#faeties: edmund.

[fateviled]

𝙴𝙳  . . .  @faeties ( continued. )

the words are HARD, but the voice is SOFT. ed cannot help but bask in it. in the attention, in each syllable. in the gentle thumb that glides along his cheek. the tears come then, pushed over the edge by such a small touch. by such a small kindness.

edmund gray was not a kind person. anyone with the last name gray, had had their kindness stolen by a woman whose cruelty festered within her chest. but ed believed he simply wasn’t born with it. there was no nature within him to be gentle, only frail. unkindness festered in him as well.

“i...” he hiccups. what can he say? what words could even begin to the describe the indignation that bubbles up in his chest and then the weight that hangs there with the TRUTH of it? he closes his eyes for a moment, picturing the two of them on the way to the city, unaware of the decision ed would make once they were there.

words rarely fail ed. usually, they bent to his will, able to break and bend until they were something twisted and beautiful to behold. when he didn’t end up hating them a few days later at any rate. yet, his face in the hands of arlo tesser, the HURT between them laid bare, he finds there are no words that are sufficient. arlo sees through his words anyway. he always has.

“sorry is all i have to give,” he lands on, body tensing, “i know it’s not enough.” it was never going to be enough. ed was never going to be ENOUGH.

but that didn’t stop the wanting— the craving for a lifeline he never deserved. none of that stopped the sickness. the blood in his throat. the exhaustion in his eyes. the vertigo when he moved too fast since this sickness began... this particular bout of illness was taking its toll. yet he was still here.

WHY?

“...but i... i did mean that,” he murmurs, “i couldn’t see how you could ever be happy with ME. the days— you seemed so happy with them. a road to hell paved with good intentions is still a road to hell... and, yes, it was because i still cannot fathom the idea how anyone could be happy with me. which doesn’t... well, you already know.” nothing can ever be made right again.

his voice gains confidence and an infinite sadness in equal measure. he wants arlo to kiss him. he wants arlo to plunge a knife into his throat.

“and i’m looking at us now and i see i was RIGHT,” his body shakes, his hands clutching at arlo’s wrist, mind reeling as he shrinks into himself, feeling so small, so young, “...so what do you want? because if you want me DEAD, then kill me. i know it’s a kindness i don’t deserve, to give me what i want. but i... i want to leave, arlo. i want to leave...”

the city. this life. it didn’t matter. all of it was the same. but if he was going to go somewhere arlo would not follow, he knew which he preferred.     

                    in  every  way  known  to  man,    happiness  was  abstract.    while  it  felt  as  real  as  any  warm  and  solid  thing  underneath  their  grasp,    arlo  knew  the  sight  of  it  was  deceiving.    after  all,    hadn’t  monica  smiled  through  the  pain  of  having  to  care  for  him  in  an  unforgiving  world;    hadn’t  she  played  and  laughed  with  him  as  they  raced  through  desolate  and  dangerous  lands?    it  hadn’t  been  happiness  that  lingered  in  arlo  when  he’d  first  met  the  days,    but  a  sense  of  comfort  and  a  feeling  of  hope  he  was  hesitant  to  grasp.    arlo  was  no  poet,    but  warmth  and  sunlight…    it  was  easy  to  mistake  light  for  happiness,    to  see  something  bright  and  turn  at  the  chance  to  bask  in  it.

                    arlo  was  not  the  nights,    who  reveled  in  their  shadows  and  secrecy.    and  arlo  was  not  ed,    whom  had  made  the  dark  his  own.    but  arlo  loved  the  dark  just  as  well,    had  learned  to  respect  it  and  see  the  potential  there.    and  what  that  said  about  edmund  gray,    well…    anyone  could  look  into  arlo’s  eyes  and  see  the  weight  of  the  man  in  his  heart.

                    everyone,    that  was,    but  ed  himself.    and  it  stings,    so  much  so  that  the  thought  brings  a  smile  to  his  face,    despair  and  disbelief  mixing  in  equal  parts  within  him.    it’s  not  funny  —  god  knows  this  world,    this  heartbreak,    has  wrung  out  any  humor  from  him.    BUT  IT  IS  CRUEL,    to  trace  the  soft  curve  of  his  frown  with  a  weathered  gaze,    hand  still  upon  skin,    and  think  that  there  is  nothing  else  arlo  tesser  would  have  wanted  more  than  to  have  another  day,    another  week,    another  year  with  edmund  gray.

                    ❝    you  always  were  the  stupidest  genius  i  ever  met.    ❞      touch  gentle  and  deliberate,    he  brushes  the  moisture  away  from  ed’s  cheek.    if  it  feels  like  giving  too  much  away,    arlo  can’t  help  it.    some  things  are  too  deeply  ingrained  in  him,    and  so  many  of  them  bare  the  name  of  this  perfect  nightmare  before  him.      ❝    but  that’s  alright,    i  guess  i  couldn’t  ask  you  to  change  your  nature.      or  to  hope  you’d  want  to  change.    ❞      for  me,    he  doesn’t  say.    that’s  admitting  to  more  than  too  much,    like  giving  away  the  plot  in  one  of  ed’s  convoluted  stories.    or  starting  a  new  one  when  the  one  they’d  written  has  long  since  ended.

