Work Text:
A dim light filtered through the blinds and through the dust that fluttered in the room, gently wrapping around every object; the desk lamp, monitors, and the silhouette of his unconscious body. He lay still on the mattress, his stomach inflating and deflating in a robotic fashion every once in a while.
It all happened so fast. Your family, your home; your perception of this planet. It all changed so suddenly. You never knew the wicked truths that lingered underneath the soft fabric, the seams opened to release the horrors and monsters you were hidden away from. With your shelter gone and lost, you had to search for a new place. If anything, you couldn’t call it “home.”
The room was completely silent, only the subtle beeping of a heart monitor could be heard. It pulsed at a steady, consistent rate, bouncing off of the walls and furniture. It danced on his chest, and rang in your ear. It spoke of how the azure berries bled red, smothered all over your clothes and hands — his blood.
He couldn’t eat it, so he always held the berry carefully in between his cold, armored hands. He gave them a squeeze or two, only to hand you it back. It always seemed so stupid, yet gave you comfort and a growing warmth inside your chest. It carried the fruit you’ve been searching for, seeping color and sweetness onto this monochromatic land. If anything, you wanted to call it “home.”
You clutched onto his hands, remembering how this shell used to be alive. Remembering how his body used to embrace you with his arms, giving you shelter. The times you could patch up his bullet wounds and call it a day instead of praying for a sign of life. “Wake up, wake up,” you tearfully cried, yet weren’t you the one who shot him down?
“It’s the right thing,” you thought at the time. Holes obliterated into his armor without hesitation, as you gazed blankly into the visors of his helmet. He shot back a few times, only hitting your shoulders and missing the rest out of hesitation. His hands shook, both of pain and fear. In contrast, your hands held firm, though your left felt a bit loose. With the only one you could turn to perish, you had no one to turn to.
If anything, it can’t be “home.”