Archive of Our Own ^beta

When the sun disappears, and the night hawks take reign over the orchard, everyone in the house seeks an excuse to disappear in his own bedroom. Some quick goodnights are muttered and doors are shut. Those evenings you both crave and dread, for these are the rare moments during which you manage to pull something out of him, during which you share your nightmares and pry for the truth, attempting to understand what the other one has been through.

You stride up the stairs, cold feet on creaking wood, and open the door, searching hungrily for his gaze.There he is, in a shadowy corner of the room, constantly shivering, yet too feverish to move much. You force a smile and sit down next to him. His lips flutter on your cheek like butterflies on petals. You sit, and for a moment, stillness. The dust freezes in the air around you. The wind stops humming on the rusty roof tiles. The spiders in the far corner cease their laced spinning. And huddled next to him, for that split second, you’re both at peace. Your throbbing head lies on his bony shoulder, and your palms press clumsily together. For one fraction of a moment everything is calm.

But only for a moment, for then everything goes back to normal. As you sink into the emerald greenness of his eyes, you remember. You remember that you’re both dressed in black, and that your eyes are sunken. You remember the subconscious need that brought you up here. The need to think, to talk, to be, an urge begging to be satisfied like an itch in your palm. Then, as sore memories take power over your mind, you feel that daunting hollowness again. You feel the bitter guilt in your heart, rising like bile in your dry throat. You feel the empty uselessness, and the internal terror takes over. Grief gnaws at your soul, of which you’ve futilely attempted to gather the wind scattered pieces. And then, out of nowhere, you feel the pressure. The numb pain of the survivor. Tears glide down your cheeks, like raindrops sliding down a windowpane. You have this sudden wish to curse yourself for your weakness.

Why am I here, and not them? What have I done, that they haven’t? And you see him look away, ashamed, your own pain mirrored in his ashen face.

Survivors. You have the impulsive wish to snort. Heroes. Who? Where? Wait…us? If you had the force to laugh, then you would. But you are weaker than you can ever remember. Vulnerable, trembling, constantly exhausted.

But we were strong, you think miserably, huddling closer to him. We won. We found the words to change a system and the power to destroy it. We’ve got hearts as proud as lions, for we are young, and we’ve set the world on fire.
Yet you can’t find that seemingly natural exhilaration anymore.
He doesn’t feel that force anymore either.
He is so utterly lost.
And sometimes, it feels that you’re lost too, drowning somewhere between the void and nowhere.

There are short rare moments when you forget yourself. You forget the graves, the black veils you have to wear. Those moments happen so fast you can barely tell whether you’ve dreamt them or not. One lingering moment of bliss; his hand forgotten on your shoulder, your finger tracing yet another scar on his cheek; a furtive kiss upon each other’s bloodless lips.
This is it, you think wildly, we’re going to be alright. We will survive.
Then, guilty of your abrupt happiness, you stop, you let go. This is not normal, you shouldn’t feel cheerful, delighted; you’re mourning. Averting each other’s gaze, you turn away, attempting to control the conflicting confusions.

A year ago, you were strolling together carelessly in the school grounds, hand in hand and seemingly oblivious to the world. But you knew what was on his mind. You knew that lost gaze he sometimes got, when you would catch him thinking of far-off things, yet so close and disturbing.
He wasn’t even expecting to live. And you barely hoped to survive. You somehow knew this all along, because you’ve been there. You know the effect darkness has on someone. And he knows you do.
And yet here you are, two lost warriors amid the terrifyingly small gathering of survivors.
Two beating hearts, struggling to understand why. Why them, why now, why not.

Why us.