[ too often he has long, winding conversations with himself about what this means. the art of over-thinking was one sasha had always been particularly skilled in, a fact that he recognised woefully without having quite enough will to change or temper this about himself, but in recent months it seems to have spiralled to his singular talent. too often his mother tries to drill into him the pathetic finality of all this, to try and shock him out of his misery, violently and ineffectually shoving with all her misguided love. she does it out of love, he knows this. he understands it, sometimes. but it will never work, because love is the very thing that anchors him in the darkest depths of his sadness.
his sisters are no better. their love is gentler, kinder, but still not what he needs. there is a rational part of sasha that reasons he needs to move on, to pick himself up. he can't.
it's very difficult to practically imagine a conclusion, closure, when even if he wanted to, he'd not know where to send divorce papers.
each time the thought crosses his mind, he feels dizzy and sick.
the strangest thing is looking at it all in retrospect. sasha is no longer surprised by his being in this position, because he and konstantin fashioned this outcome together. they belonged to each other. possessed and possessing, continually intoxicated on each other. somehow, they blossomed and functioned beautifully together whilst heavily dependent on the other, and yet — sasha can't tell if he had been honestly oblivious to the need they had for each other, or simply blotted it out of his mind entirely, of his own choosing, his own resistance to accept the fact that they had become each to the other a lifeblood. he hates himself for never imagining a possibility where one might be able to live without the other; he hates himself for giving in to the illusion of "forever".
once again, his mother spits with anger at the sight of the ring on his finger.
-
you should come out, larissa offers, taking not-so-subtle care in her tone. we'd have fun! you might meet someone.
he raises his brows, looks to her without mirth, and the pity in his eyes is not directed at her attempts to rouse him from his stupors but for himself, the shameful but inevitable self-pity a person experiences when they know they are the makers of their misfortunes. sasha never thought about the concept of soul mates. he never had reason to. but these days he feels too hollow for anyone else. no other soul could be rich enough, beautiful enough, familiar enough, to fill the void inside him. only the one that left.
i don't want to, he says, simply. it's one of the truest answers he could ever give.
-
he overthinks, yes, but rarely does he plan ahead.
the panic is always reserved for the here and now, or the immediate future. he doesn't think about a week down the line, a month, a year. he exists in an insistent tunnel vision, and as time continues to pass, the absence ticks onward and adds longer to its count, it stings with fresh pain each time. each new month brings the realisation that he is still alone, and the whispers of a beautiful, soft voice in his ear, a soothing song to guide him to sleep, grow dimmer in his memories.
-
not for the first time, he finds himself staring out at the sea and hating it. hating it for being a constant reminder of what he has lost and more so for having a power over him, keeping him rooted to a home so near it. he should go back to madrid, back to his dusty apartment that he gave up so long ago in favour of staying wrapped up in strong, warm arms and sheets that smelt of both of them, of salt and citrus and the cheap body wash they shared.
as ever, his hands fidget and squirm. he was never a very still man, nor a very still boy. anxious thoughts always kept him moving, shuffling from foot to foot, nervous energy threatening to spill over. that's why he loved to dance; it took all that ugly energy and made it into something beautiful. but the man standing on the shore is changed, weathered. he looks thin, deflated, with hollows in his cheeks that were never there before. the thought of dancing is far away. he hasn't the heart for it. aside from his hands, fingers insistently twisting his wedding band around, around, around, he barely moves, swaying only slightly from the push of the unfriendly wind.
he's been here so many times, trying to find some kind of strength in himself to throw the damned thing into the waves. return this love to where it came from, let it sink to the bottom and be lost in the sand forever. to renounce the name that once set his heart skipping and his lips into the most radiant of smiles. but he can't. he won't. he only took it off that one time, the first time. held it so tightly in his palm it left indents, but never so much as raised his arm to throw it. jammed it back on so tightly that it hurt.
once more, he tries to look into the very darkest corners of himself to find that will, to do this one thing and see if it will have some effect on him. so intent is his focus that for a moment, he think the sound is a cruel trick of his imagination.
he doesn't plan ahead.
never once did sasha think to himself what he would do if faced with konstantin again. there is a pained part of his mind that thought it would never happen again, and it clouded the opportunity to think of something to say, something to do, if their paths crossed once again. not that it matters, really. sasha supposes that if he had thought of what he'd say, he'd never have managed to say it. when he turns, he has half a mind to throw up.
impulse (instinct) carries him forward two paces, stumbling in the sand. ]
K — Konstantin?
[ his knees threaten to buckle, and sharp pains shoot through his chest, white hot and blinding. eyes blur almost immediately; god, how he hates his inability to control his emotions. he wishes all the time that he was not so turbulent, but it is a wish that has never been heard by anyone with the power to do anything about it, least of all himself. for the two steps forward, he takes three, then four back. tries to continue until he loses his footing in the sand and sinks, inelegantly, trying to scramble back to his feet.
it's what he wanted more than anything. for konstantin to come back. to see his endless eyes and his bewitching smile, feel his hands in his hair. and now that the possibility presents itself, so suddenly, without preamble or ceremony, he feels very much like it is the last thing he is equipped to handle. ]
Wait — [ Sasha moves forward for two heartbeats, and then back pedals and Konstantin's boyish heart sinks.
