if i keep my eyes closed, he feels just like you && private

[marsy]

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a beautiful young woman, truly hundreds of years old; a scourge of angels and demons alike chasing her, her own feet carrying her as fast as she could, faster than any human being could run. pure white wings sprouted from her back, but she didn’t chance using them—broken, bleeding, a trail of feathers following behind her. her bare feet were scratched and bruised from the grass and the stray twigs, rocks and pebbles, and her sundress was torn to shreds.

the glowing around her flickered, the pain surging through her strong body—but she kept running, holding a boy no older than four years old in her arms, who clung to her with his tiny fists, eyes squeezed shut, trembling.

“don’t open your eyes, meu amor,” she whispered to him, breathing heavily. her own golden tears fell from her bright eyes, and she cried out when she tripped, shielding her boy from the fall. the trees rustled more and more violently, black smoke mixed with blinding light getting closer and closer and closer.

she quickly got back up to her feet, stumbling, sobbing quietly. the boy opened his eyes to make sure she was okay, eyes wide, but she quickly hid his head in her shoulder. “eyes!” he closed them tightly again.

they came to a small cabin, and there she hid him inside, putting a necklace around his neck. she spoke a small phrase, and the pendant glowed, then became dull again. the boy whined as she moved away after placing a kiss to his head and telling him she loved him more than anything else in this universe. she left without another word, leaving him in the darkness.

he could hear her screams, and he opened his eyes, tears flooding his eyes and spilling onto his rosy cheeks. he curled up and closed his eyes at the bright light, and then there was silence, and darkness.

he woke up with a gasp, eyes flying wide open. he didn’t move for a few seconds, but darkness clouded his vision and he finally panicked, kicking the blanket off his coldweat-wracked form, and tried to move, only resulting with him landing on the ground, falling backwards off the bed with a loud ‘thud!’ he cursed under his breath as the paint shot through his body, but it quickly dissipated. he groaned and lied back, feet still on the bed, and hit his head against the wooden floor a few times before resting.

with an exasperated sigh, fausto turned until his feet hit the ground, and he pushed himself up into sitting position, legs criss-crossed. he rubbed the sleepy from his eyes—but the tired always stayed—and reluctantly stood up so he could trudge to the bathroom and turn the shower on. he peeled his shirt off, face scrunching up at the dampness of it from his sweat. he threw it to the pile of dirty clothes in the corner, consisting of just a few simple articles because he only had a few outfits—it’s all he needed; he didn’t care for extravagant shit, much less tons of it.

after stripping the rest of his clothes, he climbed into the steam-filled shower, hissing as the scorching water hit his bare skin, but relaxed quickly, and stepped further into it until it rained onto his head and down his face—and he stood there, still and eyes closed, for a few moments, savoring the feeling of the warm water dribbling down his scarred body. then, he ran his hands through his hair, and reached over to grab the shampoo without opening his eyes.

after washing his hair and body, ridding it of the sweat and grime from the other day—and this morning—he turned the shower off, and reached for the towel hanging just outside the shower on the bar on the wall. he dried his face first, then his hair as much as he could, and draped it across his shoulders. he dragged the second towel and dried the rest of himself as best he could before wrapping the towel around his waist, and stepped out of the steam and towards the sink so he could hunch over it, hands gripping the edge of the porcelain to keep himself steady.

exhaustion swept over him in a large, harsh wave, and his heart palpitated, and his knees buckled. he caught his balance before he could fall, and with what energy he had left, he managed to drag himself back to his bed so he could plop down belly-first. he grabbed a pillow and dragged it under his head, hugging it loosely, his feet hanging off the bed, and he immediately let sleep take over.

he could feel it—the darkness radiating off of them like a goddamn space heater. he’d just wanted on peaceful night, but of course the universe fucking hated him. he still couldn’t understand why his mother named him fausto; he was probably—no, he definitely was—the unluckiest guy, ever. trouble always had a way of finding him, no matter what precautions he took to make sure it didn’t.

it was really starting to piss him off—he was twenty-one and he’d already had several—many—near death experiences. honestly, if someone, or some people, or some things, wanted him dead so bad, why didn’t they just get it over with instead of teasing him? maybe there was something looking out for him, or maybe these demons and supposedly “merciful” angels just wanted to toy with him—either way, it was getting really old, and he was pissed off and exhausted.

he growled into his drink, wanting nothing more than to knock himself out with a bang of his head against the counter—but he refrained, for the sake of all of the other patrons at the bar. black and white circles dotted the corners of his vision, and his hands trembled. he sighed heavily and downed the drink, pushing it forwards on the bar with a finger sticking out in a signal that he wanted another. the bartender shook her head and told him he was being cut off, because, jesus christ, that was his, what? tenth? eleventh? twelfth drink? he wasn’t counting anymore, and he didn’t care, because he wasn’t even drunk yet—hardly, anyway. it took quite a lot to get him drunk, thanks to the peri blood running in his veins.

curse his mother. curse his father. curse them for ever thinking it was a good idea to bring a halfling child into this disgusting world.

he narrowed his eyes at the man—definitely was not just a man, but whoever he was wearing was one—who sat next to him and gave him a tight-lipped, almost-sympathetic smile that was sickenly fake.

they thought he was fucking stupid; they thought he couldn’t tell the difference between a demon and a human; the thought he didn’t know what they were trying to do, that he couldn’t remember what they and the angels did to his mother.

