#journal ; clearen.

[yingren]

"So, since we're doing this steady... official... thing, I gotta ask."

The Memokeeper is unusually contemplative as he sits, legs crossed, and floats midair near the couch that Ren was lounging upon with a crossword in hand, a constant for the Hunter. Maybe Clear would've indulged him by snuggling up, but this felt too serious for that. Not in the sense of divorcing their premature label, but... probably the opposite. It was heavy, but not in the sense he reckoned Ren had been faced with before.

"Look... I get it. Your possessive ass would probably love the idea of forever, but I gotta ask: can you really accept the reality of it? If we suppose you want to be with me, uh... indefinitely." Clear hunched over, searching for the right words, tone dropping near a whisper. "None of that 'death do we part' shit. Off chance you die, you probably gotta soul that'll go on. Remanded to the afterlife, sucked into some virtual one, another dimension? Yeah, I can be in all of 'em. And I plan on existing until the last soul in the universe tanks. AKA, forever."

He straightened up slightly, finally meeting Ren's candlelight gaze. "Hence why I'm asking. Whether you want to die or cease existing, I want to know if you'll want out at some point. Less drama would be nice."

ren has never really given thought to the idea of a soul or spirit carrying on after his body turns to dust. the notion of disappearing entirely, physically and spiritually, had always seemed like the only fitting end. to consider any possibility of life beyond this one unsettles him, feeding that small, constant anxiety lodged in the back of his mind, reminding him just how futile his pursuit of death may be if existence simply shifts to another form. now, with clear by his side, seeking that eternal rest feels like a greater risk, carrying consequences he’d rather ignore. apparently, clear won't ignore them.

people may say whatever they like about the hunter, let rumors swirl in the wind, and cast glares sharp enough to pierce his skin. yet one thing is irrefutable: his loyalty to those he holds close is unwavering. trust alone became the true anchor in his connection with the former memokeeper; even comfort took a back seat. after all, ren has always regarded comfort as a luxury he often can’t afford. his pen pauses, a dark splotch of ink pooling on the paper as he stares at the last word he wrote, fixing his gaze anywhere but on clear in a faint hope that it might make this conversation easier. apparently, it doesn’t.

“ you’re not wrong, ” he speaks without much hesitation, though finding the right words took a moment. it’s clear that his mind had settled on the thought long before he voiced it, and now a quiet, almost careful confession spills from his lips, each word spoken with absolute sincerity. “ i might be possessive but there’s nothing appealing to me about the general idea of forever. a fate like that seems cruel, especially when it’s forced on you. i was never meant to live this way. i’m still not meant to live like this. as intriguing as the end of the world and everything leading up to it might be… i don’t belong here. ” apparently, he is never at home. 

the hunter adjusts his posture, sitting up straight before leaning forward, his arms resting firmly on his thighs to steady himself. his body feels unusually heavy, as though weariness itself is trying to pull him down. ren has become familiar with clear’s peculiar sense of comfort, whether floating somewhere nearby or keeping a bit of distance, he always seems to be hovering just close enough to reach. but apparently never quite close enough.

“ have you ever thought that there’s no ranking to my desires ? not when it comes to you. there’s no reason to weigh you against my wish for rest. if i die one day, and let’s face it, that’s likely, something you’re well aware of—i know exactly what i’ll be leaving behind, and i’m willing to let it all go. none of it truly belongs to me anyway. it never did. the one thing i don’t want to lose is the only thing i could actually take with me. you. ”

“ there is a lot i would very much like to leave behind, but you’re not part of that. whatever kind of spirit or entity i might turn into when all this is over, my soul is still yours. i’m still yours. i may not be a fond of making promises about forever, but if there’s one kind i’d agree to, it would be this. to answer your question... no, i don't want out, and with the possibility of being with you even after i die, i believe there is no need for us to worry about upholding the promise of forever should i one day cease to exist like this. so apparently, you're stuck with me. forever. ”

[yingren]

Chucks an onyx-made dagger at Ren's abdomen, strikes home. There, have a sex, ya filthy animal-- (bye--)

" you're so fucked in the head it's disturbing how hot it is. "

[yingren]

This was a memory of a time long, long ago. When late spring slowly unfolded into summer and the first warm, humid day lapses into a sweet, cool night. Time stands still in this place, only the distant drumming of woodpeckers and chirruping crickets in the grassy underbrush making any sound. Birdsong carries dreamily through the canopy, leaves scintillating like gemstones as a cool breeze caresses sun-flushed cheeks. The grass he lays upon is soft and cool and mossy, dappled sunlight flickering on the forest floor.

