Work Text:
It’s stupid, and he knows it.
It’s a nonsensical fantasy, a longing he keeps buried deep within his heart, concealed under merciless machinations and corrupted ideals. It’s a pipe dream, a weakness he cannot afford to cultivate.
And yet, it hangs materialised on the dark wall of his office, its soft blues and greens and its delicate golden frame absurdly out of place in such a room.
Sometimes, in the early hours of the morning, when the lights are dim and the door is locked, he lifts his head up from his stack of paperwork, and lets his mind wander, just for a moment. His eyes get lost in the rolling hills and the clear blue sky; he can almost feel its pure air filling up his lungs. The walls of his office blur, and the painting expands, carrying him past the green pastures and the towering trees.
He’s sitting on the wooden stairs of an old farmhouse; the sun gently traces the outlines of his scars, enveloping his aching muscles into a warm embrace. A lazy summer breeze plays with his longer, messier hair, and for once, he doesn’t push back the locks that fall out of place.
The field in front of him seems to stretch out forever, its golden wheat glimmering under the late afternoon’s sun. A lone silhouette skips past him, giggling, her run almost turning into a dance, a song spilling from her lips.
His heart melts as he looks at her saunter away. He would burn the entire world down to see her like this, smiling a real smile, radiant, carefree, happy.
They could leave. They could walk away and leave them all behind, the half-alive zaunites and the filthy rich pilties. They would have nothing but each other, and that would be enough.
A sharp knock on the door jolts him back to reality. It’s cold in his office. It’s dark.
« Boss? »
Sevika. She sounds pissed.
With a deep sigh, he gets up from his chair, smoothing his hair back into place.
«What is it?» he asks as he unlocks the door.
She starts raving about some attack, but he’s not listening. His gaze doesn’t leave the picture, and after a while, he cuts her off in the middle of her rant.
«Sevika?»
«Yes?»
«Get rid of that painting.»