“if you think i don’t know what you are, you’re not only an ass, but a dumb one.”

he got up from the stool and hid his hands in his pockets, the dots in his vision growing in numbers for a couple seconds before they gradually disappeared. without looking back—and ignoring the bartender, who called out to him, asking him if he had a ride and if he’d be okay—he walked out of the bar, shoulders slumped. he could feel it following him, so as soon as he was a few blocks away from the bar, he broke out into a fast job, and then a sprint.

he knew it was a longshot, outrunning a demon, but he was fast, thanks to his mom, and he had a chance. he didn’t think he’d actually outrun the thing, but he could get pretty far, at least. when he looked back, however, the demon was nowhere to be seen, and he could hear it’s cries a few moments later, begging and pleading. confusion hit him the same time curiosity did, but he kept himself from investigating, not wanting to chance it being a trap, and continued to run all the way to his flat.

on his way there, he swore he could see something from the corner of his eye—just a flicker of movement that made him twitch his head to the side, made him even more uneasy—but when nothing came up to him, nothing touched him, and nothing sounded, he sighed heavily and focused back on just getting home and getting into bed.

his eyes slowly peeled themselves open, and he let out a soft sigh from his nose, blinking slowly. he rubbed at his eyes with the palm of his hand, and slowly sat up on the bed, knees bent outwards and to the side, away from his body. he leaned forward, putting the soles of his feet together, and stretched, fingers intertwined and palms facing away from him. he grunted as his shoulders and back gave satisfying pops, and then leaned backward, hands keeping himself upright—or, mostly upright. he rolled his shoulders and his head, from side to side until his neck cracked twice for each side, and then scooted himself to the edge of the bed and swung his legs over it. he put his head in his hands, rubbing at them slowly, harshly, with the palms of is hands, and took a deep breath.

in—one, two, three, four; hold it—one, two, three, four, five, six seven; and out—one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight.

and then he stood, slowly and carefully, and walked leisurely to his dresser. he grabbed the last clean shirt—a simple white v-neck t-shirt—and a pair of baggy, light grey sweatpants, and he dropped the towels from his waist and shoulders and got dressed. after, he threw the towels into the bathroom, carelessly, and made his way out of the room, down the hallway, and by the living room to the kitchen. he grabbed a water bottle from the fridge, making a mental note that he really needed to get groceries—and do laundry—and leaned against the counter with one hand gripping the edge, ankles crossed.

he stared down at the bottle of water with a frown, standing there in silence for a few moments, before he scoffed softly at himself and uncapped the water, and took a few sips.

“what does this flicker look like, exactly? any specific… shape, or form?”

fausto sighed and leaned back, heavily, into the back cushions of the sofa. he looked up to the ceiling, ran a hand through his hair, and shrugged his shoulders. he returned both of his hands to his lap, fiddling with the cap of the water bottle there, and refused to meet the therapist’s eyes.

she thought he was crazy—he could tell.

“i dunno; i never stick around to actually try and see it. it’s just a- just a blur of- of-”

he sucked in a deep breath and shook his head, frown deepening.

“i don’t know. i don’t even know why i’m here-”

“because you lashed out at work, and your boss would have fired you if you didn’t agree to go to seven session.”

“seven. fuckin’ hate that number,” he mumbled, wiping his hands over his face before dropping them back down in his lap. he uncapped the water bottle and took a quick few sips before closing it again.

he set the water bottle aside after closing it and walked over to the recliner in the living room, grabbing the remote to the television from the coffee table on the way, his feet dragging on the floor. he pressed the power button and sat down in the chair, slowly lowering himself down onto it, and swung his legs up and over one of the arms, curling up as comfortably as he could. one arm wrapped around himself, the other hanging limply by his side not leaning against the back of the chair, and he flipped through the channels until he found one he could tolerate—a free movie channel playing a mid-2000s movie he couldn’t be bothered to remember the name of.

he had already taken a few-hour nap—he hadn’t bothered to look at the time, because he had today off work, so did it really matter?—but he was already starting to drift off again. the remote dropped from his hand as his eyes slid shut, and he was pulled under again.

he was curious.

he knew this would probably get him more therapy sessions, or he’d lose his job, or maybe—probably; more than likely—both.

but he was too curious and too pissed off to care—mostly pissed off.

with a frown set on his face, he took a deep breath, squeezed his eyes shut, and took one step, then another, and another until he was in the middle of oncoming traffic. he heard the honking of horns and tires screeching and the cries of onlookers, and the car that should have hit him stopped just mere inches—not even—from him, it’s hind tires lifting off of the ground for a few seconds before bouncing back onto the ground. he opened one eye, then the other, and his tense shoulders slumped with a heavy sigh passing his lips.