His animal heart impatiently beats forward.
Go.
Konstantin watches Sasha go down and impulsively surges forward, digging into the damp sand at his heels and striding forward, quick and long paces at first that turn into a sprint that sends him forward onto his knees in the sand. No, he doesn't catch Sasha, but he's sinks into the grains and sliding an arm around his shoulders, the other arm going around his waist before he can fumble too far, like some dream gone by.
I don't deserve this.
I don't deserve you.
Only good men. Good men.
He's heaving breaths, hunched over Sasha's somewhat fallen form, the two of them caught up in the sand and Konstantin's fingers already clutching at his shirt as he looks down at him. ]
Please wait...
[ His voice is small, but low, private as the water overtakes the sand and hisses once, twice, three times, before quieting. The rumble of something low and impending comes from the distance, crackling to the beat of Konstantin's throbbing heart. Sasha feels too light in his arms, his magic warm against his skin, bleeding between his flesh and bone and his own sending out a soft and pitching, mournful cry. It weaves forward in a way that words can't, like a hand outstretched, an offer.
Please.
Strong, but easy, finding every familiar crevice (and unfamiliar ones now) buried in Sasha's own magic. ] Are you...
[ Alright? Probably not. Don't be fucking stupid. His fingers loosen just slightly, eyes looking down at Sasha's own, too-sharp teeth catching on his lower lip forgetfully, but the pinprick of pain keeps him steady, keeps him here as he leans over further, weight of the chain about his throat pulling itself free from the collar of his damp shirt, allowing skin-warmed metal to dangle between them slowly.
This is real.
It's too real.
He may as well leave again, right? ]
I fucked up, [ he croaks finally. ] I fucked this up.
No — [ broken, unintelligible, even for such a short and simple word. ] — no, no, no.
[ he struggles.
to fight his way out of konstantin's touch is an alien thing to sasha, something only ever done when his longer, roaming fingers found themselves bothering the more sensitive parts of sasha's body, with the intention of making him giggle like a child. of making him beg for mercy, to say "no", over and over, much like he does now. oh, how the tides turn and the sweetest memories become tangled up in painful realities. he barely allows himself to listen that anything konstantin tries to say, barely allows him to say it with all the thrashing he insists on doing, but konstantin has always been strong and god if he doesn't feel — stronger.
tears start to spill from sasha's eyes, fat and heavy. ]
No. I can't — I can't do this, I can't, I don't want, I — [ if he sounds hysterical, that's because he is. for every dream he had that konstantin would return, he ignored the niggling consideration of his own response to this. the numbness that clutched at his very heart for all this time has suddenly been set alight, like a match abruptly dropped in petrol. suddenly, there is so much anger. so much distress. a thousand things he wants to say, but he can't choose where to start, and it's already driving him insane. ] You — fucking fucked up, you utter — God, I cannot do this!
[ konstantin's teeth are sharp. incredibly sharp. sharp as sasha has ever known them, the kind of teeth that left behind a few ridges and the remnants of konstantin's shame. sasha stares, breathing unevenly, loudly, with difficulty. wants to reach out and touch them, drag his finger over his lips like he used to —
his hand smacks against metal.
suddenly, the thrashing and the flailing stops as sasha inelegantly grabs hold of the ring, unforgiving in the way that he yanks it (and the wearer) closer to look at it with the eyes of a complete madman. a ring. their ring. around his neck, tepid from the heat of his chest. many things suddenly swirl and circle in sasha's mind, things that are true, things that aren't true, things that set him further alight with something that feels mindless, unfair, but uncontrollable.
with renewed vigour, he slams his palms into konstantin's chest and rolls away from him, a guttural, pained sound exploding from his throat, bordering almost on an aborted scream. he hopes it hurt. it was intended to hurt, not that a measure of physical pain can ever make up for all the hurt he's felt on the inside. ]
You... you —
[ he can't say it. he can't say anything. his tongue tries to form phrases like "piece of shit", but it can't cooperate with his brain or his mouth, and not even the flames of his miserable rage can coax it from him. he can barely see beyond the tears, and all he wants to do is scream, forget about trying to use his words and just scream. ]
Perhaps a million times more than it does, but it's enough for now, the way the chain digs into the back of his neck, the pressure of Sasha's hand shoving him backwards from him, the way they scramble apart like they're hot iron and cool water, afraid to touch in the forge. For a moment, Konstantin doesn't lift himself up, laying where he's been shoved, sprawled onto the sand deservingly.
You fucking fucked up
He did.
He really did.
He's fucked it all up and he's laying in the sand, cold and wet and Sasha's body is still a warm imprint on his palms, a failed attempted to catch him when he ought to have (and how many other times has he failed to do this? He won't even know, will he?) Konstantin listens, he bears the sound, the wail in his direction. It's a lamentation, a beast that Sasha has been holding for him, he can tell. His name is all over it, his essence, the pain he's brought him, and he sits up slowly to take it, body rigid with shame.
He leaves without word.
No note. No text. He leaves everything behind and shouldn't expect anything but this. ]
I'm sorry.
[ He says it softly, barely above a whisper. It sounds poisonous past his tongue, like he has no right . ] Sasha I'm... I'm sorry... I've...
