[ Giving him pieces without giving him the full picture.
Tentative steps into the clearance. A skeleton of his truth, because Gaelio cannot possibly have room left in his heart to accept the full picture -- past revival, grasping for Bael, McGillis continues to make sure to sever that possibility without actualizing it, committed to burning alone. Committed, except the eyes across from him remain serious and engaged as he tests stepping on a different path. Breadcrumbs to follow in a dark forest. A cheek tilting into his palm, scar tissue rubbed against callouses, more than receptive to each clumsy offering.
Hurt, flashing through those moonlit blue eyes, to hear McGillis speak of the lack of foundation. A bridge built over a pit, with only one of them looking down, waiting for the support structures to give. Despite the number of years, a temporary joining. The longer they went without addressing it, the more convinced he'd been.
It wouldn't have mattered to me, your blood.
A cloud permeates the film of his eyes.
That was what he'd strove for, with every inch of strength he could muster and build upon; the new world where it wouldn't have mattered. Each individual's version of happiness would be reachable there. They would only need to want it for themselves. No barriers, no scripts, no decrepit ruling class, no iron fist. In a larger context, it's the dream that mesmerizes, soothes and envelops him warmly, close to what he imagines a parent's warmth might be. In this shrunken version, where Gaelio tells him there was a smaller world where that was already true, a clicking sound in his mind begins as he struggles to sort the response.
if we were happy
Click. Fog, and hurt, matching his counterpart. Lines crinkle about his eyes. A moment of distraction, pained exhaustion blotting out surroundings.
Happiness? Something like it. Something missing. Fingers drift against the nape of his neck, light and distracting. How the flesh he thought was dead would wake whenever that animated presence would lean against his shoulder. A clicking sound, sorting through the years against the backdrop of Gaelio's voice.
The fog abating, as his voice winds around to words already once spoken. McGillis's eyes darken to life and hook to the sound, a knowing exhale given, lightly expelled through the nose.
Yet he will be mesmerized by what follows: if the tone is true, a new realization that speaks to complex facets that had gone unnoticed. By the both of them. His eyes widen to hear it, surprise for the breadth and the depth of meaning. For how it sprawls into life and takes form in front of him. Gaelio latching onto the only way he thought he could remain a fixture at McGillis's side, a sharp ache forming in the wake of those words -- his fingers shift in sync, pads pressing harder against bone structure.
He swallows. It's more than he was prepared to take.
What he has done to Gaelio is more unforgivable than he knew -- trapping him in this cage. The only way to loosen the bars will be to meet him at the middle and to begin to remove them together.
Do they begin?
Swallowing the pocket of air in his throat, he moves his hands, disrupting Gaelio's perched one. Fingers climb around to pull from the back of his head, from the width of a shoulder-blade, McGillis stepping in to hold him closer. Stepping into a hold that resembles a cradle, temple sliding against temple. ]
You've already reached me. I've already acknowledged you. I see you, I've seen you. For two years you've remained at my side, ghostly, but present. Always there. You're always there. I --
[ Until the ghost became real. Until he rose to life.
Straining, understanding that it would mean his destruction, straining against going after him a second time. Not until Gaelio came to meet him at Bael. Not until Gaelio found him again on the battlefield. Not until Gaelio locked him into the necessity of it -- deal with this, deal with him, or else cease moving forward.
The sound of Isurugi's voice in his head, reporting on Gaelio Bauduin's last known status. Low and unspoken in his tone had been the expectation that the general would comment aloud and begin to plan their next move. ]
Should have told you sooner, shouldn't I have?
[ The weight of realizations, like creaking hinges. His voice strains against it, exhaustion bleeding at the core of everything.
Everything he strove for, everything he strove against. Gaelio at his side the entire time, neither of them aware that they continued to move in sync while they separated out as far as they could possibly separate. ]
I should've told you what you meant to me. I couldn't let go either, not even after what I'd done. Where does that leave us now?
[ An honest question. Too much blood spilled, thick in the air between them, yet they cling and cling.
Gaelio chasing him for reasons that cause his heart to stir anew, however bloody the path. ]
What you call masks -- it's skin. I had to live through it. I had to breathe. Can you understand? I still breathed you in.
[ Shucking past the layers, the skin that kept him safe, to the person that kept him safe. His heart thrums in his ears to speak as much, his grip shifting against shoulders. His fingers buried against hair -- a grip forming there too, twisting. ]
I wasn't happy. It was real. You were my friend. My only friend.