he rolled his eyes as people looked on, the man in the car frozen for a few seconds before he got out to yell at fausto, and one person—a young woman, probably nineteen or twenty—came running up to him to put a gentle hand on his shoulder and pull him into a hug, tell him everything was going to be okay, yada yada.

he’s heard that before, and it’s never held true.

bang!

he frowned and looked around, and the young woman furrowed her brows in confusion up at his own confusion. she asked him why he flinched so hard, but he couldn’t hear her as the world around him started to grow darker, darker, darker, and another loud noise sounded out.

his eyes flew open, and on reflex, he pushed himself over the arm and to a defensive stance. he growled as they flooded in, and he rolled his eyes, blurting out a quiet “are you fucking serious?” before two of them grabbed him and started dragging him outside. he gave somewhat of a fight, still groggy from the nap, and the nap before that nap, and the restless night of sleep he’d had before that—but, of course, it was no use. he might have been half peri, but they were purely demons.

purely. ironic.

these assholes really wanted him dead, huh?

fausto clawed and scratched, fire burning in his bright green eyes—just like his mother’s, except more tired and a hell of a lot angrier. he kicked and yelled out at them, telling them to fuck off, go back to hell and leave him the fuck alone, asking them what the hell he’d ever done to them—they just snickered at him, but their snickers quickly quieted, and his expression of anger quickly turned into one of frustrated confusion as one of the bastards cried out to his comrades at the sound of rattling chains being dragged on the ground.

that sound was familiar, but fausto couldn’t remember why.

his eyes blew wide as the demons tried to drag him off more quickly, only for them to be ripped away and literally ripped apart. their black blood splattered on him, and he groaned in disgust, nose scrunched up. he looked back up, trying to see what the hell was doing this to demons, because if it could do this to these assholes, then he wanted to get the fuck out of there as soon as possible—but he also wanted to know what the hell it was, because maybe it was the reason he couldn’t fucking die, but sure as hell could still be beat close to death, get so sick he’s on the brink of it, but just couldn’t quite get there.

and maybe he wanted to cuss it out for that, because, yeah, he was very, very ticked off.

he watched as the demons were basically torn to shreds by seemingly nothing. he could feel something trailing up behind him, so he quickly turned around, only to be met with a fucking sword through the chest. he tried to stifle it, but the scream bubbling up ripped from his throat until his voice was hoarse, and again, albeit quieter and more of a sob, when the sword was ripped back out. he immediately fell to the ground, onto his knees and then curled up on his side, breathing quick and shaky, and small grunts and winces and deep whines emitted from him.

he cursed under his breath repeatedly and growled, gritting his teeth so tightly it almost immediately started giving him a toothache and headache. neither of the aches compared to the searing pain in his chest, and his hands, trembling, clutched at his shirt over the wound, pressing hard against it with a loud groan.

anyone else would have died pretty quickly, with how much blood he was losing, despite the sword missing—just barely—his heart—but he was half peri, so it would take him longer. he didn’t know how much longer, but he knew it was too damn much longer.

he flinched and winced at the increasing pain it caused as a booming voice sounded in the air, like it was coming down from the heavens, surrounding him and making his headache and trembling even worse. he looked up, and his eyes widened.

he watched the thing—him? it looked like a tall man shrouded in black smoke with a very intimidating scythe (death? fucking death? was that who it was?)—create some kind of, what, portal? and drag all of the demons down into it.

without thinking, he let out a weak “hey!” after it was finished, dragging all of the demons down to wherever, and he got himself up into a sitting position with a few grunts and groans, one hand on the ground and the other still clutching his chest over his wound. he coughed, and blood dribbled down his lips, causing him to groan in even more disgust. he stared at the thing that had saved him—or maybe it just wanted to kill him, itself—and it stared back at him with the same expression of frustrated confusion.

and then it started to yell at him, in a normal human man’s voice, and he scrunched his nose up more, frown deepening as he leaned back, expression turning incredulous.

he scoffed at it’s words, and tried to stand, managing to stumble up to his feet, hunched over. he took a few moments to try and get himself to stand straight up, with his head held up high, teeth bared.

“fuck you, asshole! i never asked for your help! and how would i know why they’re fucking after me? i’ve done jack shit! all i do is work, eat, and sleep, and i don’t even do that well!”

some of his words were slurred; his australian accent thicker from the emotions and the pain; and his voice was hoarse from the screaming and from the goddamn pain; and a few seconds after he finished yelling back, he went into a coughing fit, choking on the blood coming up into his throat, the pain increasing. he couldn’t hold himself up, stumbling back down to his knees, hunched over with a hand trying to grip the ground and the other clutching more tightly at the ripped shirt over his wound.

“shit.”

[div style="width: 274px; text-align: center; font-family: montserrat, arial; font-size: 25pt; color: #afb6b2; font-style: italic; letter-spacing: 0.5px;"]fausto silva.

[uzumati.]

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[color=transparent]YOU ARE LOVELY <3

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[uzumati.]

YOU ARE LOVELY <3

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