[Like that sense of freefall. That weightless, suspended feeling of absolute zero-g. Those moments where air is rushing through and past you, where you're safe and in the middle of danger all at once. Before the parachute, the safety measures, kick in and drag you back down to earth with a sudden jerk and crash. And everything about you you'd forgotten or pushed aside steamrolls back into focus.]
[All things considered, he'll take the freefall.]
[He'll take this affection, this air around him, over the gravity of the ground below. Over the thought of loss worse than when he'd felt the Darkling go. Worse than knowing how many lives you were responsible for. That was like being shot.]
[Losing this would be like hitting the ground with no safety measures. No restraints or something to pull the velocity back.]
(I... know you want that. I want to believe that.)
[Even in his mind, his voice comes out strained. Thick. Those times when your life support flickers and you're inhaling recycled oxygen.]
(I'm not going anywhere, either. If I can help it.)
[ Sam'd give almost anything to make sure that Shiro doesn't have to feel loss like that. It's not something he'd ever expected, and even now he has trouble wrapping his head around it - but Shiro'd made it clear that he feels the same way about the idea of something happening to Sam as Sam does about something happening to Shiro, so Sam makes a point of keeping it in mind.
They've both already lost too much, and Sam knows that there's probably more for both of them to lose. He won't make himself one of Shiro's.
If I can help it, Shiro says, and there's a quiet hum of agreement. It's practical, and it's what Sam means, too. As long as he can help it, as long as there's something he can do about it, Shiro won't lose him.
But he hears what Shiro doesn't say, what Sam had been the one to point out. It's hard to accept I'm not going anywhere when they both know that Shiro will.
It's bittersweet, and for a moment Sam's chest his tight with emotion he doesn't know how to release, with things he can't even really name. It's been a long, long time since he felt something like that.
He doesn't want to dwell on it. ]
(How about we focus on living for right now? I don't know about you, but I just got my love confession returned and that seems like a damn good reason to kiss you.)
[You always hit the ground. You always touch back down, gravity always comes back around to pull your legs in again. Just like responsibility and duty are always going to come back and drag him out of this.]
[He's always going to have a fight to go back to. No matter how many layers of clouds and starlight he drowns himself in. And they both know it.]
[He won't ask me to stay / ... did you want him to?]
(Hey... hey, if you wanted to hear that... all you had to do was ask.)
[The words come out shaky. Some fragile, wounded things. Like he's trying to fight to get the words out in a way he never had to before -- not with Sam. When in reality, it's a struggle to keep a straight face after this. Scrubbing the heel of his hand over his face in an effort to make everything look normal. Make it look like the crackling, breaking feeling in his chest had never happened.]
[Even though it's the first time it ever happened in a good way.]
[He's never, ever said those words like this. He wasn't expecting them to hurt. To pull his feet in the direction of that voice in his head. Like there's a magnet connecting them. Pieces of metal in each others' chests.]
[Tugging until it won't feel right until they meet.]
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sizeofyourbaggage) wrote2016-05-22 03:26 pm
no subject
[Like that sense of freefall. That weightless, suspended feeling of absolute zero-g. Those moments where air is rushing through and past you, where you're safe and in the middle of danger all at once. Before the parachute, the safety measures, kick in and drag you back down to earth with a sudden jerk and crash. And everything about you you'd forgotten or pushed aside steamrolls back into focus.]
[All things considered, he'll take the freefall.]
[He'll take this affection, this air around him, over the gravity of the ground below. Over the thought of loss worse than when he'd felt the Darkling go. Worse than knowing how many lives you were responsible for. That was like being shot.]
[Losing this would be like hitting the ground with no safety measures. No restraints or something to pull the velocity back.]
(I... know you want that. I want to believe that.)
[Even in his mind, his voice comes out strained. Thick. Those times when your life support flickers and you're inhaling recycled oxygen.]
(I'm not going anywhere, either. If I can help it.)
[Not until he has to. And they both know that.]
no subject
They've both already lost too much, and Sam knows that there's probably more for both of them to lose. He won't make himself one of Shiro's.
If I can help it, Shiro says, and there's a quiet hum of agreement. It's practical, and it's what Sam means, too. As long as he can help it, as long as there's something he can do about it, Shiro won't lose him.
But he hears what Shiro doesn't say, what Sam had been the one to point out. It's hard to accept I'm not going anywhere when they both know that Shiro will.
It's bittersweet, and for a moment Sam's chest his tight with emotion he doesn't know how to release, with things he can't even really name. It's been a long, long time since he felt something like that.
He doesn't want to dwell on it. ]
( How about we focus on living for right now? I don't know about you, but I just got my love confession returned and that seems like a damn good reason to kiss you. )
no subject
[He's always going to have a fight to go back to. No matter how many layers of clouds and starlight he drowns himself in. And they both know it.]
[He won't ask me to stay / ... did you want him to?]
(Hey... hey, if you wanted to hear that... all you had to do was ask.)
[The words come out shaky. Some fragile, wounded things. Like he's trying to fight to get the words out in a way he never had to before -- not with Sam. When in reality, it's a struggle to keep a straight face after this. Scrubbing the heel of his hand over his face in an effort to make everything look normal. Make it look like the crackling, breaking feeling in his chest had never happened.]
[Even though it's the first time it ever happened in a good way.]
[He's never, ever said those words like this. He wasn't expecting them to hurt. To pull his feet in the direction of that voice in his head. Like there's a magnet connecting them. Pieces of metal in each others' chests.]
[Tugging until it won't feel right until they meet.]
(Are you going to make me look for you?)