Traitorously, the words come into his mind — and once they're affixed, he finds himself spiraling. He tells himself to do as Cy asked, to handle the knife, but the blade becomes loose and slippery in his fingers, and his grip fails, and it slices all the way down. Dark, viscous terror spills out from the wound. You don't understand, because he can't think of the moment, he can't think of today without tomorrow, and it won't only gut him to lose Cy. He doesn't know how it happened, how this man became so important to him or how he allowed it to slip beneath every barrier he's raised between himself and the world — but to be confronted with the idea of losing Cy hurts more than he expects. The sudden force of that emotion takes him by surprise, like a swift blow to the center of his chest.
How can Cy simply accept the future ending? No, of course he can, because he's had to. There's no choice for a person that has lived tens of thousands of years. The way it is is the way it is. Time will happen to him, eventually, and Sasuke will be gone from his memory. Cy has known this since the beginning. Sasuke thought he also knew this. Isn't it why he chose to ask for Cy's help? Yet in light of what they've discussed — home, and loneliness, and wanting — he is reminded that he has lost everything and everyone and he doesn't know that he can do it again. He doesn't know that it is possible without succumbing to the trench of his own self, a madness of despair built into every cell and fiber of his being. Wouldn't it be better to die than to have to live, again, alone?
It drowns him. His breaths come shorter, a panicked rhythm, and he struggles to escape Cy's arms in search of air, fumbling backward until he's managed to trip himself over the side of the bed and onto the floor where he curls up.]
we were overdue a freakout i guess
Traitorously, the words come into his mind — and once they're affixed, he finds himself spiraling. He tells himself to do as Cy asked, to handle the knife, but the blade becomes loose and slippery in his fingers, and his grip fails, and it slices all the way down. Dark, viscous terror spills out from the wound. You don't understand, because he can't think of the moment, he can't think of today without tomorrow, and it won't only gut him to lose Cy. He doesn't know how it happened, how this man became so important to him or how he allowed it to slip beneath every barrier he's raised between himself and the world — but to be confronted with the idea of losing Cy hurts more than he expects. The sudden force of that emotion takes him by surprise, like a swift blow to the center of his chest.
How can Cy simply accept the future ending? No, of course he can, because he's had to. There's no choice for a person that has lived tens of thousands of years. The way it is is the way it is. Time will happen to him, eventually, and Sasuke will be gone from his memory. Cy has known this since the beginning. Sasuke thought he also knew this. Isn't it why he chose to ask for Cy's help? Yet in light of what they've discussed — home, and loneliness, and wanting — he is reminded that he has lost everything and everyone and he doesn't know that he can do it again. He doesn't know that it is possible without succumbing to the trench of his own self, a madness of despair built into every cell and fiber of his being. Wouldn't it be better to die than to have to live, again, alone?
It drowns him. His breaths come shorter, a panicked rhythm, and he struggles to escape Cy's arms in search of air, fumbling backward until he's managed to trip himself over the side of the bed and onto the floor where he curls up.]