Work Text:
The sun and the moon slow their dance and hold each other in their arms, unwilling to depart, unwilling to step forwards or back. They stay still, paused, letting Time take a minute to rest, too. Frost covers the long-gone leaves of trees, leaving ice to mold the phantoms of what was, weaving veins that catch the final rays of the Sun’s dance just right, letting it glisten and sway, crystalizing so delicately that a single breath might make them melt or shatter, crunch and break apart on the stone cold ground, leaving it to glisten like snow and nothing more, no indication of the sculpture ever having existed.
His line of movement bends and wavers with the wind, excusing itself and blaming the sky for its own intentions. He steps slightly to the left, the sole of his right shoe crushing a frail twig that stands in his way, sending a noise that breaks through the silence of the cold, wintering air, pulsing through his ears and down his back. It makes Chung shiver the way the cold doesn’t. He closes his eyes, trusting he won’t walk into a tree-that he won't be let walk into a tree-and reaches out, slightly to the left, finding his finger touching cold, cracking skin- unhealthy in a strange, comforting way. The air feels fluffy.
He wiggles his fingers a bit closer and the skin-a hand moves to meet it. It embraces his fingers, loosely, not trapping him, but still tight as if to say ‘I’m here’. He hears a sigh-though, no different from any of the others but one he’s come to trust isn’t tired or sick. Never tired or sick of Chung. His fingers trace The cold, cracking skin of Add’s hand, running lines over the way the skin folds and where it scars, swimming circles over where it’s hard and jagged, where it’s rough and where it’s healing. The skin feels warm, then. Add grips him a little tighter.
He’s not quite sure what he’s supposed to feel, but whatever it is feels fluffy. He opens his eyes and the Sun and Moon resume their dance. The stars shine brighter, somehow.