[ His tongue trips, the clumsiest it's been in months. ]
I have no excuse. I have nothing. I'm not...
[ He thinks about blood, rewinds through a half-hearted kiss, through a small and beautiful wedding, through a romp in the early morning at a seaside motel, to soft, stolen kisses in the library, to a phone number bleeding through a napkin, fingers touching around a coffee cup when he smiles at who might be the sweetest man Konstantin has ever had the pleasure of writing a name on a cup for in marker.
Too good.
Nothing will be this good again and he's cocked it up.
The impulse to duck his head down and grab his hair is heavy, but he remains as he is, open-shouldered and ready for the brunt of more. You don't deserve to cower for this, you don't deserve forgiveness.
[ there is a roar in sasha's ears that sounds like the sea, his heartbeat and konstantin's voice all clamouring over each other, fighting for dominance. he used to think it so breath-taking, so magical, the fact that konstantin made him feel things that he didn't so much never expect to feel, as things he never realised were possible to feel. dizzying excitement at receiving a cup of coffee. a sickening thrill of waiting to meet outside a shady cafe. fireworks, butterflies and a thousand twisting, tumbling circus acrobats in his stomach the first, second, third and hundredth time that they kissed. love that never faltered, near waned, a constant sphere of warmth in his chest that lit him from within. desire, starved and desperate, willing to take all chances and do anything to give and receive pleasure. colourful, unmatched emotions that a quiet, mild boy never thought he was capable of.
konstantin had brought so much to his life. as such, he had also taken so much away when he left.
he expects that the ungainly mixture of despair, elation and fury paint an altogether ugly picture on his face. his mouth is open, his browns knitted and eyes immeasurably wide. for a moment, he chooses not to interrupt konstantin's murmurs, perhaps only because he needs to catch his breath. this is not a natural state of being, for sasha. these emotions do not fit well together, and they fit even less with him. but reason has flung itself into the waves and promptly drowned himself; reason is not what suddenly propels sasha forward again to slam his palms into konstantin's chest once more. ]
Selfish? You call this selfish? This is beyond... [ his movements jerk and twitch, not for a moment resembling sasha, a human that is by all measures, fidgety but naturally graceful, something increased over time with the regular dancing in his life. he scratches and grabs at the ring, tugs on its chain again, suddenly so close to konstantin that their faces almost touch, their breath mingling in the air between them. ] You... this ring, you kept it. You took this with you, you disappeared, you — you allowed my entire world to disintegrate into nothing. Why? No ‐ no, don't. Don't say it. Don't explain. [ he grits his teeth, his choked voice struggling to form the words, but trying so hard. ] You kept it. A piece of me — a tiny bit of comfort, while I... I sat around, thinking I... thinking that this, us, that you didn't —
[ he could never bring himself to put any of his thoughts about konstantin's disappearance into words. to confide in his sisters or, god forbid, his mother, was something he simply could not do, and now it is not easier. sasha's entire body shakes, and his words are suddenly broken by a number of noisy sobs as he visibly begins to shrink, ducking down, still clutching the ring for dear life. ]
God, why couldn't you... just say. Just talk to me, tell me you... you needed time, something, anything. Why would you let me think that you were done with me. [ somewhat involuntarily, he sinks just a little further, until his forehead smacks heavily against konstantin's chest, like all the energy is draining from his body. ] After all this time, how could you dare to think that I wouldn't try to understand, that I didn't love you regardless of anything. How could you be so fucking stupid?
[ his voice keeps thinning, reedy and pitching up and down uncomfortably as his tears start to soak into konstantin's clothes. his head is already pounding, aching like all of his pain suddenly physically manifest. ]
[ Konstantin feels it, the heaviness from Sasha's body as he lets go, sinking into his body. The way his shoulders tremble, how his fingers clutch still in the chain around his neck. Konstantin doesn't know what to do at first, a stranger to someone who shouldn't be strange. His hands hover a moment, over his shoulders, the length of his body, feeling the pitch of his voice down to his breastbone. ]
Sasha...
[ His hands come down softly, tenderly, and he lays them against his shoulder blades, ducking his head down slowly until he can feel the tickle of Sasha's hair, soft against his nose.
How could you be so fucking stupid? ]
I don't know. I don't know and I'm sorry.
[ He tightens his embrace now, not just hands, arms. ]
I'm sorry... I'm so sorry... I should never have left. I should never have just... fucked off like I did, it wasn't right. I...
[ His shoulders tremble now, and in this moment Konstantin has never felt so small, so weak. Sasha is a brilliant and blinding light and he can barely look at him straight, not without tears starting to prick at his eyes, voice pitching as he buries his face into his hair and clutches him.
Konstantin's voice wavers, lowers into a whispers as he breathes in, short and quick, keeping himself from a full sob.
(Sasha smells so familiar to him, consumes him. He clutches his hair.) ]
I wasn't thinking. I didn't think and I hurt you... I hurt you and I'm so--I'm so sorry.