Tonight, his dreams will be peaceful. Tonight, there will be no nightmares. A hand cards through his hair, soothing along his scalp.

ren is no stranger to many things. pain, suffering, anything designed to test his endurance. he’s been through it all, felt it over and over until it became part of his reality. something mundane, something familiar. a routine of walking the same shadowy path, reliving the same nightmares, and enduring the biting cold. it’s always the same. the cold gnaws at him until his body is numb, movements sluggish, feet too heavy to lift. until, once again, a blade cuts him down, and the searing heat of his own blood distorts the icy nightmare, turning it into a bloody chaos amid burning flames. a landscape of destruction, painted by his own hands. that’s all he knows—all he ever knew.

this—this is new. like birds chirping and leaves singing, a colorful breeze and the distant sound of waves. like soft grass and dewdrops beneath his feet, a cold pillow, a warm blanket, a kiss from the sun, and a smile from the hidden moon. new, yet not entirely so—right? he remembers, vaguely, this place. wherever he is, the floorboards do not creak louder than his own heartbeat. sensation has returned to unscarred skin and the weariness in his bones has faded, as if it was never there. no, this isn’t new. this is old. old, but wondrous, like liquid gold flowing from wherever his hands touch, like a framed photograph of trees swaying through changing seasons, and he can reach out and touch it. he can feel it, hold it. for once, he can be part of it.

it doesn’t take a genius to understand what’s happening or to figure out who’s behind it. ren might even piece it together once he wakes up, if he remembers. he’ll know, because clear will be there. little does clear know ( or perhaps he has a hunch ) that ren can ride the euphoric wave of a good dream for an entire day. it’s revitalizing, like a rare surge of energy he seldom gets to feel anymore. it anchors him to a quiet moment of sanity, steadies the faltering pillars in his mind, and allows for a fresh breath of air.

his body shifts slightly, naturally leaning into the fingers playing with his hair. ren exhales softly, his grip tightening on his partner’s shirt which he’s practically clinging to. a small shift crosses his expression, and though still deep in sleep and lost in the same dream, a gentle smile curls on his lips—a smile that lingers much, much longer than ever before. maybe part of him knows it is a dream, or at least his subconscious is somewhat aware, for there is a moment where ren thinks ( and clear most certainly can hear it too ) that no matter how good this dream is, or how good it gets, ren will always wake up.

& he'd even choose to do so knowing who awaits him in the waking world.

[yingren]

"there is something deeply wrong with you. and me. but, we're talking about you so i don't count." oop--

&. 𝐫𝐢𝐯𝐚𝐥𝐬 (𝐭𝐨 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬?)

this scene has become all too familiar now—another rundown motel room on the outskirts of some city on some forgotten planet. technically, they could meet somewhere better, but ren's just waiting for the day clear shows up uninvited at his own home. at this point, he almost expects it. yet, for now, this is how it goes: brief meetings in places like this, filled with awkward, though not entirely unwelcome, conversations.

ren’s jaw tightens slightly as he bites down on another handful of whatever snacks he managed to scavenge—pumpkin seeds, maybe, salty and just satisfying enough to meet his immediate needs. not unlike clear himself, a part of him muses, though there’s a lingering voice in the back of his mind insisting that clear is more than that. what exactly he is, ren hasn’t decided yet, leaving the question unaddressed for now, pushed into some quiet corner of his thoughts. there will be time to figure it out later, if it comes to that. for now, this arrangement—this label of being official—is just enough.

“ being self aware about it should make it at least like... thirty percent hotter. ” then again, it’s not like ren ever explicitly invited clear to crawl into the recesses of his mind—at least not at first. clear made that decision on his own, unprompted, just to witness more than enough to justify the comment he’d made. and while ren might resent the intrusion, clear wasn’t wrong. there is something deeply, undeniably broken in ren, something festering at the very core of his being. the mara might explain some of it, sure, but it’s not entirely to blame. that would be the easy way out, and ren has never taken the easy path. unfortunately—or perhaps fortunately, depending on how you look at it—whatever is wrong with him seems to be exactly what draws clear in. it’s like some unspoken force pulling the man closer, making him linger, as if the dysfunction itself has something to offer, something that clear, for reasons unknown, seems to want.

ren's fingers reach for and tighten around clear's wrist, a sudden and forceful tug pulling him into his lap, closing the distance between them. of course, clear could easily slip away if he wanted to, could melt through the floor or vanish like smoke, disappearing as he’s done countless times before. ren is well aware of that. but he’s willing to take his chances, again & again, driven by some insatiable need for whatever strange connection this arrangement affords him. one arm snakes around clear’s waist, not so much to trap him but to keep him tethered there, close, if only for another fleeting moment. ren knows the fragility of this closeness, how easily it could dissolve. but for now, he holds on, wanting to stretch this fragile moment as far as it will go, as if by sheer will he can keep it from slipping away. even if just for a minute longer.

“ it’s not cute to be a dick about something you clearly like. ” and he knows clear might point out that he isn’t trying to be cute. when is he ever? fuck if ren knows. instead, ren props his chin on the other man’s shoulder, just for a moment, before pulling back enough to sink his teeth into the exposed skin. the bite is raw, tasting of something unfamiliar but intoxicating, something not quite like flesh—something more, something addictive. it strikes ren as cruel, really, to grow fond of something so fleeting, something always on the verge of slipping through his fingers. but it’s also worth it, apparently, because he keeps coming back for more. greedy hands explore eagerly, desperate to pick clear apart, to dissect every part of him and study him up close. maybe someday, ren thinks, he’ll figure it out—this strange pull between them. but for now, he’ll take whatever this is, no matter how temporary, and make it his own.

“ you’re a fucking twat sometimes. at least you taste good. ”