really, Janne could understand, sometimes when he found a good book that held his interest he didn’t want to be pulled away. This was ridiculous.

“Janne!” Yew glared at him when he yanked the book from his hands, stuffing the paper to mark his page then throwing it over his shoulder. “Be careful-!” “Oh shut it, it’s fine,” Janne grumbled, picking Yew up from his spot. “You spend too much time with your nose stuck in books anyway.”

Slumping down in the chair Yew had been in, Janne squeezed Yew to his chest. A hug, really, if not for the awkward position and the slightly too strong grip. 

“I do not!” “You spend days with your face in a book.” “I bet you wouldn’t complain if I spent all day laying like this.” “Nope, because then you wouldn’t be ignoring me.” “I wasn’t ignoring you, Janne, I was reading-“ “Nope. Too late,” throwing his legs over the side of the chair Janne settled into a more comfortable position, even if it hurt his back on the arm.

“Now you can spend all day laying with me, just like you said.” “Janne really…” “Yes, really.” Yew groaned, squirming in his hold to lay more comfortably across Janne’s chest.

“You’re actually the worst.” “Thank you, I try very hard.” “Ugh!”

“What? Is it so wrong I want to spend time with you, it’s like you’re always busy.” “Oh no, you’re not allowed to guilt me Janne.” “I just get so lonely, Yew, without you here-“ “Okay, okay! Janne, I get it!” despite it Yew still laughed, pulling back to look at the stupid smile on Janne’s face. Yew really liked Janne’s proper smiles, they were nice…

 “Fine,” he sighs, “I’ll lay with you, for a bit.”

“Mm, good!”

‘A bit’ ended up being an afternoon nap, a lost book, back pain, and leg cramps. Still Janne was proud, if only for getting Yew to pay attention to him.

[tallowcat]

spoilyy bois ----------------------------------

The first time he and Janne spent a night together after all that happened felt…awkward.

They both danced around the things that happened, unable to meet each other’s eyes. Skirting around touch and anything that could cause confrontation. It was all pull aways and hidden secrets, things that both didn’t want to say or hear for fear what it could mean in the end.

It had been a while, but things still felt fresh, from the sting in Janne’s chest to the unshed tears in Yew’s eyes from Janne’s heated words. The first time Janne had nudged his hand Yew had jerked away, freezing when he realized what he’d done.

They both avoided looking at each other for a few hours.

Janne quite liked the night. It could keep you hidden and safe, curled in shadows in a corner where none could see or hurt you. But he didn’t like deafening darkness, the kind that swallowed him up in shadows and made him thrash about in fear of never being let go.

Yew liked the calm in brought, the ease of pen on paper when the candle and the moon lit up the room around him in gentleness. He didn’t like the nightmares that true darkness brought, the kind that tugged at his chest and made him curl in on himself while trying to shut the world away.

They both found comfort and terror in the thing that could come over them. It was much the same as they felt for each other.

Yew would swear up and down that he trusted Janne with his life, that was no lie, no matter how far they’d parted he knew he’d never fully let go of his connection to him. Even when Janne had spat foul words at him for his birth and tried to impale him upon his sword.

But that didn’t mean all had left. He still felt the fear wind up in his gut in the middle of the night when the shadows danced just right to look like a blade. And he couldn’t look Janne in the eye when the prior night visions of the death he caused his dearest friend laughed in his head.

But still, they tried.

Janne knew Yew still held an uncertainty much the same as him. Neither of them knew how to return to a routine broken by hate.

But still, they tried.

Yes, Yew had flinched away, taken his hand back. But, he’d grabbed Janne’s hand with confidence later, held a tight grip he hoped showed his trust. He didn’t fear the strength Janne possessed, instead he focused on the warmth. The warmth Janne’s genuine smile brought him and the warmth of being so close again.

And Janne found himself holding ever tighter, forcing himself to be allowed something kind without the voice in his head taunting him for being selfish. He was allowed this, to try, to have trust in Yew and he did him. He was allowed this. Janne was allowed to pull Yew back to his side in a comfort they both needed.

After all, who else was going to fight off the ghosts that night?

