kids are not supposed to die at school. parents are not supposed to drop their children off at school and then get texts like, “mom if i dont make it out of this, know that i love you and appreciate everything youve done for me”. being in high school is not supposed to be a death sentence. yes, america, you fought for your independance. yes, you won. you’re a free country. but you’re not a safe country. power is not supposed to be more valuable than a human life.
To be honest, Sherlock and John need to just go to bed, and sleep in one another’s arms for like a week straight. They both must be so tired, and desperately lonely for one another. Let them have this. Please!
But consider them waking that first morning John is home, all sleep-soft and mussy. Consider them pressing their foreheads together, breathing one another’s breath. Consider them shrugging out of their shirts, and wrapping their arms around each other, pulling one another close, skin-on-skin, absorbing one another’s warmth. Consider hands stroking gently, learning every dip, and plane, and scar. Consider hot faces tucked in the crook of necks, and careful, tender kisses. Consider words of comfort, promises whispered in the morning light.
“I staying.”
“I’m sorry.”
“I love you.”
“Love you.”
Consider the end of one life, and the beginning of the next, the rest of it, forever.
Also consider other mornings with honey toast and tea in bed, with piles of blankets, and nature documentaries and Bond films on the laptop, books, and magazines, and phones spread out over the duvet.
Consider sarcastic comments aimed at the laptop, and occasional, sleepy dozing, and grumbly shuffling to the loo.
Consider socked feet rubbing against lean, muscled calves, and cold bare feet tucking under warm, strong thighs.
Consider laughter, and tussling that devolves into full on wrestling.
Consider the still, pregnant moment, as one stills beneath the other, and their eyes meet, lips meet, hearts slamming against their ribcage in synchrony, hands everywhere, pants, and moans, and sobs of release and relief.
Consider pyjamas shucked off, bodies soothed clean, naked limbs twining, as heartbeats calm, and breathing evens out.
Consider the comfort of these simple intimacies, things most people take for granted, but which these two men never thought they’d have–never with each other.
Consider the encompassing sense of safety, of rest.
“The paternoster elevator at Prague City Hall. These door-less, continuously moving lifts are the 1860s invention of Peter Ellis, an architect from Liverpool, and were once popular all over Eastern Europe and Germany before production ended in the 1970s over safety concerns. ” Video courtesy Jada Yuan
you ever just instantly develop an irrational fear
writing style: author from the 1800s with a severe love of commas whose sentences last half a page
I came out here, to this point, to this place, hoping against all hope and despite signs and portends suggesting otherwise that I might, somehow, find myself having a pleasant experience, and yet here I stand, alone against the world, feeling assaulted, attacked on all fronts, knowing not my enemy’s name nor his face nor whether our battle is done.
….is that “I came here to have a good time and I’m honestly feeling so attacked right now” but by Oscar Wilde
Amber 