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Until The End Of Time
for Ana, on her birfday
They almost get it right, the first time.
The first time, the man is actually the master of the house, and the youth comes to his service young. The pieces of their souls which are meant to fit together meld while both are still learning themselves. The man is always covered in bits and pieces of metal, always needing to be caught and held a moment while a cuff is linked or a tie is knotted into place. It’s something the man doesn’t appreciate until he finds himself taking in a child—finds that the little pieces of himself he wants to give to the orphaned girl have only ever been taught to him by the constant shadow of his youthful butler.
The first time, Julien doesn’t understand how much Declán loves him. He learns slowly, fumblingly, how to love his daughter—takes much longer to learn, faltering and stumbling and hurting both of them in his uncertainty, how to love his servant. His heart he knows he gives to his child. His soul he knows he gives to his work. But there’s something he gives to Declán, some secret piece he doesn’t have a name for and won’t allow to be more than a murmur in the darkness while the younger man rises in the morning to see to the tea.
They almost get it right, the second time.
The second time, the man is actually a servant himself, and the youth is straggling even lower on the food chain. The pieces of their souls which are meant to fit together snap only once, only briefly, into place in a moment of happenstance. The man is being gifted An Evening by his employer, and the youth comes highly recommended for taking people’s minds off their work. It’s something neither of them give much heed at the time, but that both look back on from time to time with an absent fascination.
The second time, Julien is captivating. Declán doesn’t love him because he doesn’t have the words, the thoughts, the learned emotion to even begin to embark on that sort of surrender. The evening of connecting—of bodies in a bed, of teeth on skin, of sweat-slick hair and the gasps of souls finding just a moment of peace in one another—is erased in the morning as crumpled bills are handed over. It doesn’t matter that the money passes from David to Säde directly. The sickening sensation in both their stomachs casts the act over the what-if.
They’re far off the mark, the third time.
The third time, the man is actually in love with someone else, and the youth is even more of a shadow when born a girl. The pieces of their souls which are meant to fit together catch and snag roughly only in passing, only in their being caught up in other people so much they barely know themselves. The man is only taking a hit at the competition, because the girl sells her skills to others more often than to him, and there’s just no need for a powerful reeling mind like that to do anyone else any favours, really.
The third time, Julien has never actually focused on D’Arcy until he’s standing over her on the pavement, watching her count her own breaths because the pounding of her blood out of her body makes it impossible to count anything else. He’s asked for her uncertain help a dozen times but never looked at her face. He sees her now, gasping in a ragged pattern, slurring slowly more and more toward silence in the dark alley, pale fingers growing paler as they reach meekly for something he can’t see. There’s no reason for him to kneel, to catch her hand with his own—press the blood on his fingers against her skin. It makes her smile in a way that tells him he used to know her, a lifetime ago; that it means something that the world no longer has this set of lungs breathing in it.
They’re perfect, the fourth time.
The fourth time, the man is in the home he’s made for himself, and the youth comes into the service by birth. The pieces of their souls which are meant to fit together meld while both are exactly where they want to be; stay strong even when one is tugged away roughly from his perch. The man is always covered in blood, always loosening his tie or dragging fingers through his hair so that the younger man will appear beside him. It’s something that fits into a system, then overwrites the system.
The fourth time, Julien doesn’t have to be the Ace of Spades. He doesn’t have to hand over money or miss the opportunity by a breath. He only has to lift his chin, lean back in his chair, and realize he’s ready for tea the second before Declán opens the door with a tray. The love isn’t violent, isn’t all-encompassing; isn’t the grandest piece of their lives.
The fourth time, they simply have each other. It’s enough.
for Ana, on her birfday
They almost get it right, the first time.
The first time, the man is actually the master of the house, and the youth comes to his service young. The pieces of their souls which are meant to fit together meld while both are still learning themselves. The man is always covered in bits and pieces of metal, always needing to be caught and held a moment while a cuff is linked or a tie is knotted into place. It’s something the man doesn’t appreciate until he finds himself taking in a child—finds that the little pieces of himself he wants to give to the orphaned girl have only ever been taught to him by the constant shadow of his youthful butler.
