deercountry | i am just a picture frame

I would find you. And even if you changed... I'd stay with you.

[He murmurs into Paul's neck before Paul pulls them apart and then forces them back together like the collision of two celestial bodies. He can feel Paul's body thrum, the beating of his heart, the tenseness in his muscles like they're his own. Like they collided and created something new, something singular. The kiss is needy, Kaworu can feel the promise on Paul's lips, even if he doesn't say it outloud. Kaworu decide to believe that Paul will keep his promise.

He pulls away slightly, looking back into eyes that swim like the sea, and breathes out his own promise.]

Even if you do what you were made to do.

Edited 2022-06-04 20:50 (UTC)

[They need to be closer. Paul drags Kaworu into his lap under the certainty of that impulse, molding them together like rolled clay, the boundaries between them soft and clinging. He doesn't care who might walk by to see, or think about how legible his heart must be to anyone who knows how to listen for it.

Kaworu would stay with him, even if he became what he was born to be, and Paul feels that grace fold around him like wings.]

I'm yours.

[He says it helplessly, bravely. He says it like it comes on him by surprise, and like he's known it all along.]

Whatever else I am, I'm yours. I won't forget that. I couldn't if I tried.

[The next kiss is softer, his hand slipping to curve along the side of Kaworu's face, thumb stroking his cheek.]

You are mine.

[Kaworu agrees softly, as he lets himself be pulled into Paul's arms, enveloped by the warmth of Paul's limbs and the warmth that rises in his chest like a tide pool warmed by the sun.

And he's Paul's, but that goes without saying. He's been Paul's since the day they spoke in bloody surf. How could he not have given everything to him after that? The promise to remember only reinforces Kaworu's commitment to those feelings. Feelings he knows are his and came from within his own heart and no one else's. Feelings that grow like a tree from a small seed at every soft kiss they share.]

Though, you are pretty handsome when you defy the tests of creepy old witches with pain boxes.

Edited 2022-06-05 17:04 (UTC)

[Finally, Paul topples from the edge his ragged breathing was poised on. His laughter is an unexpected burst of broken tension, the clinging shadows of that remembered room pushed back. It's still tinged with the breathiness of a sob, but it's still warm and alive. It's still his laugh.]

You're amazing.

[That's uncomplicated and heartfelt, as is tugging up Kaworu's shirt so he can flatten his hand on the small of his back. He kisses the corner of that teasing, irreverent little mouth, and he's here, in this moment and no others.]

She was a creepy old witch, wasn't she? [There's a vindictive spike in the disrespect.] She underestimated me.

You're needy.

[It's a tease as Paul slides a warm hand up his spine, reminding him of every vertebrae and amazing thing his body is capable of. He arches and then leans back after Paul kisses his lower lip, wrapping his legs around Paul's waist, relying on his hands to keep them upright and together.]

And she did. I'll never do such a thing.

I know you won't. And I am.

[Paul steadies Kaworu with a hand on his waist, the other sliding to press between his shoulderblades as Paul nuzzles his nose along Kaworu's, only a light trace of dampness marking the brush of his eyelashes over Kaworu's soft skin.]

I need you.

[He closes the distance between their mouths after that soft, sure statement, coaxing in familiar invitation with the tip of his tongue. He's getting better at this. He's getting better at a lot of things.]

It's alright.

[He hums softly as Paul nuzzles their noses together, shifting only a little to kiss the traces of expertly contained tears on Paul's eyelashes, as though the gesture can undo the cause.

He lets Paul pull him closer and close the distance between them, opening his mouth to another that's become increasingly familiar. He leans forward, only breaking the kiss to mumble into Paul's cheek.]

I need you too.

[Paul doesn't know how to explain the alchemy of Kaworu's murmured words flowing after those gentle, salt-stained kisses, and this is one mystery he is content to leave as one to experience, not to unravel. It is so much more than the sum of its parts, the transmution of his vulnerability to safety, and he cannot risk disrupting any element of this precious acceptance.