[ I hurt you, and it wasn't fair. It wasn't fair to you, to anyone, but most of all to you. ]
[ how can it possibly be such comfort and such hurt to feel konstantin's arms tighten around him? he's never felt so safe as he does right now. it's an echo of a well known and near forgotten feeling, but magnified to something that reaches absurd new heights from being absent so long. absence may make the heart grow fonder, but sasha can't help to wonder if it doesn't leave behind deeper and more jagged scars, too. he wonders if it would have been easier had his heart not been stretched so thin, to this point. less time to set spikes beneath the feet of his own thoughts that painted so many possibilities, each of them as awful as the next. that konstantin was dead somewhere, sad somewhere, happy somewhere. (happy without him, and sasha does not balk from the consideration that such a scenario would utterly destroy him.)
he folds, tucks, shrinks. he could swear his body is growing smaller, muscle and bones retreating into themselves, making him as small as he could possibly be, but maybe that's because he always found himself so comforted in the embrace of konstantin's broad shoulders. another sob, and then one more, trembling and crashing through his body. ]
You shouldn't have.
[ said with pain, high pitched desperation.
with some degree of difficulty, he shifts his hands and winds them into konstantin's shirt, not caring how he tugs at the threads and fibres as he uses it to heave himself back upwards. the thought of looking konstantin straight in the eye makes him want to be sick (again), but he swallows the notion and lifts his blotchy, tear-stained face. slides his fingers up (oh, that skin, that neck) until his palms cup konstantin's face and hold it, perhaps more tightly than necessary.
don't you dare look away from me, say his hands. ]
I never thought pain like this existed. Same way I never... I never thought happiness like what I knew with you existed, s-so I suppose we've come full circle. You hurt me so much, Konstantin. [ his name is a stumble on his lips; he hasn't been able to say it aloud in a long time. ] But you hurt yourself, too, didn't you?
[ his thumb brushes against konstantin's cheek — instinct that he can't help. half involuntarily, owing to lost balance, and half because the magnetic pull he always had to konstantin has been hard to fight at the best of times, let alone the worst of them, he tips forward until their foreheads touch. ]
I wanted to hate you so much. I longed to despise you and excise you from my head. But I couldn't. Not for a second. [ a strangled sound, helpless and mortified. his voice grows smaller, a choked whisper. ] I just wanted you back. Every minute, every day, it's all I've wanted.
Doesn't matter what I did to myself. [ He can feel the heat under Sasha's palms, a warning to not move, to remain in place. The monster in him buckles, an emotional thing that knows this heat, wants to turn to openly mouth the palm that's soothed him too many times. And what has he done but flooded what they had and let it rot in the aftermath. Ruined it, he says to the monster. We've ruined it.
Konstantin bows his head to the words, even further when a thumb smoothes over his cheek, touches skin and soft, feathery scale high on his cheekbone, luminescent only in the right light, rough to fingers that wander and touch thin, fine skin that isn't quite skin anymore. He makes words with his lips, but the words never leave truly.
He reaches up hands slowly, climbs the fabric of his shirt to clutch at the base of his neck, to dig fingers in possessively. ]
I made you a promise... and I broke it. I broke everything about us...
[ He's not yours, says a voice. You ruined that. You destroyed that. But he clutches anyways, he clings desperately as Sasha chokes the words out in the smallest space between them. Konstantin could kiss him here, could hold his face close and kiss him softly like they used to. But he's well enough aware that he doesn't deserve this, that he doesn't even deserve their bodies uncomfortably tangled on the beach, knowing nothing more than each other after so long.
Sorry doesn't fix the time he's ruined.
Apologies don't stitch back together gashes he's made, long, bloody furrows in the space between them.
He tips his head up softly, pressing their temples together as he closes his eyes and hums softly. He remembers warm, balmy nights early on, before the idea of forever, maybe when he'd lay his fingers on the smooth sides of his temples and soothe away the heat and the fever, the teeth and the fire for the night. He hums, and it's a song that is old, but just for Sasha, a lullaby crafted out of love, from notes that Konstantin had chosen night after night until they were perfect. ]
Yes, it does. [ it comes out forceful and ragged, and his hands very nearly claw at konstantin's cheeks, as if he's trying to drag him closer when there's no more closer to gain. their lips are so close, but just far enough away not to touch. not yet. he can't, not yet. ] It matters to me. It'll always matter to me. Your well-being matters to meet, your happiness, your —
[ the words end abruptly as a fresh sob fights its way up sasha's throat, and simultaneously spills from his mouth and his eyes. the pressure of konstantin's fingers on his neck makes him shiver and shudder, an old fire is set ablaze once again in his stomach but almost as quickly extinguished by all the tears that not only drip down his face, but down the outline of his soul. the battle between familiarity and pain is unusual, unstoppable, because both sides are fuelled by something that is bigger than both the two men tangled together in the sand.
he almost wants to laugh when konstantin starts to hum. a tune he knows so well, one that has always been their own. as comforting as a warm palm against his own, a kiss to the temple and fingers carding through his hair when he's gone a little too long between cuts, mussed and made amusingly taller. different sides of the emotional spectrum continue to claw at each other, but sasha is comforted. he can't help that, that all the burning thoughts simmer down upon hearing that beautiful little song.
when sasha speaks again, his voice is a hoarse whisper. calmer, but no less charged with jolts of sadness. ]
Why is it still so hard to make you understand? [ konstantin is wrong. apologies do start to mend the wounds that were made. they certainly won't heal them all — oh, the wounds are far too numerous for that — but it's foolish, in sasha's mind, to discount the help that a single stitch can do. one wound closed, many more to be seen to. but they can be seen to. ] Maybe... maybe I'm the one that doesn't understand. Do you not want my forgiveness? At all, ever? Do you want me to tell you, yes, you broke everything and ruined it. And then what?
