Work Text:
Sometimes, Giyuu can swear his eyes are not open.
It such a strange sensation, yet too familiar to even worry about. He stretches his eyelids, fixates his gaze on a target and sees its shape — for all he is worth he can’t understand it. His tongue tingles and his fingers move without command, all he can perceive is a veil. He can’t touch it, that thin malleable fabric covering him and the world and the voice of whoever speaks to him, as it dissolves as soon as it grows. It gets stuck in his throat, he heaves but not really, and makes breathing harder, insufficient, unfinishable.
Perhaps he has been doing it wrong all these years.
Sabito’s hands should feel warm over his thighs, should draw patterns he can follow on his skin or maybe should burn each of his limbs until there was nothing left. The touches are nothing but shredded threads, Giyuu scrambles to get a hold of them and he aches to join them together by the ends for a sliver of coherence; instead, they tie around his knuckles and incapacitate him. He throws his head back, begs for a beginning or an ending, a simple way out of a timeless, unidimensional maze.
It should feel like something. Sabito, Sabito, Sabito, and at a point between the start and the middle he is sure it did. His back to the floor and his chest to another chest and that must be a map easy enough for him to follow — there shouldn’t be much left to do and he has this vague sense of the steps. On top of him there is a flowing river and doesn’t matter how tightly he clings to Sabito’s shoulders it keeps washing over him, knocking him out cold and cold and cold.
So quick, so slow, and so halted. Giyuu fits his face on the curve of the boy’s neck and waits for the world to go back to its normal movements. Breathing in deeply, Sabito’s scent is both air and liquid, but right now the mix feels less fathal and more indispensable.
Giyuu closes his eyes, counts to ten and doesn’t open them.