#Ah I can't believe Sigrold week is here!

[alphawave-writes]

Sigrold week 2019 Prompt 1) Beginnings/Universe

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It begins with a touch. Just a simple stroke of the fingers on the back of his hand. It’s accidental, not on purpose, or at least that’s what Siebren tells himself when he glances up the wrist, arm, shoulder, and finally face of Dr. Harold Winston. It’s the last one that draws his attention. Siebren does not pretend to understand the finer points of human emotion, but even if he hypothetically could, there was no way he could truly interpret the expression Harold gives him at this moment. It’s multi-faceted, prismatic, utterly indescribable and gorgeous all the same time. But like a black hole, he wants to know how it forms, what causes its formation, why it appears to him now, when they’re all alone in the Commissary.

“Sorry,” Harold says as he takes the seat opposite Siebren.

“I-It’s fine,” he gruffly responds.

There’s a few seconds of silence where there’s nothing to be heard but the hoots of the gorillas in the distance and the whirr of the vending machines. Siebren takes off his gloves and folds them neatly together before pocketing them.

Harold stares at his hands, his eyes widening microscopically. His own hands fidget in front of him, clenching and unclenching. Another curious reaction.

“Did I ever tell you I learned palm reading?” Harold asks.

Siebren can’t help but chuckle. “Which stereotype are you living up to now? The American one, or the Chinese one?”

“Hey, I never said I believed in it, or that I’m any good at it. Just that I know a bit of it.”

“That was far from what I was suggesting. The universe is so vast and mysterious that I would not be surprised if there is an inkling of truth to it. However unlikely that may be.”

“Just give me your hand, big guy.”

Siebren does, and regrets almost instantaneously. Harold’s hands are surprisingly soft to the touch, and the caress of his fingertips sends shivers down his spine. His cheeks redden, his breathing becomes unsteady, and the universe begins to fade away.

Siebren feels a lot of things for Harold Winston. Admiration, for one. Companionship is another. It’s so rare that he finds someone he can consider his intellectual equal. But what he feels right now in this moment is something else entirely. It’s gentle and warm, not unlike the slide of Harold’s thumb over his life line, then his head line, and finally his heart line. Heat blossoms from Harold’s touch, traveling up Siebren’s arm only to dissipate within his chest.

Harold hums quietly, biting his lip in thought. Was it just his imagination or did Harold’s lips seem more kissable today? “So,” Siebren cleared his throat in the vain hope his thoughts didn’t transfer to his voice, “w-what does it all mean?”

“Well, if I remember this correctly, your life line says that you will be mostly healthy, although you might get into a serious accident later in your life. Same with your head line. Which probably means it might be the same accident that will affect your body and your mind somehow.”

“That’s a little morbid,” Siebren frowns.

“It’s a little better here. Your heart line says you’re rather passive in your love life, but you are willing to sacrifice a lot for love. That being said, you are more career-centered,” Harold suddenly smiles. “I’ve got the same line myself on my hand.”

“I wouldn’t know if I’d call myself passive.”

“You’re in a relationship?” Harold asks.

Siebren shakes his head. “Single, I’m afraid, and have been for a long time. If I must be honest, I have yet to be in a relationship one would call ‘steady’.”

“So I was correct,” Harold grins.

“Probably,” Siebren can’t help but smile. “Although I’m not sure about the sacrifice thing.”

“Maybe you just haven’t found the right person yet. I did your right hand after all. Right hand is supposed to show you what your future holds.” Quieter, Harold says, “Perhaps you might find a love worth sacrificing for.”

Siebren stares into Harold’s chocolate eyes. There’s something to his words, something hidden beneath the layers that he does not recognize but that he wants regardless. He wants to decipher it, wants to know what it means, wants to hold Harold in his arms and press his lips against that incessant stubble and be one with the universe.

The thought startles him, not because of its suddenness but because it feels like a natural progression of events. Despite his experiences, this fluttering in his throat feels normal, and necessary. His eyes trail down to Harold’s long chin and bare forearms and firm hands, ordinary things that seem extraordinary in the context that is Harold. They’re soft to look at but they’re deceptively strong, hardened over time. A fitting metaphor for the man it belongs to.

Harold suddenly smiles. “What is it?”

Siebren tries his hardest not to smile too widely. “Could you teach me?”

“Sure,” he says. He offers his own hands to Siebren.

As Siebren caresses Harold’s palm tenderly, Harold patiently teaching him the basics of palmistry, the heat settles comfortably in Siebren’s stomach, making him feel like he is being embraced by the universe itself. Harold is the one to bring this feeling to the surface, this strange but wonderful sensation that Siebren wishes to last forever.

It’s the first time he feels this way, but it won’t be the last. Not by a long shot.

It begins with a sound. Not a normal sound, but not a frightening sound. Harold is walking along the hallway when he hears Siebren chatting to some of the cleaning staff, who are hanging off his every word. Siebren has an uncanny knack for being profoundly poetic about space and the universe. Not many of the astronauts appreciate it, possibly because of their extended stay on the moon, which might be why his captive audience—who usually only have brief stints on Horizon—are so utterly enraptured. Even Harold himself is not immune, pausing in his step so he can get drawn into the story.