[ the ragged trembles of his shoulders start to slow. although his vision remains blurred from the steady stream of water running from his eyes, the initial storm of feeling is starting to clear. ]
You did break the promise. You did. You had a reason, I'm sure of it, but that doesn't excuse it. It doesn't... fix anything, the reason. But you do. You're here. You wouldn't be here if you weren't at least hoping for something good to come out of this. I mean —
[ he makes a frustrated noise. ]
You're here to give me closure, to explain and lessen some of the hurt you caused me — but you keep talking like you've not picked up some of the broken pieces by coming here. You hold me like you have. Your hands beg for me to take back those pieces and start putting them together again. And I will, [ he breathes, barely audible but inescapably determined, ] if you stop talking like that.
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timeasmymeasure
this was written from beyond the grave, r.i.p me and my endless tears
Date: 2016-10-26 12:35 am (UTC)his sisters are no better. their love is gentler, kinder, but still not what he needs. there is a rational part of sasha that reasons he needs to move on, to pick himself up. he can't.
it's very difficult to practically imagine a conclusion, closure, when even if he wanted to, he'd not know where to send divorce papers.
each time the thought crosses his mind, he feels dizzy and sick.
the strangest thing is looking at it all in retrospect. sasha is no longer surprised by his being in this position, because he and konstantin fashioned this outcome together. they belonged to each other. possessed and possessing, continually intoxicated on each other. somehow, they blossomed and functioned beautifully together whilst heavily dependent on the other, and yet — sasha can't tell if he had been honestly oblivious to the need they had for each other, or simply blotted it out of his mind entirely, of his own choosing, his own resistance to accept the fact that they had become each to the other a lifeblood. he hates himself for never imagining a possibility where one might be able to live without the other; he hates himself for giving in to the illusion of "forever".
once again, his mother spits with anger at the sight of the ring on his finger.
-
you should come out, larissa offers, taking not-so-subtle care in her tone. we'd have fun! you might meet someone.
he raises his brows, looks to her without mirth, and the pity in his eyes is not directed at her attempts to rouse him from his stupors but for himself, the shameful but inevitable self-pity a person experiences when they know they are the makers of their misfortunes. sasha never thought about the concept of soul mates. he never had reason to. but these days he feels too hollow for anyone else. no other soul could be rich enough, beautiful enough, familiar enough, to fill the void inside him. only the one that left.
i don't want to, he says, simply. it's one of the truest answers he could ever give.
-
he overthinks, yes, but rarely does he plan ahead.
the panic is always reserved for the here and now, or the immediate future. he doesn't think about a week down the line, a month, a year. he exists in an insistent tunnel vision, and as time continues to pass, the absence ticks onward and adds longer to its count, it stings with fresh pain each time. each new month brings the realisation that he is still alone, and the whispers of a beautiful, soft voice in his ear, a soothing song to guide him to sleep, grow dimmer in his memories.
-
not for the first time, he finds himself staring out at the sea and hating it. hating it for being a constant reminder of what he has lost and more so for having a power over him, keeping him rooted to a home so near it. he should go back to madrid, back to his dusty apartment that he gave up so long ago in favour of staying wrapped up in strong, warm arms and sheets that smelt of both of them, of salt and citrus and the cheap body wash they shared.
as ever, his hands fidget and squirm. he was never a very still man, nor a very still boy. anxious thoughts always kept him moving, shuffling from foot to foot, nervous energy threatening to spill over. that's why he loved to dance; it took all that ugly energy and made it into something beautiful. but the man standing on the shore is changed, weathered. he looks thin, deflated, with hollows in his cheeks that were never there before. the thought of dancing is far away. he hasn't the heart for it. aside from his hands, fingers insistently twisting his wedding band around, around, around, he barely moves, swaying only slightly from the push of the unfriendly wind.
he's been here so many times, trying to find some kind of strength in himself to throw the damned thing into the waves. return this love to where it came from, let it sink to the bottom and be lost in the sand forever. to renounce the name that once set his heart skipping and his lips into the most radiant of smiles. but he can't. he won't. he only took it off that one time, the first time. held it so tightly in his palm it left indents, but never so much as raised his arm to throw it. jammed it back on so tightly that it hurt.
once more, he tries to look into the very darkest corners of himself to find that will, to do this one thing and see if it will have some effect on him. so intent is his focus that for a moment, he think the sound is a cruel trick of his imagination.
he doesn't plan ahead.
never once did sasha think to himself what he would do if faced with konstantin again. there is a pained part of his mind that thought it would never happen again, and it clouded the opportunity to think of something to say, something to do, if their paths crossed once again. not that it matters, really. sasha supposes that if he had thought of what he'd say, he'd never have managed to say it. when he turns, he has half a mind to throw up.
impulse (instinct) carries him forward two paces, stumbling in the sand. ]
K — Konstantin?