So he takes it, as if he could drink it down like nectar-wine. The full flushed urgency of his kiss as he drags his hands down the notches of Kaworu's spine and back up again suggests he might try, that he might want to.

(If Gideon, or Teacher forbid, Augustine were to see this, he'd never hear the end of it. He doesn't care.)]

[Unlike Paul, Kaworu doesn't even think about Gideon, or Teacher, or anyone. It's like they've shifted into a universe that's made up of only them, molding together, filling out each others imperfect edges.

Paul's hand moves up his back, thumb catching on the edge of a scar at the base of his chest.

The world shifts.

[Kaworu is prone on an operating table, younger than he is now, closer to eleven, maybe twelve, he's still so small it's hard to correctly judge his age.

Despite being a memory, the chill and hardness of the metal against his spine are stark and easy to recall. He twists, trying to shift into a more comfortable position, but his movements are sluggish. He's been given some kind of drug to take edge off... and make him less dangerous. As if for further insurance, his wrists are strapped to the table, the metal, infused with something that bites into his skin, rubs painfully against the still healing wounds on his arm. There would be little sympathy for that, he did it to himself after all.

Someone looms over him, face covered with a mask and obscured by bright lights, stating something about "a prototype of a progressive knife" before bringing it down to press into his chest. It slices open his skin from neck to the edge of his left rib, then the skin is carefully peeled back for better observation.

They're looking at his S^2 organ again. It's always baffled them how he could be both human and angel, possessing part of the source of infinite energy they desire, but still wrapped in the fragile shape of a human heart. They dare not touch it but, once again, they're calculating how they might get to it and, if he were a true angel, destroy it.

He makes a muffled sound of protest. They're going to use this against his brethren, he knows that now. He's been told that he's the "successor of life" and the one fated to return this planet to his people but... that means being the last. That means helping humans kill the rest of his kind in order to follow the plans the Ancient Ones had laid forth for Adam. He knows it doesn't matter, but all he can do is voice his displeasure before going silent. Listening to the count of each second as his skin reforms and slowly knots back together.

This isn't the first time this has happened. He tells himself he's used to it.

A gasp and he pulls away, instinctual and against all desire.]

[Kaworu has told Paul enough, shown him enough, that Paul thought he understood. He has learned to always be gentle with Kaworu, around his scars and otherwise. No nails, no teeth, no hard pressure, and these have been such simple lines to abide by that he's let his affront at each mark slip into a background hum.

It doesn't help anything to be angry, or to force conversations Kaworu doesn't want to have. He tells himself this so often it, too, became a backdrop.

The background bursts in a rupture of white-hot static behind his eyes, his body stilled in noise until Kaworu jerks away. He moves like that static, jumping from one point to another in a near-invisible transition, leaning forward to loop an arm behind Kaworu to catch him if he falls further back, his other hand flung out to brace against the piano with a dissonant crash of notes.

He doesn't say anything, at first. His heart shivers too quick and close, mimicking an alien hum. His eyes are fixed wide in a paroxysm of distress, blue shot through green like a afterimage of lightning.]

Kaworu.

[He does not know this voice, hollowed and horrified. He fights the urge to clutch Kaworu close, maintaining the slight but meaningful distance between them, even as he angles in protectively.]

I've got you. I'm here. [Warmer, better collected, pitched soothing and calm.] We're here. You're safe.

[Somehow the sound of the piano is more disconcerting to him than the memory. It snaps him back to reality, fully aware of where he is and when. He reaches out to touch the keys, as if insuring that Paul didn't do any harm before nodding.

He doesn't want to be delicate. Or fragile. Or invulnerable either. Too many people have deemed him to be one or the other.]

I know. Just a memory.

[One of those memories that doesn't hurt that much because it was so familiar. Now and then it might twinge, like an old injury that aches a little when it's cold. It's long lost all its edges, its ability to cut and cause pain, now it's just a discomfort.

