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Mouth dried and senses in dishevelment, he tried making sense of the timeline. It had been a tranquil Saturday. He was atop the awning; the enchantment of the numbing weather against his skin felt welcoming. He was off duty, bathing in the midst of wind currents that shuffled his hair. The sun began to bleed underneath the trees, leaving a gentle hue to the sky that would only persist. His feet held tight against his chest, close to drifting off.
He thought that after the death of Mysti, he could remain in a haven of silence to recompose his thoughts. Mysti would want him to find peace. He rested his eyes, taking in the depleting strain and gathered himself into whole. Letting his sights rest, the Cardinals chirping a soothing lilt.
Until there was a loud bang. One that rattled and settled a deep gut feeling at once. He felt it everywhere, and his eyes shot open, only to feel the dive of multiple floors through the estate at once.
He landed on his spine every time, his head not long afterwards when he banged against the bottom floor. Adrenaline hastening in his veins, he felt a rush of energy course through him. Feigning against pains he didn't know he was going to feel, he endeavored to make himself at his full height.
He felt to get back up and search for any source of help or sign that he wasn't alone, when his eyes darted downwards. Only to find a log clogged onto his right thigh, scrutinizing his ability to proceed.
Ash's breath was frowzy huffs that were struggling to make it past his throat. Only making a strained grunt when he pleaded for oxygen that wouldn't have sympathy for him.
He felt trussed down, glued to the floor. His hands were nothing but a shaking mess in the heave of chaos. His head pounded with an undying and consistent pulse that ached every limb of him and prevented him from doing much other than panic.
Everything burned tightly, his gut feeling a remarkable resentment and fear. Ash felt nothing but a churning in his stomach that swelled as the milliseconds passed.
He coughed nothing but blood that escaped his mouth. Thick maroon oozing down everywhere on his body. He couldn't inhale properly; it was as if his lungs were torn by wolves that left scars all over his once fine body. Not even a minute ago, he had been making an intimate memory with himself.
His brain felt like it was melting into mush, unable to think of a resolution to what was holding him back from absconding the flames. He couldn't see them yet, but shrieks and cries rang out only a few doors away.
Ear-splitting sobs and clamorous tears and begs he couldn't heal. Banging on doors and mumbling that all mixed in his softening mind. If he was correct, if he wasn't ruined too much, it was Vi and Zam who yelled pleas. Thundering on the doors with their fists and torsos.
A few others, perhaps Pyroscythe and Izzy, sending prayers up to the good Lord up there. He heard nimbles of scriptures, nothing that he could properly assimilate against all else. Ash heard other cries. Consistent ragged sobs and sniffles, incomposible of words. All in the same mansion, yet so far away.
But his mind was depleting before him, swiftly.
He almost wished he died on impact, that the floors he fell through inclined his death when he met the solid wood over three times. Then perhaps he wouldn't have to bear knowing his beloved friends who were nothing short of family now, be in so much agony. That he couldn't help them, even despite his constant kicking against the lumber.
Its hefty and substantial weight forced above him. Ash pondered if its origin had been as a pillar, likely split in half. It had been a miracle and misfortune that it hadn't crushed him.
He heaved at the immobile wood forced on top of his lower half. He looked around while his vision was still apprehensible. Regardless of his scanning of items around him, there was nothing that wasn't within a spiteful distance from him.
I'll still get out of this mess... One way or another. He strived to convince the confidence that lingered. Almost catching him with a smile when he daydreamed of everybody evading out of the fumes. Even Mr.Hemlocke, despite his hateful words when it came to the queer community and his capitalistic ideology, has he overheard. Redemption is what matters.
His fleeting fantasies became more rash, and his eyes scrambled to find some sense of administration. When he heard clamoring footsteps. Ones that sounded like specific black flats only one person he knew owned a pair of.
At first, they were far in between. Like they would never reach him. But they crescendoed denser with every second ticking by. Even with the smoke now entering the disheveled living room through the bottom of a door, he heard the click of another door opening for him. He awaited for it to be a firefighter or a nurse. The music of their voices and comfort he would never feel so hefty again. That he could get out like he swore to.
But he knew it could only be one person; Clownpierce.
The tension stood firm between them; they only stood in the heat of the moment. Ash raised his gaze to his beloved friend at the door, whilst he couldn't obtain the power to get off the floor. The temperature in the mansion only sprouted rapidly. Ash's hope grew dim in the light of the ignited house, but his heart fluttered. Just an insignificant bit.
