threnody,
⤯ a starter for @wisceral &&. this transitory stop. - - -
in the beginning of their story, there were: paper skyscrapers and plastic airplanes. a room of cocooned dreams; boyhood museum that preserves childhood wishes. shooting stars. praying hands.
over a decade of memories framed with decaying metal, and here they are now. an apartment, their hometown nothing but an inkling covered in dust.
and here are how the dreams transform: renowned architectures and nasa insignia. paris thinks in metal and lines. luc imagines the nebulae and craters.
but still, first and foremost, since eighteen paris has had the walls of his mind filled with portraits: luc, in every aspect, in every trinket. all the movie tickets of their dates. all the bottle caps of their drunken nights. all the polaroids of their juvenile moments.
first and foremost, every morning he wakes up thinking: how easy it is to fall in love, over and over and over again.
( if there’s a part of his body that is never tired, it would be the neurons controlling his feelings. )
this morning, he wakes up to an empty bed. scent of brewing coffee wafts in. a smile, weary after the consecutive deadlines. scattered blueprints and smudging ink put in the background for a period, he crafts plans too many in his head. maybe, maybe if luc can sneak time out of his work, maybe they can relive their younger days; a rooftop where they drink over the ocean of blinking lights. the skyline a company that tirelessly reminds them of the first time their fingers tangled.
this morning, rapture is a ribbon of his own soft footfalls against the wooden floorboards, wrapping arms around the familiar waist. chin resting on the shoulder. “i’ve missed you.”
(the first time he met paris, he remembers snorting. city of love huh? turns out paris contained a dense, abundance amount of love. (if not more.) )
they’re like this. they reek of white bliss and overstretched smiles that hurt the bottom of his face and leg tangling. luc doesn’t mind anyways, it’s been decades and decades. decades of his heart constantly fluttering and stargazing and illicit kisses on paris’ favourite skyscrapers. their passions compliment each other and how perfectly, how seamlessly they do it almost makes luc blush.
jean-baptise luc yearns for the oblivion and stars in the unattainable desolate beauty of the outer space and paris jeon dreams for days over concrete layouts and structural wires that almost build up towards the stars too.
luc likes to think that the stars were their impossible ending. (because as long as an ending is never reached, there is no ending right?)
luc wakes up and falls asleep with this knowledge and his heart throbbing tightly. except, luc barely sleeps over the nasa title. the arteries that pump his heart loosen it’s constrictions in fatigue. but there is nothing to fret over,
because once he arrives home, his sun-kissed wonder (like a greek god, he thinks often, reminiscent of shared showers, paris’ very ‘homme’ perspiration and intro to mythology), jean-baptise luc’s heart immediately shrugs it’s lax, tiredness and immediately holds his chest at the nasally beauty paris offers him.
luc crumbles in his nasally, chocolatey velvety voice (paris always finds a way to make him feel puny and terribly infatuated with him). “oh, i--” fatigue strains at his mind, the cosmos and daunting fascinations with black holes in his research creep at him. “i miss you,” nasa, nasa, nasa -- the star spangled red white and blue space facility and the beauty of the moon he dreams of are in his clutch and yet here he is,
malleable and intoxicated for paris (his city to drown himself off love).
“devastatingly so.”