But ghosts were nothing compared to the fear that welled in Janne’s chest when Yew had near demanded to share a bed again. It wasn’t that he feared to vulnerable, nor the shadows that climbed Yew’s walls, but rather the fear of it all shattering the moment he gets it. That when he finally falls asleep he’ll wake back up alone, forcing his hands from his head in a rage of what may have been.

It’s okay.

Yew pretends his heart isn’t twisting and that his gut doesn’t tell him that it’s too soon. He pretends that Janne’s shape on his wall isn’t something that had dominated his sleep for months on end, dripping blood from the blade Yew held. Or the venomous words his nightmares told him Janne thought true.

It was okay.

They laid beside each other, the pale light from the moon giving just enough to show. And maybe that helped, the gentler mood in the quiet of the night, something to help ease them into a sense that it was okay. That this would work out.

And it’s Janne who holds Yew’s hand under the cover this time, just gentle, a trust that Yew won't fear to pull away. He doesn’t, of course. Instead, he shuffles closer, forcing himself to swallow his pounding heart and to let himself lay more comfortably against Janne.

It’s nostalgic, something Yew feels a fondness for.

And for a moment he can pretend nothing ever happened.

He can wrap his arms around Janne and sink into the warmth that is his skin, and Janne can make him feel protected with his arms curled around him in return. And Yew can make him feel warm and worth it, can quell the little monster thoughts that begin to snap and swell.

But it’s okay.

They settle together fine, back together easily. It’s too soon for ‘I love you’s. Not yet, not until they can speak without looking away. They just need some time. But the comfort an embrace on a night like this brings is something they’re both completely willing to sink into.

And so they sleep.

And it’s okay.

[tallowcat]

Tiz was given a lot of time on his own to think. During the long hours of the night that seemed to tick on when he couldn’t sleep or woke from a nightmare. There was a lot to think on, at least, there was a lot of different thoughts that swirled into his head each night. Repeats of the past or thoughts of the new, or even some thoughts he’d keep locked inside himself until he died.

Sometimes he thought of things he knew would worry and would concern.

Tiz and his thoughts found themselves often in the quiet moonlight, the sounds of the world beyond blurred from exhaustion or a simple lack of awareness. It didn’t feel uncommon for them to be born as a seed of a doubt, of a hate, of a regret, only to bloom into a monster he could not tame. And once it becomes a beast it did not stop its whispers upon his mind.

The comforts of Norende were to be rarely found when walls of fear and failure grew higher each night he watched the village fall into the chasm. And it felt each night he could remember more and more of the little details. And it felt that each nightmare made him think on the horrifying expressions the people he once knew must have had when they fell, when the earth beneath them crumbled and cracked. And each nightmare that his hand slipped from made him wish a little more that it could have been him. And each thought that followed sprouted another to claw at him and speak wrongdoings into his head.

And each thought brought a new nightmare, a new scenario, a new thought to start it over.

Sometimes it felt unreal, to wake up and see the darkness and not the horror in his brother’s eyes as he slipped from his grasp, or from being let go as some taunted him. Sometimes Tiz’s thoughts scrambled to find a perch, something to grab onto to keep him from crying out in absolute fear and agony from watching his brother fall. His thoughts were loud and they kept him awake at night with the taunts and the selfish desires.

Would it be so wrong to be selfish?

Egil helps, it eases his mind, tames what devours him and lets him rest. Not fully, never completely, but enough that he can walk without the fear of needing another for support. Egil is helped, out of a selfish desire more so than a general moral good one. He wants to save what he couldn’t before. He holds Egil’s hand with a grip tighter than ever needed on flat, solid ground.

But Tiz knows hat the ground can change, that it can crack no matter its strength. And that it can take more from him than anything else.

He knows that he will not let go again. And he doesn’t. He grips tighter despite the heat and he feels as if he’ll burn but he keeps tight. Lingers on the selfish desire for a bit longer. And if his thoughts confuse Egil for Til he doesn’t notice. And if he pretends this will fix his letting go no one will know.

He holds Egils hand tight and dares not let go.

But when he does he knows he must. And when he does the monsters come back.

His thoughts are not all tame, some still tower and sneer and some still tell him he’s failed. And many make him fall back into the hole he couldn’t get out of. But some are soft, they tell him he helped. They remind him of his friends. Some thoughts are kinder now, and he can speak to himself in gentler terms than the thick mist of hate.