Ash was expecting the other man to say something. But he didn't. Ash could feel the hairs on his neck stand as Clown stared down. He simply drew closer to him with delicate steps, stopping at his side. As close as he could before he was infused with the other man.
He felt everything all at once when Ash saw him. Sorrow, embarrassment, joy, distraught, disdain, hope; all but resentment.
But a part of him wished that he died on impact once more. Not that he would no longer feel pain, but so he didn't have to know Clown was most likely going to be stuck here with him. He was so close to begging him to leave the house with his free feet, but he didn't.
Ash wished he could find some way to apologize. To say a formal goodbye in case this is where their journey parted, each and every bit he'd been piercing his tongue at. All his sudden emotions. He had always pondered how Clown kept the persona of ambiguity. Keeping a lot of his past and confidential feelings to himself. But occasionally, he would catch themselves talking about their hobbies. How they both shared an appreciation for baking, and it not being just a chore to do for the Hemlockes.
That was a lie. Ash never cared too much about it. He found it too tedious. But he agreed on the matter because Clown grew a minuscule spark of joy in his voice when somebody mentioned it. A tilt in his voice when he smiled behind the mask. He loved hearing Clown ramble and rove about those things; it was his favorite thing to do.
He was determined to do so much more than just lie for Clown, though. He would kill for him without a second opinion. He would take a bullet to the brains for him, if it would be what saved him.
Ash perked his gaze up to meet nebulic crimson that peeked under snow lashes and hooded lids. His permanent mask was gone from his frame. He had never gotten the opportunity to see his features despite how long they'd known each other. He felt an unexpected palpitation in his nerves. It was only Ash who got the destiny of seeing his porcelain skin and midnight red irises. The withered eye bags underneath that accompanied his pale profile perfectly.
His profile was nothing comparable to perfect, now, not by average standards. His white hair was burnt and tangled. Parts of it seemingly chopped off in haste. Burnt ends cascading down as the edges closed off. The smell of charcoal being his aroma.
His face was ridden with scars. New ones that bled across his cheek with no remorse, and ones that littered around his left eye and along his jawline from veterinary time in the military that haunted him now. Ash found them to be pretty. It made him look like the warrior he truly was.
His body was littered with char and ember. All across his front image, with his fancy midnight attire now smeared and smothered in the aftermath of exposure to what they were experiencing now. Small patches of his uniform didn't remain, revealing blemishes of trauma. Had the boiler blown up on him? Had he been burdening himself with fixing the cause like Ash pleaded, only for compensation such as this? His thoughts clumped up and jumbled in his esophagus. His lips only pursed, a spiral of words behind them.
Strangely, Clown wore a small frown, and his eyes looked of disdain. Hollow yet flickering eyes that bewitched Ash's soul. He swallowed it down. He rarely disclosed any emotion. Even behind his mask, he could always tell Clown never let on his authentic perspective. Always keeping a monotone voice that solemnly switched.
But now? Every part of him was anthracite. Ash wanted to speak, to make a cry. To entreat why he looked so hurt. To any way he could console or comfort. He had yet to fully recover from his service in battlefields. Ash, despite the splinters at his neck, hushed;
"Why did you... search for me?" He pleaded, his voice shattering into a plethora of glass. It felt the same way too. Even despite Ash's throbs, he would go through anything for his closest friend of the Hemlocke mansion.
He drifted down to sit, almost like he was pretending that none of their dire problems were happening, were crashing down on them. Their eyes met once more, Clown plucking a small fragment of timber from Ash's clothing he had yet to notice.
"None of the exits were open," he coughed a deep shade of blood, "all of them were already lit into smoke. It's no use to salvage what's gone."
He cupped Ash's face, looking into him with a face of dejected despair and acceptance. He continued, "I know this is probably the last time we get to see one another. I wanted to say a farewell. Farewell to the man I loved but could never express to the public."
Ash's mouth fell silent.
He knew... He knew that they wouldn't be able to circumvent. That there would be no stretcher that would carry them to a tepid hospital and live out their days together. That the Hemlockes ' arguments would never resolve. That Zollister left the estate with a bitter tongue. That Ash already waved to his friends for the final time. That he wouldn't see them again. And wouldn't see ClownPierce again.
His body was gonna whisp to dust today.
The memory of pushing down an agitating put in his stomach earlier that week. A veil of shame washed over him. He could've prevented this if he pushed hard enough.
