Work Text:
Blurry images, muted sounds. Everything is moving fast, and you’re tired, so tired, you can barely keep your eyes open. You try to focus: a crowd running from something, shouting, clashing. Everything is in shades of gray. All you can see are feet rushing past. You’re lying on the ground.
Why do you feel so horrible, why… Did you get shitfaced again? How much does someone need to drink, smoke, snort, inject to not even be able to get up? What are you even conscious for? Why do you need to see this when you’re useless to stop it?
What did you have to do again? There was something. Are you late for work? An hour late, no, a day, no, you were fired years ago… Who asked you to do this? Nobody is there, nothing is there. Oh, Dolores, why are you still conscious? You’re not needed here.
Revachol tries to say something, but you can’t make it out. And she’s wailing, she’s hurting. Her screaming is deafening, head-splitting. Maybe now the whole crowd can hear it, too.
You must… You must find someone. Whom? Or, you must do something. What was it? No. You’re already late, you’ve been asleep for too long, you got wasted again, you failed them, you lost them.
It’s all because of you, it’s all you. You destroyed yourself, destroyed them, destroyed Her, Revachol, Elysium. You didn’t have enough faith, you were too afraid, you… Now you must witness, listen, and feel. You are the ruins.
Dust in your airways, smoke in Revachol’s streets. Unending coughing, bright lights, craters, force shocks. You can’t separate your convulsions from those of the earth. People, people, people, thoughts, too many thoughts, all useless, you can’t think straight. You turn your head towards the sky. Light.
Darkness. Silence. Sudden, sober silence.
Your broken breathing and calm snoring next to you. He’s turned his back to you. You put your hand on his hip. You even out your inhales and exhales with his until you can no longer tell them apart.
His breathing changes, and he turns towards you. He looks straight into your eyes, even though he can’t make them out in the dark without his glasses. Puts his hand on your chest without speaking. He won’t remember this in the morning. You close your eyes.
Darkness. Silence. Then, again, Revachol’s screams. No, just the alarm this time. Hand on your chest, trailing towards your neck, face, forehead, caresses your hair.
”Good morning, Harry.”
Light.