[ his knees threaten to buckle, and sharp pains shoot through his chest, white hot and blinding. eyes blur almost immediately; god, how he hates his inability to control his emotions. he wishes all the time that he was not so turbulent, but it is a wish that has never been heard by anyone with the power to do anything about it, least of all himself. for the two steps forward, he takes three, then four back. tries to continue until he loses his footing in the sand and sinks, inelegantly, trying to scramble back to his feet.
it's what he wanted more than anything. for konstantin to come back. to see his endless eyes and his bewitching smile, feel his hands in his hair. and now that the possibility presents itself, so suddenly, without preamble or ceremony, he feels very much like it is the last thing he is equipped to handle. ]
drowns in the salt
Date: 2016-10-26 12:52 am (UTC)His animal heart impatiently beats forward.
Go.
Konstantin watches Sasha go down and impulsively surges forward, digging into the damp sand at his heels and striding forward, quick and long paces at first that turn into a sprint that sends him forward onto his knees in the sand. No, he doesn't catch Sasha, but he's sinks into the grains and sliding an arm around his shoulders, the other arm going around his waist before he can fumble too far, like some dream gone by.
I don't deserve this.
I don't deserve you.
Only good men. Good men.
He's heaving breaths, hunched over Sasha's somewhat fallen form, the two of them caught up in the sand and Konstantin's fingers already clutching at his shirt as he looks down at him. ]
Please wait...
[ His voice is small, but low, private as the water overtakes the sand and hisses once, twice, three times, before quieting. The rumble of something low and impending comes from the distance, crackling to the beat of Konstantin's throbbing heart. Sasha feels too light in his arms, his magic warm against his skin, bleeding between his flesh and bone and his own sending out a soft and pitching, mournful cry. It weaves forward in a way that words can't, like a hand outstretched, an offer.
Please.
Strong, but easy, finding every familiar crevice (and unfamiliar ones now) buried in Sasha's own magic. ] Are you...
[ Alright? Probably not. Don't be fucking stupid. His fingers loosen just slightly, eyes looking down at Sasha's own, too-sharp teeth catching on his lower lip forgetfully, but the pinprick of pain keeps him steady, keeps him here as he leans over further, weight of the chain about his throat pulling itself free from the collar of his damp shirt, allowing skin-warmed metal to dangle between them slowly.
This is real.
It's too real.
He may as well leave again, right? ]
I fucked up, [ he croaks finally. ] I fucked this up.
stuffs sand down my own throat bye
Date: 2016-10-26 01:12 am (UTC)[ he struggles.
to fight his way out of konstantin's touch is an alien thing to sasha, something only ever done when his longer, roaming fingers found themselves bothering the more sensitive parts of sasha's body, with the intention of making him giggle like a child. of making him beg for mercy, to say "no", over and over, much like he does now. oh, how the tides turn and the sweetest memories become tangled up in painful realities. he barely allows himself to listen that anything konstantin tries to say, barely allows him to say it with all the thrashing he insists on doing, but konstantin has always been strong and god if he doesn't feel — stronger.
tears start to spill from sasha's eyes, fat and heavy. ]
No. I can't — I can't do this, I can't, I don't want, I — [ if he sounds hysterical, that's because he is. for every dream he had that konstantin would return, he ignored the niggling consideration of his own response to this. the numbness that clutched at his very heart for all this time has suddenly been set alight, like a match abruptly dropped in petrol. suddenly, there is so much anger. so much distress. a thousand things he wants to say, but he can't choose where to start, and it's already driving him insane. ] You — fucking fucked up, you utter — God, I cannot do this!
[ konstantin's teeth are sharp. incredibly sharp. sharp as sasha has ever known them, the kind of teeth that left behind a few ridges and the remnants of konstantin's shame. sasha stares, breathing unevenly, loudly, with difficulty. wants to reach out and touch them, drag his finger over his lips like he used to —
his hand smacks against metal.
suddenly, the thrashing and the flailing stops as sasha inelegantly grabs hold of the ring, unforgiving in the way that he yanks it (and the wearer) closer to look at it with the eyes of a complete madman. a ring. their ring. around his neck, tepid from the heat of his chest. many things suddenly swirl and circle in sasha's mind, things that are true, things that aren't true, things that set him further alight with something that feels mindless, unfair, but uncontrollable.
with renewed vigour, he slams his palms into konstantin's chest and rolls away from him, a guttural, pained sound exploding from his throat, bordering almost on an aborted scream. he hopes it hurt. it was intended to hurt, not that a measure of physical pain can ever make up for all the hurt he's felt on the inside. ]
You... you —
[ he can't say it. he can't say anything. his tongue tries to form phrases like "piece of shit", but it can't cooperate with his brain or his mouth, and not even the flames of his miserable rage can coax it from him. he can barely see beyond the tears, and all he wants to do is scream, forget about trying to use his words and just scream. ]
wow i'm not done with you yet, u sand eating ho
Date: 2016-10-26 01:35 am (UTC)It should hurt.
Perhaps a million times more than it does, but it's enough for now, the way the chain digs into the back of his neck, the pressure of Sasha's hand shoving him backwards from him, the way they scramble apart like they're hot iron and cool water, afraid to touch in the forge. For a moment, Konstantin doesn't lift himself up, laying where he's been shoved, sprawled onto the sand deservingly.