Even with his sights locked onto the war veteran he'd secretly loved, the fumes were inhaled into his lungs. Fire was seeping, and the cries were only getting louder. Some of the screams dying out a long time ago.
"Did--did the boiler... Blow up on you? How-d you... survive?" His voice didn't give, but underneath it held so much. There was a tremendous amount more he sought to understand. If only the words weren't ripped out of him. Their gaze undying as Ash got tangled in his steady eyes, like he'd trained for it.
"I thought of you. You were what kept me going. All these years together. You've alleviated me in every nervous episode I can think of; you were always lending out a hand. But I could never repay you for your consistent aid... Or understand why."
Ash's lips only twitched, staring deep into the man he loved so much. But how could he love him? If knowing that even thinking of another man with lustful intent was worse comparable to manslaughter. It would get you blacklisted from any heaven. Always being taught that same sex love is rooted in the devil. He prayed for God to fix him, to let him stop, but he never did. Maybe it was fated.
Divinity was nothing if not with the man who searched for him throughout the estate just to breathe their last gasps with him.
The haze grew harsher, misting around them, and the room felt heavier. Even with Clown, the scent was engraved into his mind, pressing up against his skin.
He had spent so long admiring the warrior, lying in bed as he fantasized about a future with him, just as companions. Until he discovered Cupid's strike one fateful night when he heard his timid laughter again. And only when he had just barely started to take hands with his identity, had it been stripped away. He would never get to cherish him how he dreamed of. Perhaps they could've owned a domestic farm out in the middle of nowhere, where none could disturb them. Where they could relish one another how Ash always wanted.
God was one cruel man. For letting himself love him.
Clown reached forward to grasp Ash in an embrace. Ignited infernos mixed into Ash's vision more compliantly, the shades creating a gorgeous kaleidoscope. All the other screams were demised by now. It was simply them two. Ash returned the favor, burying his face into Clown's neck. Looking at the emblazoned mansion was unbearable in its own way. Seeing all that he loved being reduced to nothing soon enough. His shoulders pressed against the other's chest, friction sparking in between them.
The only source in their depleting universe that kept them separate. Even when love kept them from rivaling nothing in hand, science would find ways to separate them.
Such as the log still fledged atop his lower half. It was paining to remain in his angle, but untradable for the world.
A copper taste seethed onto his tongue, as the sound of furniture lighting to char jarred his hearing. He squeezed his eyes shut, praying for the feeling to go away. For it all to be over. For it to be some cruel joke. Had he really come to terms with death?
Had he felt sanctity? With their arms around each other, heads nuzzled into necks. He felt his lover nearly squeeze him. Was he as timid too? Had they both been too cowardly to admit so? Ash would never get to know.
Even though he never belonged in religion, he prayed for an afterlife where they ran into each other's arms.
Wherever that may be. In a netherworld created with the sole ideology to punish them for their only sin, it would be more than enough for him if they reunited someday. The anxieties of how far he'd travel to meet was nothing but frowzy, as everything else faded too. Into a lullabic, dizzy ballad.
Ash reflected on what he did to deserve this ending. What crime he'd committed, to have his only dream of living out his days clawed out of his brittle fingers. At least they'd been lucky enough to die together. Hopefully they'd be buried side by side, if any remiscience of them carried on. Maybe they'd be free from their human souls, whisped away into the currents.
Ash didn't fight back against the smoke. He clung more rigidly. Almost as if he could doze it off. That his parents wouldn't be hearing about their dead child by a reporter. That he would never see his mother's weary smile or his father's withered scars of ferocity. That they never got to know who he truly was.
That maybe, he deserves sunshine too. Him and Clown. Everybody who couldn't call their beloved theirs.
At least they were heading home parallel to another. At least he wasn't as frightened anymore. His gut used to churn if somebody dared mention death. The only similarity everything shared. It soothed him to go into it with the lover he only got to call his for no longer than a minute, but his one and only nonetheless.
Ash cried into his lover's garments. His weeps streaming down and staining the fabric. The fire caught onto their living room, and it started to engulf them too. Their bodies, their sinful souls. But alas, his end, he wouldn't have it any other way. He would never get to live a future, and as daunting as that was, Clown whispered something at last, a curtain's call;
"I'm sorry I couldn't save you."
Ashswag struggled to respond. His body felt too wilted, his tongue felt tied down, the heat overwhelming as he went limp against ribs. Despite everything;
"Don't ever apologize for loving me."