cha...incomplete fics are incomplete
an attempt at longer angst...and failure at longer angst
pairing: mir/pick a person...any person
The rain patters against the windows, saltless tears brimming on night-blackened eyes. I listen to you breathe across the line. The phone is your lifeline, the lifeline I always wanted to be. Yet I know I can’t untangle the dark web weaving around your mind and, so, I am not your lifeline. I am more threat than rescue, the unwelcome light your darkened mind continues to shy from. Still, you call.
“It hurts tonight, Chullie. It hurts every night.”
I inhale, watch a raindrop slip down the glass, following its weeping zigzag path into oblivion. “It doesn’t always have to hurt.”
“I know. You tell me every single time we talk. But it still hurts.” Your voice trembles and my exhalation matches the shaky rhythm.
“There are ways to ease the pain.” I trace droplet patterns over the glass. “You refuse to try any of them.”
There is a pause. Silence so heavy I feel the weight of it in my chest. “I’m scared, Chullie.”
“Scared of what? Not hurting anymore?”
Shaky breathing. “Yes. I’m scared of not hurting anymore. What is there after the pain, Chullie? What is there?”
“Life. Love. Joy.” I turn my back on the weeping world outside. “Laughter. Fun. There is so much after the pain. But you have to want it.”
I can practically hear you thinking over the distance. One of the most fascinating things about you is your ability to broadcast the workings of your mind without ever revealing the contents. Unless you want them known.
“Even with the pain, I know those, Chullie. I know you have never believed me. I do know how to laugh and love and have fun.”
“But it is all blunted by the pain.”
“If you take the pain away, what is left then? Taking the pain away, such a huge part of me, will anything be left? Or will it be a hole?”
“I don’t know. I really don’t know.”
A sharp anxious breath stabbed into my ear. “There could be a hole. A hole so large it is the same shape as me. Then I am nothing. My personality is gone. I am gone.” Silence again. Only I recognize this silence as burdened with the saline slipping from your eyes, dripping slowly down pale cheeks and over a sharp jaw line.
I use to know that jaw line. I remember tracing it with fingertips and lips. I remember nibbling over the bone to your ear lobe where I’d whisper dirty suggestions or sweet words.
“Oh god, Chullie, your lips feel so good.” You moaned as I skimmed over the taut skin of your jaw and down your arched neck. “Chullie, Chullie, Chullie.” You chanted my name like a mantra through panting breaths.
I traced my tongue over your beading nipple, feeling goose bumps rising on your skin from the shiver of pleasure running from your nipple into your entire body. Always so sensitive to touch, always so needy for the contact.
pairing: mir/pick a person...any person
The rain patters against the windows, saltless tears brimming on night-blackened eyes. I listen to you breathe across the line. The phone is your lifeline, the lifeline I always wanted to be. Yet I know I can’t untangle the dark web weaving around your mind and, so, I am not your lifeline. I am more threat than rescue, the unwelcome light your darkened mind continues to shy from. Still, you call.
“It hurts tonight, Chullie. It hurts every night.”
I inhale, watch a raindrop slip down the glass, following its weeping zigzag path into oblivion. “It doesn’t always have to hurt.”
“I know. You tell me every single time we talk. But it still hurts.” Your voice trembles and my exhalation matches the shaky rhythm.
“There are ways to ease the pain.” I trace droplet patterns over the glass. “You refuse to try any of them.”
There is a pause. Silence so heavy I feel the weight of it in my chest. “I’m scared, Chullie.”
“Scared of what? Not hurting anymore?”
Shaky breathing. “Yes. I’m scared of not hurting anymore. What is there after the pain, Chullie? What is there?”
“Life. Love. Joy.” I turn my back on the weeping world outside. “Laughter. Fun. There is so much after the pain. But you have to want it.”
I can practically hear you thinking over the distance. One of the most fascinating things about you is your ability to broadcast the workings of your mind without ever revealing the contents. Unless you want them known.
“Even with the pain, I know those, Chullie. I know you have never believed me. I do know how to laugh and love and have fun.”
“But it is all blunted by the pain.”
“If you take the pain away, what is left then? Taking the pain away, such a huge part of me, will anything be left? Or will it be a hole?”
“I don’t know. I really don’t know.”
A sharp anxious breath stabbed into my ear. “There could be a hole. A hole so large it is the same shape as me. Then I am nothing. My personality is gone. I am gone.” Silence again. Only I recognize this silence as burdened with the saline slipping from your eyes, dripping slowly down pale cheeks and over a sharp jaw line.
I use to know that jaw line. I remember tracing it with fingertips and lips. I remember nibbling over the bone to your ear lobe where I’d whisper dirty suggestions or sweet words.
“Oh god, Chullie, your lips feel so good.” You moaned as I skimmed over the taut skin of your jaw and down your arched neck. “Chullie, Chullie, Chullie.” You chanted my name like a mantra through panting breaths.
I traced my tongue over your beading nipple, feeling goose bumps rising on your skin from the shiver of pleasure running from your nipple into your entire body. Always so sensitive to touch, always so needy for the contact.