You fucking fucked up
He did.
He really did.
He's fucked it all up and he's laying in the sand, cold and wet and Sasha's body is still a warm imprint on his palms, a failed attempted to catch him when he ought to have (and how many other times has he failed to do this? He won't even know, will he?) Konstantin listens, he bears the sound, the wail in his direction. It's a lamentation, a beast that Sasha has been holding for him, he can tell. His name is all over it, his essence, the pain he's brought him, and he sits up slowly to take it, body rigid with shame.
He leaves without word.
No note. No text. He leaves everything behind and shouldn't expect anything but this. ]
I'm sorry.
[ He says it softly, barely above a whisper. It sounds poisonous past his tongue, like he has no right . ] Sasha I'm... I'm sorry... I've...
[ His tongue trips, the clumsiest it's been in months. ]
I have no excuse. I have nothing. I'm not...
[ He thinks about blood, rewinds through a half-hearted kiss, through a small and beautiful wedding, through a romp in the early morning at a seaside motel, to soft, stolen kisses in the library, to a phone number bleeding through a napkin, fingers touching around a coffee cup when he smiles at who might be the sweetest man Konstantin has ever had the pleasure of writing a name on a cup for in marker.
Too good.
Nothing will be this good again and he's cocked it up.
The impulse to duck his head down and grab his hair is heavy, but he remains as he is, open-shouldered and ready for the brunt of more. You don't deserve to cower for this, you don't deserve forgiveness.
Is this judgement, then?
He opens his mouth, closes it.
Opens it again. ]
I've been selfish.
RELEASE ME FROM YOUR CLUTCHES, YOU MONSTER she says, furiously typing more
Date: 2016-10-26 02:00 am (UTC)konstantin had brought so much to his life. as such, he had also taken so much away when he left.
he expects that the ungainly mixture of despair, elation and fury paint an altogether ugly picture on his face. his mouth is open, his browns knitted and eyes immeasurably wide. for a moment, he chooses not to interrupt konstantin's murmurs, perhaps only because he needs to catch his breath. this is not a natural state of being, for sasha. these emotions do not fit well together, and they fit even less with him. but reason has flung itself into the waves and promptly drowned himself; reason is not what suddenly propels sasha forward again to slam his palms into konstantin's chest once more. ]
Selfish? You call this selfish? This is beyond... [ his movements jerk and twitch, not for a moment resembling sasha, a human that is by all measures, fidgety but naturally graceful, something increased over time with the regular dancing in his life. he scratches and grabs at the ring, tugs on its chain again, suddenly so close to konstantin that their faces almost touch, their breath mingling in the air between them. ] You... this ring, you kept it. You took this with you, you disappeared, you — you allowed my entire world to disintegrate into nothing. Why? No ‐ no, don't. Don't say it. Don't explain. [ he grits his teeth, his choked voice struggling to form the words, but trying so hard. ] You kept it. A piece of me — a tiny bit of comfort, while I... I sat around, thinking I... thinking that this, us, that you didn't —
[ he could never bring himself to put any of his thoughts about konstantin's disappearance into words. to confide in his sisters or, god forbid, his mother, was something he simply could not do, and now it is not easier. sasha's entire body shakes, and his words are suddenly broken by a number of noisy sobs as he visibly begins to shrink, ducking down, still clutching the ring for dear life. ]
God, why couldn't you... just say. Just talk to me, tell me you... you needed time, something, anything. Why would you let me think that you were done with me. [ somewhat involuntarily, he sinks just a little further, until his forehead smacks heavily against konstantin's chest, like all the energy is draining from his body. ] After all this time, how could you dare to think that I wouldn't try to understand, that I didn't love you regardless of anything. How could you be so fucking stupid?
[ his voice keeps thinning, reedy and pitching up and down uncomfortably as his tears start to soak into konstantin's clothes. his head is already pounding, aching like all of his pain suddenly physically manifest. ]
no subject
Date: 2016-10-26 03:09 pm (UTC)Sasha...
[ His hands come down softly, tenderly, and he lays them against his shoulder blades, ducking his head down slowly until he can feel the tickle of Sasha's hair, soft against his nose.
How could you be so fucking stupid? ]
I don't know. I don't know and I'm sorry.
[ He tightens his embrace now, not just hands, arms. ]
I'm sorry... I'm so sorry... I should never have left. I should never have just... fucked off like I did, it wasn't right. I...
[ His shoulders tremble now, and in this moment Konstantin has never felt so small, so weak. Sasha is a brilliant and blinding light and he can barely look at him straight, not without tears starting to prick at his eyes, voice pitching as he buries his face into his hair and clutches him.
Konstantin's voice wavers, lowers into a whispers as he breathes in, short and quick, keeping himself from a full sob.
(Sasha smells so familiar to him, consumes him. He clutches his hair.) ]
I wasn't thinking. I didn't think and I hurt you... I hurt you and I'm so--I'm so sorry.
