Work Text:
drip.
drip.
drip.
cesare physically swallowed down the growing pain in his hollow chest, something he’d started picking up recentlu from the days spent crammed into his truck with his three drama queens.
drip
it was a weekend, and as much as he hated to admit it, he wished they were here. god forbid he needed to spend a second longer with them after the start of the annual summer rush (not helped by the influx of people coming to try their new special, “sunbaked specimen”) but something about their light conversation filled the growing space in his heart.
drip.
he could feel it now, the humidity clinging to the inside of his long dead heart. warmth and moisture breeds hell, he’d long understood that. a wet, noisy hell.
drip.
it takes all his willpower not to gently drift into a distant memory, like sand pulled by the time as it goes out. the dew in the air is soaking into his long dead muscle, dripping a steadying stream of tar deep into the canals of his heart. he could practically taste the salty air and melancholic drone.
drip.
he took a low, shuddering breath and snapped himself back to the present, closing the canals; the tar settling into a heavy weight that kept his body glued to the front seat, even as the rain began to subside. the taste lingered.
drip.
cesare only noticed he’d begun crying once he opened his mouth to take another unnecessary breath, feeling a foreign but familiar wetness ooze further down his face. it made him nauseous, thinking about why he could still produce tears when he wasn’t granted the privilege to sweat. every flaking bit of very very long dead skin was a reminder
drip.
he reached for his long outdated phone. cesare had no home, but as he pulled up one of his only three contacts, he felt the iron grip in his heart loosen.