And Tiz can think on his friends and know they do actually care for him, that the made-up hatred he’d made himself believe in was just a thought grown too big.

And at night he does spend hours asleep. And some nights he wakes up. And some he doesn’t sleep at all.

And some nights Tiz spends truly and wholly with his thoughts.

[tallowcat]

Idk man

—————————–

It wasn’t that Yew didn’t trust his friends, he trusted them completely, with his life and more. And it wasn’t that he didn’t want to talk, it wasn’t like he wanted to hide it all away inside him. More so, it was that it was a change Yew hadn’t quite come to accept. At least, not with his heart.

Yew wasn’t someone to blubber about his issues, not all the time. Not the ones that sat deep in his heart guarded carefully. His journal was a place where he could put his thoughts down without a fear of being judged, even when he did feel like someone was silently judging him when he wrote sometimes. But nothing was quite the same as outwardly speaking his problems to someone in person.

Janne wasn’t someone Yew spilled every detail of his life to, there were always things one kept to themselves. But he was someone Yew felt comfortable enough telling his fears to. Be that through whispers in the dark, hiding teary eyes and shaking hands, or in the middle of the day when things were quiet, and he couldn’t meet his eyes quite right. Janne, in many ways, to him, had become a comfort. A person he was okay letting everything down around, a person he was okay to be vulnerable to.

Janne was his friend who he felt a bond unlike any other. And he’d been sure that Janne had felt the same.

It was not that Yew didn’t trust his new friends, his comrades, his heroes. It was simply that they had yet to reach the same level of comfort as Yew had felt with Janne. He’d put his life in their hands without a second thought, but he hadn’t quite reached the same state that those years with Janne had. They were not yet the friend Yew had been willing to spill everything for.

They’d certainly get to that point, he already held such a high trust for them. But, in many ways, he’d yet to fully let go and accept all that happened. A small part of him still held onto the belief that it had all been a mistake and that they’d all be back together. All three of them. Most of him knew that wasn’t going to happen, but part of him just wanted is life back, his bond with a person he let so deep in his heart.

He’d thought he and Janne shared a bond that wouldn’t break, he’d held that so tightly. How had he never seen the hate in his eyes?

[tallowcat]

ouch the edge is spoiler tho so ————————

Janne hated the Geneolgia family. Janne hated the name, the mere sound making his blood boil.

Once upon a time it had struck a fear into him, a memory of a name that had ended all he’d known. Once it had made his insides twist in a manner that made him cower. The fear that had haunted his nightmares had spiraled into a rage as he’d grown, a feeling that made his mind buzz and his heart ache in the want for what he felt they deserved.

Janne felt rage towards the Geneolgia name. A feeling in his gut that drove him forward. A feeling that drove him to be better, to be the best. A feeling that mixed with his natural competitiveness and desires, a feeling that had spurred him onto the path of bloodied revenge.

Janne felt sorrow when thinking on those lost to that family and their greed. He felt an anger when he thought of the family he had lost. How the Balestra name had fallen beneath the boot of a family only concerned with their own betterment. Janne felt a weakness thinking on his family, not unlike a child lost from their mother. A mourning feeling that crept up his throat that he forced down. He was a Balestra, he couldn’t fall to such a thing, not yet, not ever.

Yew bore the same name, that of Geneolgia. And yet no matter what Janne tried he couldn’t fully push the image onto Yew, couldn’t pull the pieces of that wretched family onto Yew Geneolgia. Yew was not the same. He wasn’t just a Geneolgia, he was…well, he was Yew.

A boy who got stuck high on the spire because of fear while trying to prove himself. Yew was a person who’d rather stick his nose into a book then get into the same muddied mischief as others. Yew found enjoyment in knowledge and found fear in a great many things. From ghosts to heights, from waking Janne to check the shadows in the night to having to be carried down. Yew Geneolgia was a person Janne found friendship in.

Janne Balestra hated the Geneolgia name. All that they were and all they had done, he had chosen this path alongside the Kaiser to fix what he felt had been wrong, and finally give himself what he felt deserved. Janne Balestra would snap and sneer that he hated all under that, be it Yew or otherwise.