[ I hurt you, and it wasn't fair. It wasn't fair to you, to anyone, but most of all to you. ]
no subject
Date: 2016-10-26 06:49 pm (UTC)he folds, tucks, shrinks. he could swear his body is growing smaller, muscle and bones retreating into themselves, making him as small as he could possibly be, but maybe that's because he always found himself so comforted in the embrace of konstantin's broad shoulders. another sob, and then one more, trembling and crashing through his body. ]
You shouldn't have.
[ said with pain, high pitched desperation.
with some degree of difficulty, he shifts his hands and winds them into konstantin's shirt, not caring how he tugs at the threads and fibres as he uses it to heave himself back upwards. the thought of looking konstantin straight in the eye makes him want to be sick (again), but he swallows the notion and lifts his blotchy, tear-stained face. slides his fingers up (oh, that skin, that neck) until his palms cup konstantin's face and hold it, perhaps more tightly than necessary.
don't you dare look away from me, say his hands. ]
I never thought pain like this existed. Same way I never... I never thought happiness like what I knew with you existed, s-so I suppose we've come full circle. You hurt me so much, Konstantin. [ his name is a stumble on his lips; he hasn't been able to say it aloud in a long time. ] But you hurt yourself, too, didn't you?
[ his thumb brushes against konstantin's cheek — instinct that he can't help. half involuntarily, owing to lost balance, and half because the magnetic pull he always had to konstantin has been hard to fight at the best of times, let alone the worst of them, he tips forward until their foreheads touch. ]
I wanted to hate you so much. I longed to despise you and excise you from my head. But I couldn't. Not for a second. [ a strangled sound, helpless and mortified. his voice grows smaller, a choked whisper. ] I just wanted you back. Every minute, every day, it's all I've wanted.
no subject
Date: 2016-11-20 04:52 pm (UTC)Konstantin bows his head to the words, even further when a thumb smoothes over his cheek, touches skin and soft, feathery scale high on his cheekbone, luminescent only in the right light, rough to fingers that wander and touch thin, fine skin that isn't quite skin anymore. He makes words with his lips, but the words never leave truly.
He reaches up hands slowly, climbs the fabric of his shirt to clutch at the base of his neck, to dig fingers in possessively. ]
I made you a promise... and I broke it. I broke everything about us...
[ He's not yours, says a voice. You ruined that. You destroyed that. But he clutches anyways, he clings desperately as Sasha chokes the words out in the smallest space between them. Konstantin could kiss him here, could hold his face close and kiss him softly like they used to. But he's well enough aware that he doesn't deserve this, that he doesn't even deserve their bodies uncomfortably tangled on the beach, knowing nothing more than each other after so long.
Sorry doesn't fix the time he's ruined.
Apologies don't stitch back together gashes he's made, long, bloody furrows in the space between them.
He tips his head up softly, pressing their temples together as he closes his eyes and hums softly. He remembers warm, balmy nights early on, before the idea of forever, maybe when he'd lay his fingers on the smooth sides of his temples and soothe away the heat and the fever, the teeth and the fire for the night. He hums, and it's a song that is old, but just for Sasha, a lullaby crafted out of love, from notes that Konstantin had chosen night after night until they were perfect. ]
no subject
Date: 2016-11-20 05:42 pm (UTC)[ the words end abruptly as a fresh sob fights its way up sasha's throat, and simultaneously spills from his mouth and his eyes. the pressure of konstantin's fingers on his neck makes him shiver and shudder, an old fire is set ablaze once again in his stomach but almost as quickly extinguished by all the tears that not only drip down his face, but down the outline of his soul. the battle between familiarity and pain is unusual, unstoppable, because both sides are fuelled by something that is bigger than both the two men tangled together in the sand.
he almost wants to laugh when konstantin starts to hum. a tune he knows so well, one that has always been their own. as comforting as a warm palm against his own, a kiss to the temple and fingers carding through his hair when he's gone a little too long between cuts, mussed and made amusingly taller. different sides of the emotional spectrum continue to claw at each other, but sasha is comforted. he can't help that, that all the burning thoughts simmer down upon hearing that beautiful little song.
when sasha speaks again, his voice is a hoarse whisper. calmer, but no less charged with jolts of sadness. ]
Why is it still so hard to make you understand? [ konstantin is wrong. apologies do start to mend the wounds that were made. they certainly won't heal them all — oh, the wounds are far too numerous for that — but it's foolish, in sasha's mind, to discount the help that a single stitch can do. one wound closed, many more to be seen to. but they can be seen to. ] Maybe... maybe I'm the one that doesn't understand. Do you not want my forgiveness? At all, ever? Do you want me to tell you, yes, you broke everything and ruined it. And then what?
[ the ragged trembles of his shoulders start to slow. although his vision remains blurred from the steady stream of water running from his eyes, the initial storm of feeling is starting to clear. ]
You did break the promise. You did. You had a reason, I'm sure of it, but that doesn't excuse it. It doesn't... fix anything, the reason. But you do. You're here. You wouldn't be here if you weren't at least hoping for something good to come out of this. I mean —
[ he makes a frustrated noise. ]
You're here to give me closure, to explain and lessen some of the hurt you caused me — but you keep talking like you've not picked up some of the broken pieces by coming here. You hold me like you have. Your hands beg for me to take back those pieces and start putting them together again. And I will, [ he breathes, barely audible but inescapably determined, ] if you stop talking like that.