He reaches out and gently grips Paul's shoulder as if he also needs to be drawn back into the waking world.]

[Paul searches Kaworu's face intently, cracked irises dilating and contracting as he conducts a rapid, incisive assessment. He leans slightly into Kaworu's hand, then straightens up, his arm coming back into contact to help guide Kaworu up with him.]

A memory.

[He leans in to touch their foreheads together, his slightly overlong curls falling just far enough to veil their eyes.]

A bad one.

[He says it almost calmly, the tremor in his voice a subdued one. It's stating the obvious, but - is it obvious?]

Do you want to talk about it?

A memory.

[There are worse ones. This one is something had that long faded into the background and became just another day.

He presses his forehead against Paul's letting messy curls tickle his nose and cheek. Paul is here. He won't let this memory hurt him. And Paul will protect him from himself.]

Do you want to ask about it?

[Paul has improved his ability to speak of himself, but he still hesitates at the thought of asking anyone else about themselves. Even Kaworu, who sleeps curled over his side to guard him against nightmares, who knows more about the worst of him than almost anyone else, and who rarely hesitates to speak frankly about his past and all that lies within it.

It doesn't mean he doesn't want to know. He can feel the lines of scars still through Kaworu's shirt.]

No. Yes.

[He shakes his head slightly, more of a rock, unwilling to break contact.]

I don't want to ask because I don't want to hurt you. I don't know how not to hurt you if I don't ask.

Sometimes, you have to choose something that hurts because it's the only option. It just changes if it hurts now or later.

[It's not exactly reassuring, but it feels more true. There can be pain caused by ignorance and pain from recalling painful things. There isn't a way to escape it.

But Paul's delicateness with it amuses him. To think of Paul turning his well being over in his head, like some sort of intricate object, trying to puzzle out the safest way to take it apart. It fills him with warmth to be handled with such care.]

You can ask now.

[This is when Paul would trace a circle on Kaworu's back, or tap a rhythm on his collarbone. He'd lean in to kiss him again, petal-soft, stroke his thumb over the smooth line of his jaw. Touch is the clearest communication he knows, and it is always the first and last of his impulses towards comfort.

He keeps his hands still. He doesn't pull away, couldn't bring himself to, but he does nothing more than that.]

Do I ever remind you of that? When I touch you.

[A series of tiny, subtle flinches plays out for him, in near-perfect memory. Things he's soothed Kaworu through, unspeaking, because this question has caught on his tongue every time he's tried to form it.]

No.

[He leans forward and presses a kiss to Paul's jaw, twisting his hand in the collar of his shirt to pull him closer.]

You... were the first person who ever touched me in a kind way. In a way that I had always longed for. You could never be like them. Don't say it.

[He presses his face into Paul's shoulder, eyes tearing up against his will, as he thinks about long skinny arms holding him in bloody surf and how desperately he had wanted to be able to move his arms to return the gesture.]

Edited 2022-06-12 15:14 (UTC)

[Paul cradles the back of Kaworu's head, lacing into his downy hair as he tightens his arms around him nearly as fervently as he did then. He makes wordless, soothing sounds against the top of his head, half-hum and half-murmur, his heartbeat quickening in mirrored distress.]

I won't. [He runs his thumb along the curve of Kaworu's skull arcing down to his spine.] I won't say it.

[He knows he's not the first person to ever offer Kaworu kindness, but he also knows the distinction Kaworu means, even if he's no better at putting it into words himself. All he can think of is vulnerability, and there's a phantom ache in his side, his wrists, his arms, held down and butterflied open.]

I want to be careful with you. [Like the world should have been careful.] I need to be. So if I ever do anything that isn't - will you tell me? Please.

You don't need to be careful with me. I can handle things. You've seen what I've handled. ...But I don't mind if you are.