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Tentative steps into the clearance. A skeleton of his truth, because Gaelio cannot possibly have room left in his heart to accept the full picture -- past revival, grasping for Bael, McGillis continues to make sure to sever that possibility without actualizing it, committed to burning alone. Committed, except the eyes across from him remain serious and engaged as he tests stepping on a different path. Breadcrumbs to follow in a dark forest. A cheek tilting into his palm, scar tissue rubbed against callouses, more than receptive to each clumsy offering.
Hurt, flashing through those moonlit blue eyes, to hear McGillis speak of the lack of foundation. A bridge built over a pit, with only one of them looking down, waiting for the support structures to give. Despite the number of years, a temporary joining. The longer they went without addressing it, the more convinced he'd been.
It wouldn't have mattered to me, your blood.
A cloud permeates the film of his eyes.
That was what he'd strove for, with every inch of strength he could muster and build upon; the new world where it wouldn't have mattered. Each individual's version of happiness would be reachable there. They would only need to want it for themselves. No barriers, no scripts, no decrepit ruling class, no iron fist. In a larger context, it's the dream that mesmerizes, soothes and envelops him warmly, close to what he imagines a parent's warmth might be. In this shrunken version, where Gaelio tells him there was a smaller world where that was already true, a clicking sound in his mind begins as he struggles to sort the response.
if we were happy
Click. Fog, and hurt, matching his counterpart. Lines crinkle about his eyes. A moment of distraction, pained exhaustion blotting out surroundings.
Happiness? Something like it. Something missing. Fingers drift against the nape of his neck, light and distracting. How the flesh he thought was dead would wake whenever that animated presence would lean against his shoulder. A clicking sound, sorting through the years against the backdrop of Gaelio's voice.
The fog abating, as his voice winds around to words already once spoken. McGillis's eyes darken to life and hook to the sound, a knowing exhale given, lightly expelled through the nose.
Yet he will be mesmerized by what follows: if the tone is true, a new realization that speaks to complex facets that had gone unnoticed. By the both of them. His eyes widen to hear it, surprise for the breadth and the depth of meaning. For how it sprawls into life and takes form in front of him. Gaelio latching onto the only way he thought he could remain a fixture at McGillis's side, a sharp ache forming in the wake of those words -- his fingers shift in sync, pads pressing harder against bone structure.
He swallows. It's more than he was prepared to take.
What he has done to Gaelio is more unforgivable than he knew -- trapping him in this cage. The only way to loosen the bars will be to meet him at the middle and to begin to remove them together.
Do they begin?
Swallowing the pocket of air in his throat, he moves his hands, disrupting Gaelio's perched one. Fingers climb around to pull from the back of his head, from the width of a shoulder-blade, McGillis stepping in to hold him closer. Stepping into a hold that resembles a cradle, temple sliding against temple. ]
You've already reached me. I've already acknowledged you. I see you, I've seen you. For two years you've remained at my side, ghostly, but present. Always there. You're always there. I --
[ Until the ghost became real. Until he rose to life.
Straining, understanding that it would mean his destruction, straining against going after him a second time. Not until Gaelio came to meet him at Bael. Not until Gaelio found him again on the battlefield. Not until Gaelio locked him into the necessity of it -- deal with this, deal with him, or else cease moving forward.
The sound of Isurugi's voice in his head, reporting on Gaelio Bauduin's last known status. Low and unspoken in his tone had been the expectation that the general would comment aloud and begin to plan their next move. ]
Should have told you sooner, shouldn't I have?
[ The weight of realizations, like creaking hinges. His voice strains against it, exhaustion bleeding at the core of everything.
Everything he strove for, everything he strove against. Gaelio at his side the entire time, neither of them aware that they continued to move in sync while they separated out as far as they could possibly separate. ]
I should've told you what you meant to me. I couldn't let go either, not even after what I'd done. Where does that leave us now?
[ An honest question. Too much blood spilled, thick in the air between them, yet they cling and cling.
Gaelio chasing him for reasons that cause his heart to stir anew, however bloody the path. ]
What you call masks -- it's skin. I had to live through it. I had to breathe. Can you understand? I still breathed you in.
[ Shucking past the layers, the skin that kept him safe, to the person that kept him safe. His heart thrums in his ears to speak as much, his grip shifting against shoulders. His fingers buried against hair -- a grip forming there too, twisting. ]
I wasn't happy. It was real. You were my friend. My only friend.