The first time, Julien doesn’t understand how much Declán loves him. He learns slowly, fumblingly, how to love his daughter—takes much longer to learn, faltering and stumbling and hurting both of them in his uncertainty, how to love his servant. His heart he knows he gives to his child. His soul he knows he gives to his work. But there’s something he gives to Declán, some secret piece he doesn’t have a name for and won’t allow to be more than a murmur in the darkness while the younger man rises in the morning to see to the tea.
They almost get it right, the second time.
The second time, the man is actually a servant himself, and the youth is straggling even lower on the food chain. The pieces of their souls which are meant to fit together snap only once, only briefly, into place in a moment of happenstance. The man is being gifted An Evening by his employer, and the youth comes highly recommended for taking people’s minds off their work. It’s something neither of them give much heed at the time, but that both look back on from time to time with an absent fascination.
The second time, Julien is captivating. Declán doesn’t love him because he doesn’t have the words, the thoughts, the learned emotion to even begin to embark on that sort of surrender. The evening of connecting—of bodies in a bed, of teeth on skin, of sweat-slick hair and the gasps of souls finding just a moment of peace in one another—is erased in the morning as crumpled bills are handed over. It doesn’t matter that the money passes from David to Säde directly. The sickening sensation in both their stomachs casts the act over the what-if.
They’re far off the mark, the third time.
The third time, the man is actually in love with someone else, and the youth is even more of a shadow when born a girl. The pieces of their souls which are meant to fit together catch and snag roughly only in passing, only in their being caught up in other people so much they barely know themselves. The man is only taking a hit at the competition, because the girl sells her skills to others more often than to him, and there’s just no need for a powerful reeling mind like that to do anyone else any favours, really.
The third time, Julien has never actually focused on D’Arcy until he’s standing over her on the pavement, watching her count her own breaths because the pounding of her blood out of her body makes it impossible to count anything else. He’s asked for her uncertain help a dozen times but never looked at her face. He sees her now, gasping in a ragged pattern, slurring slowly more and more toward silence in the dark alley, pale fingers growing paler as they reach meekly for something he can’t see. There’s no reason for him to kneel, to catch her hand with his own—press the blood on his fingers against her skin. It makes her smile in a way that tells him he used to know her, a lifetime ago; that it means something that the world no longer has this set of lungs breathing in it.
They’re perfect, the fourth time.
The fourth time, the man is in the home he’s made for himself, and the youth comes into the service by birth. The pieces of their souls which are meant to fit together meld while both are exactly where they want to be; stay strong even when one is tugged away roughly from his perch. The man is always covered in blood, always loosening his tie or dragging fingers through his hair so that the younger man will appear beside him. It’s something that fits into a system, then overwrites the system.
The fourth time, Julien doesn’t have to be the Ace of Spades. He doesn’t have to hand over money or miss the opportunity by a breath. He only has to lift his chin, lean back in his chair, and realize he’s ready for tea the second before Declán opens the door with a tray. The love isn’t violent, isn’t all-encompassing; isn’t the grandest piece of their lives.
The fourth time, they simply have each other. It’s enough.
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Then I got up this morning and read it again and it is still amazing and so are you and it totally makes my day. <3
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Happy birthday again. ♥
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Thank you, darling, you are the best. \o/
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No you!
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And this is an argument neither of us is going to win, isn't it? (no YOU)
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...and yes. My money is they have really, really awkward elevator rides to see David a lot.
NO YOU HANG UP FIRST. B|
just using a different julien account BECAUSE I CAN
Hahahahah. And David either has no idea or has ALL THE IDEAS and just smirks a lot. The bastard.
I CAN DO THIS ALL NIGHT, YOU.
oh you mean the account that makes Chives' heart palpitate that's cool
ALL THE IDEAS. If he has to have an awkward crush on Chives, so does Julien. You're welcome, Julien. B|
♥ ♥ ♥
there's also this one? Why does Julien have all the accounts I don't even know
Everybody has a crush on Chives in rent-verse. :|
:D:D:D
idk that Chives has an opinion of this one other than 'sir youR FACE THAT BEARD I CAN FIX IT'
...true. Super true.
hahah, now we need Chives to sit on him and clean him up obv
IN EVERY UNIVERSE THIS HAPPENS.
But I'm also a sleepy panda.
IT IS HIS DESTINY
/snug? Go slee?
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I'll just. Find something to go post. In a meme. Somewhere. :|
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