Janne would not admit that Yew’s wounded look did hurt him inside. Janne felt hate towards all that was what he hated. Janne told himself he would hate Yew Geneolgia. Janne hated Yew Geneolgia.

But, more than anything in his heart, Janne hated that he could never truly hate Yew, no matter what he said.

[tallowcat]

im gonna be real with u and say that this probably hecks with canon because my memory is a bad oops ———-

Tiz dreamed mainly of certainties, of definites, of ‘did happen’. Tiz dreamed of the past. Sometimes whole other times mixed and matched with pieces from other nights and other times. Some were dreams of pieces pulled together of events, others were dreams of what was gone in detail as it had been.

Tiz had nightmares of the certainties.

Many times over had he been told it hadn’t been his fault, he knew their words were true in many ways but it was hard to accept. A brother was a protector, a person to rely on, particularly for a younger sibling still green in the ways of the world.

Tiz had nightmares of the certainties. He dreamed of the grip on his brother’s wrist, of the horror in his eyes and his own looking back. They all started out the same, all of them started with that moment where the ground began to quake beneath them.

Sometimes he dreamed of letting go. He knows he didn’t, that he’d held on like hell, but sometimes when he’d only just awoken, with the bile in his throat, he couldn’t really recall if he had let go. If he’d actually thought about letting his brother go. Sometimes it was right, sometimes he held on as tightly as he could, sometimes the dreams showed what had happened and the slip of his brother’s hand through his own made him wake up with the want to beat his own head in for not saving him. Other times he dreamed of watching the ground split away, of having the time to call, to grab Til, but he didn’t. In those dreams he did nothing. In those dreams he watched the ground break away and take his brother whilst he did nothing.

Those were the dreams when he’d wake up with an anger and despair in his heart so grand that he wanted to tear it out. Those were the nights he’d stumble outside and sob into the night, begging for his little brother back. Those were the nights he couldn’t hold in the tears and didn’t mind the cold splitting his skin in the air. Those were the nights he felt he deserved every wrong in the world.

It wasn’t sleep that escaped him. It was the desire to sleep that did.

Sleep became a fear, in a way. In a way it was childish of him to stay awake and hide from the nightmares that brewed away in his head. He knew it made him a liability, too tired to think clearly in the heat of importance. But fear it was and it was a fear that gripped him tightly and made him feel sick to his stomach, a fear that replayed the images he could remember from those fractured dreams. And maybe the stewing on these images and thoughts, of the horrible fall, of the horrible look, of everything, that made them worse. He did sleep, yes, when exhaustion finally pulled him down into a tumbled sleep.

Sometimes when he awoke he’d awaken Ringabel when they shared a room. Sometimes he’d latch onto that source of living, of being awake, of being away from the nightmares that waited for him. Sometimes he’d hold his breath and hope the man would fall back to sleep without a worry. Sometimes Ringabel did, sometimes he talked. Sometimes Tiz responded, most times he couldn’t.

Other nights when he didn’t wake anyone or he was alone a part of him wished he had, that someone would force help upon him because he couldn’t do that himself. Those nights he’d stumble out of his room, maybe their room depending, and tried to hold in his emotions until he could force them back in line with a rough wipe of heavy and sore eyes.

He tried his best, he knew that’s what people would say. He didn’t much care for that.

But he did try his best, for his friends, because they relied on him too. And maybe in a selfish way he was using them, using them just to make himself feel better, to give him someone else to worry over, someone who would rely on him. Maybe Tiz was very selfish.

Maybe, in thoughts he’d never share, Tiz was selfless in wishing it could have been him, that he’d fallen. In a way, was that not selfish on its own? Yes, he was wishing his brother alive, but he was also, in a way, pushing the feelings he felt now onto a Til that had survived. Tiz was selfish in a way, but did he not deserve a moment to be selfish?

Tiz tried not to be, he tried to be a person his friends could trust and smile with, a person to do good and make them happy. Tiz tried to make it through the days whilst the lack of sleep tugged at his mind. And at the end of the day Tiz was tumble down to sleep be it willingly or not, usually the latter.

And Tiz would dream of certainties.