lrvzender
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“I think he missed you all the time,” she said then. “Even when you were there.”
“I understand it now.”
The sentiment of waiting for someone that may never come back. He used to be so mad at Gordon all the time, for worrying and worrying and worrying, for the permanent wrinkle between his brows, the smiles that he faked and the sleepless nights he spent watching over Warren like he would disappear in the blink of an eye. He used to be so mad that he acted as if he was dying on purpose every two weeks. He used to be so mad that it was true.
(where Gordon haunts Warren's every awake minute, and the only way to get through it is to talk with someone who understands)
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Warren remembers the shuddering warmth and the unbearable notion that was Gordon’s arms tentatively wrapped around his waist, a hand resting at the small of his back. His lips had trembled something into the archive room that he couldn’t have deciphered then but had spent night after night looming over.
I miss you all the time, Gordon had said. Warren never felt like any time would pass between their encounters, hypersleep after hypersleep, but something at the very center of him still understood, intrinsically, what Gordon had meant. A pang in his chest reminded him that he too, felt the same loneliness in his bones in the final moments of his coherence whenever he drifted away, that the very integral part of him has gone missing.
(where Warren sits and listens to the rain with Gordon)
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A pair of lips press shakily on his temple. Charles Rowland’s blood definitely runs hot, Edwin decides, definitely.
“You’re not asking anything, mate. But you have to understand that you are worth saving, a thousand times over. You are worth knowing, Edwin.”
Something bigger than the whole, wide sky. Something bigger than death, perhaps.
(where Edwin does not ask to be known, but Charles knows anyway)
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Warren quietly laughs. It's more out of kindness if anything, it’s almost as if he’s a dying star. Gordon wishes they were constellations lying next to each other instead. They could collapse in towards each other in their last moments and maybe create a black hole so strong that nothing could escape their embrace; especially one another.
“I wished that you would sleep," Warren says when enough time has passed. The words leave his mouth like they were always meant to, right at this moment, exactly this way. His breath is surprisingly hot on Gordon’s face.
(Warren sleeps. Gordon doesn't.)
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He answers, though, when asked if he is going to be there when Warren wakes up and if he thinks they’re going to be alright at the end. Yes, Gordon says, simply, beautifully, and yes again. I am going to be here and we are going to be alright.
He seems to believe it, and so will Warren.
(or, Warren simply realizes that Gordon cares maybe a bit too much about his stupid wool allergy)