Do you love someone or are you in love with someone? Which is it? He doesn’t know. He’s never used that particular word to describe that particular emotion, an emotion he has never understood. He rationalizes that it’s not because he’s incapable of understanding it, it’s because he does
Where have you been all this?
I don’t know. Somewhere, I guess.
I want to thank my parents, but I’m never going to say it to them. I’m at that awkward age.
He is a little drunk and she is letting him get away with small touches an
Life is such a mess sometimes. He’s tangled up in her sheets, her limbs, her hair. He is such a mess sometimes.
He’s scared, a little too far gone to be called back but he’s holding the door open just a crack for someone to reach a hand through and wedge it open. He wants to be saved. That is his only truth and he knows it. He runs from it because it terrifies him that he needs to saved, wants to be saved and might never be. A sliver of light slips in from the outside, leaking into his abyss, a needle penetrating the skin of his nightmare.
She recognizes the sound instantly and instinctively as if she’s heard it a thousand times before. She is cradled in his trembling arms and hugged tightly to his heaving chest. He says something, an apology maybe, but all she hears as she slowly regains consciousness is the overwhelming sound of his heartbeat, the burning of a violent flame.
Time before they knew each other, time neither wants or needs to remember, like fading colors on a palette of broken memories: the estranged child of a brilliant but obsessive alchemist and the foster child adopted into a makeshift family.
When he was young, the first time he put on his uniform as an officer, the first time he buttoned up the jacket all the way, he thought that this blue -the blue of his uniform- was the most perfect shade of blue. It was a blue that matched the color of the sky, a blue on which he would build his dreams.
The little girl’s father had left her on the steps of the First Branch of the Central Library, disappearing into the labyrinthine bookshelves to research his sacred alchemy, things too difficult and too complicated for her to understand. The little boy was running an errand for his mother, the soles of his loafers pounding against cobblestone streets as he raced through the city, hands clutching a grocery list and pocket jingling with money.
This was before their beginning, a time in the distant past when nothing truly mattered and they were still young, childish even, unformed shapes waiting to be filled. And, a girl caught the attention of a boy with a charmingly disarming smile.
He tricked her, she realizes later, plain and simple. Back then, he had tricked her.
Perfect blue.
The first time he puts on his uniform as an officer, the first time he buttons up his jacket all the way, the first time he blouses his trousers over his black combat boots, he thinks to himself that this blue – the blue of his uniform – must be the most perfect shade of blue. The shade of blue that fishermen see in the ocean, the shade of blue that astronauts see in the sky, the shade of blue on which he would to build his dreams and the shade of blue that only an idealist and optimist would see in this country.
Then, he goes to war. And on the Ishvallan battlefield, the carcass of a land laid to waste by his very hands, he mourns. His uniform is covered in ash, sand and blood, it reeks of smoke and death and no matter how he tries after the war, he cannot walk away from the nightmare and he cannot see, every time he puts on his uniform, every time he buttons up his jacket all the way, every time he blouses his trousers over his black combat boots, the same shade of perfect blue.
A World for Two People.
She is already done with her work for the day, so she sorts through tomorrow’s pile of papers. He is rushing to catch up with yesterday’s work, frustrated and tired of the relentless amount of banal bureaucracy that is his daily existence. Occasionally he sneaks glances at his adjutant, but his eyes do not dare linger a moment too long; her senses and her eyes are much sharper than his.
“My God! It’s already dark out, Lieutenant.” He attempts to start a conversation, try to fish his way out of work. He swivels around in his chair to face the city nightscape and stretches, letting out a yawn.
“Focus on your work, sir. Or, we’ll be here even later.”
Trying to make his unhappiness as visible as possible, he sulkily refocuses his attention on first battalion’s planned night exercises at 0100 tomorrow. He begins to draw a small dog in the corner of the page. First, he draws the face and snout, punctuated by a small round nose and two eyes. Then, adding the characteristic arch of black fur over the eyes, he moves on to the body, the paws and finally the tail. For a few minutes, he is wholly absorbed in his doodle. He struggles, for several long hours and through several more dog doodles, before he is finished with even a half of his work and she finally relents.
“Yes!” He makes a noise that is half groan and half yawn, collapsing on top of his desk.
She lingers by the door, her black coat folded neatly over one arm, waiting for him to finish packing up for the night. The hallways are dark save for squares of moonlight cut by window panes. He throws on his own coat with a flourish and literally bounces out of the office. At first, she wants to remind him that there is still more work left to be done but she can only respond to the childish joy on his face with a beleaguered grin of her own.
Fetching keys from her uniform pocket, she locks the office door. As she turns to leave, suddenly, she feels his arms wrap around her waist, his arms coming to rest in the curve of her back. The moonlight casts a mysterious glow over her face, reflecting deliciously off her lips and amber eyes wide with surprise. In a smooth, almost trained, motion, he releases her hair clip, letting her hair fall to her shoulders and into his hand. He presses his forehead to hers, never breaking their steady gaze. She understands the look in his eyes, a look that too easily betrays what he really wants to say. So, she responds, reaffirming his unspoken feelings.
Finally, she closes her eyes, a gesture of submission and acceptance and mostly, of need and of want. He draws her close, her hair tickling his face and kisses her, gently, passionately, quietly, the sort of kiss that speaks volumes and nothing at the same time, the sort of kiss that lovers exchange when both are consumed by the entirety of the each other’s being, the sort of kiss that leaves no room for anyone else but them.
Quietly, he slips his ungloved hand into hers and as they leave headquarters for the evening, as the building dwindles to silence save for the sound of their receding footsteps, it feels as if this night, this world exists only for the two of them.
Look Over Here
He doesn’t remember what made him do it. He doesn’t believe in fate or destiny, or anything of that sort, but at that moment he felt the pull of something much greater than himself, a divine and magnetic attraction toward her.
“Hey,” he says, “look over here.”
As she turns to look, he gives her a light peck on the lips, catching her completely off guard. Her face is red and her lips gently parted. “What—”
And then, he does it again.