He hears it again, and Harold understands what that sound is. It’s a laugh, almost a cackle. Excited, brash, abrasive. In another context it might have sounded cruel or mean, but here in the company of others, it sounds…pleasant. Very pleasant, in fact. So pleasant that Harold gets the strange urge to pull that sound from Siebren’s lips and make him laugh again.

Siebren turns to Harold and gives one of his rare smiles. It’s soft, smoothing out the harsh lines of his face. Uncharacteristic but it suits him beautifully.

Harold smiles. “Telling them about the magnificent universe?”

“The universe is magnificent. Those who think otherwise are fools with narrow minds.”

“Compared to wide minds.” Harold points at Siebren’s large forehead.

Siebren puts a hand on his forehead and rolls his eyes, continuing his story. He continues his conversation about moon dust, and the mysteries of gravity, and the many subtle ways he has manipulated it to suit the Horizon One lunar base. It might sound like boasting, but there is genuine interest and heart in his words.

Harold lets the meaning of the words drown out, focusing instead on the sound of Siebren’s voice. Siebren is a passionate man, but there’s something almost romantic about the way he talks right now, like he is speaking of a lover that’s in another country and not of the mysteries of the universe. He speaks in hushed, low tones, teasing out every sentence, a heavenly song from mortal lips.

Harold knows Siebren can be passionate, but it hasn’t truly computed until now just how passionate. He loves every aspect of his work, and he wants the world to know that he loves his work. There’s a sparkle in his ocean blue eyes and it reflects the beauty of everything around him. For a brief moment, Harold wishes Siebren will look at him like that, like he is the centre of the universe, the answer to his question, the thing Siebren wants.

He blinks, and the cleaning staff are gone. Siebren’s stopped talking, his lips pulled into a knowing smirk.

“Earth to Dr. Winston. Or should I say, moon to Dr. Winston?”

Harold shakes his head quickly. “S-sorry. Just spaced out there.” With a grin, he adds, “in more ways than one.”

Siebren’s grin gets wider. “I always knew you were out of this world.”

“I’m over the moon that you think I am.”

There’s a few seconds where Siebren’s face scrunches up and his lips thin before he bursts into laughter. The sound is melodic, melodic. Utterly enrapturing.

“I’m sorry. I couldn’t think of anything else.”

“It’s fine. You just didn’t understand the gravity of the situation.”

“That is a good one,” Siebren chuckles. “I am stealing that one for my own use.”

“Didn’t your mother tell you that stealing is bad?” Harold teases.

“I don’t think mijn moeder can do anything about it. We are on the moon.”

Harold giggles quietly as his body feels weightless. He’s taken away from gravity, pulled into the orbit of Siebren’s dazzling stare. It’s been a long time since he’s felt this way, and usually it scares him, because every time he’s the first one to feel it. All his past relationships failed because they did not feel the same. Perhaps it’s ironic and sad that he should feel this way, up in the stars, away from everyone. But Siebren is no ordinary man. His eyes reflect the beauty around him, and in that moment, Harold’s reflection never looked so sublime. For once, Harold feels safe and secure, like Siebren will take care of him regardless of whether his feelings are returned or not.

It's the first time he feels this way for Siebren, but it won't be the last.

It begins with a kiss. Soft, desperate, eager. Objectively, it’s not all that good—Harold's stubble roughly grazing over Siebren's chin, the tentativeness to move their lips—but it’s the emotions that make their kiss so beautiful. In this moment they are but a singular entity, their kiss catalysing a chemical reaction that merges their bodies into a new, wonderful substance. Their wordless thoughts combine together, a swirling vortex of love and want and need and fear and worry.

When their lips part, they both let out a soft breath, blooming galaxies into formation. The world has disappeared. The Earth and the Moon and the stars and the Sun are nothing. All that exists in their universe is Harold and Siebren and the space between them.

“Harold,” Siebren whispers.

“I love you,” Harold says, even though they both know it is absolutely unnecessary. Siebren knows Harold loves him, just as Harold knows Siebren loves him.

Siebren holds Harold's cheeks tenderly. "I love you too. Does that mean...?"

"I want to be with you," Harold whispers. His fingers card into Siebren's scalp, making Siebren shiver in content. "I want us to be together."

"Then why don't we? We can be together. Just the two of us."

Harold leans forward and kisses Siebren again, taking them both back to that black void. With their caresses they recreate the stars, the asteroids, the galaxies, and the planets. With their affection they breathe life to Earth. With their sighs the universe expands and grows organically, chaotically, exactly as it should be. Earth glows, crystal blue waters amongst soft green trees and swirling white clouds, highlighting the contours of their faces.

With their kisses, they have created a new world, a new beginning, a new stage in their relationship. From now until eternity, they shall be one.