                      he  should  pull  away.    he  knows.    arlo’s  hands  don’t  belong  on  the  other,    and  he’s  said  his  goodbye  a  dozen  times  now.    still,    he  lingers,    wondering  if  he’ll  feel  any  relief  to  know  that  he  could  soon  live  in  a  city  that  did  not  bear  the  other’s  presence  anymore.    but  the  beating  thing  in  his  chest  offers  no  answers,    whispers  no  secrets.    hell,    arlo  supposes  he  already  knows  the  answers,    because  he  still  hasn’t  moved.    doesn’t  move  when  he  says,    ❝    i  would  have  left  with  you.    ❞      and  stronger  still:      ❝    you  were  wrong,    because  i  spent  weeks  after  you  walked  away  thinking…    that  if  you  just  came  back  to  me,    apologized,    i  would  have  left  with  you.    ❞

                    there’s  no  anger  left  in  his  tone.    arlo’s  too  tired  for  it  now.    he  looks  down  wearily,    the  weight  of  the  world  he’d  been  left  behind  in  pushing  him  down.    and  he  endured  it  now,    left  with  no  choice.    what  did  he  want?    a  conclusion.    a  time  machine.    to  not  know  another  heavy  choice  again.    but  that’s  impossible,    so  he  looks  back  up,    finding  the  strength  that  was  built  into  his  bones  generations  ago.

                      ❝    i  want  you  to  stop  being  a  coward,    edmund  gray.    ❞      he  forces  himself  not  to  swallow,    throat  dry  as  the  words  flow  out.    malice  is  not  the  intent,    but  he  needs  the  harshness  to  be  felt,    as  thick  on  his  tongue  as  he  utters  every  word  carefully.      ❝  you  survived  this  cruel  world,    yet  you  still  haven’t  learned  how  to  fight.    and  it  takes  fight  to  let  yourself  chase  what  you  want    —    even  death.  ❞

[fateviled-a]

@faeties​ said —   “ fine. you’ll never see me again, okay? ” (Ed @ Arlo)

      how  long  had  it    been  since  he’d  stopped  listening  to  the  parts  of  him  that  missed  the  other?    the  ache  never  went  away  —    no,    of  course  it  didn’t,    not  after  years  of  it  just  being  the  two  of  them  —    but  he’d  stopped  letting  it  control  every  bitter,    angry  minute  of  his  existence.    that’s  the  only  thing  that  he  allows  to  run  through  his  mind  as  he  goes  through  checking  the  other’s  bandages,    making  sure  none  of  his  wounds  are  infected.    he  listens  in  silence  at  the  rattle  of  the  other’s  lungs.    only  one  thing  replays  in  his  head:    he  doesn’t  get  to  take  any  more  from  you.    edmund  gray  was  not  someone  many  people  understood.    arlo  would  never  know  what  had  pulled  at  the  other  to  do  something  as  cruel  as  leaving  him  without  so  much  as  a  goodbye.    but  he  doesn’t  need  to  understand,    HE’S  MOVED  ON.      it’s  not  him  and  ed  in  a  broken  world  anymore.    (  it’s  not  him  and  ed  at  all.  )      the  only  thing  that  remains  between  them  is  the  memory  of  broken  knuckles,    and  the  ghost  of  those  moments  where  arlo  knows  they  were  happy.    IF  THEY  WERE  EVER  HAPPY.      it  wasn’t  arlo  alone  who  wore  those  private  smiles,    who  found  himself  laughing  truthfully  for  the  first  time  since  he’d  counted  down  fourteen  days  and  the  sister  who  had  promised  to  return  with  new  supplies  was  nowhere  to  be  found.      it  stings  more  than  he  wants  to  know  that  all  they  have  now  is  that  cool  silence  between  them,    his  own  mouth  twisted  in  a  scowl.    he  thinks  it  can’t  get  worse,    the  pool  of  discontent  within  him  tapped  down  to  the  last  ounce.    but  he  should  know  better  by  now;    with  ed,    there’s  always  been  more.

      he  doesn’t  expect  the  words.    despite  having  said  it  himself,    making  it  clear  that  he’s  done  with…  whatever  this  is.    it  takes  everything  he  has  not  to  let  out  the  sharp  laugh  that  hangs  on  the  tip  of  his  tongue,    but  it  isn’t  nearly  enough  to  keep  the  words  that  follow  quiet.      “and  where  exactly  are  you  going  to  go?    you  can’t  walk,    you  can  barely  even  move.”      no,    arlo  had  come  to  him.    the  only  reason  he’d  shown  up  was  because  vincent  had  asked  him,    had  said  it  was  important.    and  it  had  been,  god—    monica  was  here.    monica  was  alive.    the  fire  of  his  anger  had  burned  out  in  the  days  past,    enough  that  he’d  allowed  himself  to  come  back  again.    fuck  him,    fuck  him  for  everything  he’d  done,    BUT  ED  HAD  DONE  THE  IMPOSSIBLE.      that  hadn’t  made  him  any  more  willing  to  forgive  the  woeful  idiot.    truthfully,    arlo  can’t  even  think.    every  moment  with  ed  still  feels  like  those  years  spent  traveling  alone.    he’s  terrified  that  if  he  blinks,    he’ll  open  his  eyes  again  and  it’ll  be  just  the  two  of  them  sitting  together  under  the  shade  of  a  tree  while  they  rest  after  a  day’s  travel.    JUST  A  BAD  DREAM  AFTER  ALL.    he’s  thankful  for  the  steady  hands  he’s  always  possessed  as  he  continues  to  inspect  the  other,    not  letting  his  touch  linger  for  too  long.      “don’t  do  me  any  favors.”      he  can’t  meet  the  other’s  eyes,    and  hates  that  fact  more.      “once  you  get  better,    you  can  go  back  to  your  nights  again  and  everything  will  go  back  to  how  it’s  been.    that’s  what  you  wanted  anyways,    isn’t  it?”      the  bitterness  seeps  into  every  word,    though  he  knows  it’s  for  the  best.      arlo  had  done  just  fine  on  his  own  before  ed  had  shown  up  in  his  life,    he  would  be  fine  after  him.