[He knows Paul means kindness in being careful. To handle him delicately as though not to hurt him. Paul knows the kind of pain that Kaworu has been subjected to and Kaworu knows being careful, being gentle, is a way not to add to that pain.

Even if a little bit more pain is barely noticable to him now. Or so he thinks, unaware of how much an arrow hurts when fired by someone you love.]

Hey.

[He tugs on Paul's collar, a strange light in his eyes.]

What if we pretend we're made for each other?

[When they started this, Kaworu told him that they'd hurt one another. That they wouldn't be able to help it, that the nature of the distinction between them as individuals made it inevitable, and Paul had thought he understood. Part of him had.

This is the other part, he realizes, even as it carves a clean line through him, because it's impossible for him to open his chest and let Kaworu see his hand curled around Paul's heart.]

Are you sure it'd be pretending?

[It would be. It is. Paul knows what he is made for. It has nothing to do with the soft tremor in him at the idea that he could be made for anything else.

(But what if he could be? What if a ten thousand year old chain could coil to nothing? If he could be gentle, if he could be careful. If he could be made for the time between storms, and not of them.)]

Maybe not. Maybe I was born to meet you.

[What is reality, really? His reality used to be earth and now it's in this place. It used to be something that was tightly controlled and anything outside of it was a dream. Now the dream has become reality. Why not dream? Dreams only exist within reality, so maybe choosing to dream, determining your fate, is a reality in and of itself, and therefore longer pretend.

He reaches up to gently stroke Paul's face, feeling his soft skin, curls tickling the edges of his fingers as he explores stark features.

Yes, that could be so. Maybe he was made to meet Paul. And they were both made to meet Izuku, Gideon, Harrow, and so many others.]

[Paul lets out a small, tremulous breath as Kaworu trails slim fingers across his face, his eyes lit by the falling sunlight like a rain-slicked forest canopy. He catches Kaworu's wrist with a gentle hand, turning to place a kiss to his palm.]

Of all the stars, we ended up under these ones.

[In this blood-soaked, turbulent world, with people unlike any he's ever met, who have transmuted him into someone he never would have imagined he'd be.]

Maybe that's what brought me here.

[Not to be a scourge on this world, or to be punished for what he would have been to another. Softly, he speaks into the warm curve of Kaworu's skin.]

I'm glad you found me.

Edited 2022-06-15 14:45 (UTC)

Yes. Out of infinite stars, here we are.

[He lets Paul kiss his hand, as though marking the lines on his skin like a map to ensure he can always return to what he found.

It's funny, how his feelings have shifted since they met, changing Paul from someone he was attracted to into someone he cared for. There's still passion, but there's always a warmth when he looks at Paul, something that kindled in a quiet tent on a cold beach.]

I'll always find you. I promise.

[There's a chance, and not a slim one, that Paul falls back on touch so often between them because it's a simpler method of communication than language. He nuzzles the delicate skin of Kaworu's palm before he turns to seal a swift kiss to his lips, closed mouthed and gentle.

He has so many things he wants to convey. He still doesn't have the words. (Or he does; he just doesn't know how to use them.)]

I believe you.

[He'd question almost anyone else. He'd hold himself back. But he does believe Kaworu, because he believes in Kaworu, like an inevitability.]

Edited 2022-06-19 04:55 (UTC)

[He hums against Paul's mouth, invigorated, intoxicated by the sensation where their lips meet.]

And then we'd find Izuku. Together. As we were meant to be.

[He drops his head, resting it against Paul's cheekbone, letting the weight be carried by someone else, unafraid and confident in the shelter it provides.]

I love you.

[Three words. Three small words. Yet so big. Made complicated by all the ways humans use it. But to him... very simple. There's no confusion, no hidden meanings or suggestion in the word.

It is what it is.]

i am just a picture frame | june catch-all

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cw: teen handsiness

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cw: medical, surgical, experimentation, implications of self-harm

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