nobody's watching, drowning in words so sweet; lydia pony

[Eilidh]

Eilidh

There are oceans between them that she didn’t know could be bridged by a single step, but he shows her.

Reefs are crumbling like ancient cities, water, misplaced — everything shifts, everything changes because he tells her that they aren’t only strangers when he touches her nose in the way that she had first meant to touch his. He tells her it’s the same for him — all of it, the seconds that could be hours, or days, the nagging emptiness, the loss. And there’s a familiarity in the warmth of his skin that at first she doesn’t expect, but welcomes.

There’s something about the way they come together that reminds her of home (and not the kind spelled out by landmarks, the kind of home that only exists in your heart).

And then he asks to know her mother’s name, and Eilidh pauses briefly to consider if she has it within herself to share it with him. He continues to share his own parents names with her, and the meaning is not lost. It’s beautiful in it’s own right; a tribute, she sees.

Riagan, and Rayelle.

She sounds the names out in her head, not daring to marr the silence that settles in around them now and instead allowing herself a moment to imagine what they would be like. Kind, is what she ultimately decides. To have made him they would have been impossibly kind.

“I wonder what they’d say to us right now,” he says. There’s irony in that, she thinks, because if they were here right now the truth is that they wouldn’t have to tell either of them anything at all. Regardless, it’s nice to imagine her here again; today, and not in the past.

“She always told me that I was her light in the darkness.
“I think she’d want me to find one, too.”
“Her name was Moselle.”

The second the words are off her tongue she hates them. There’s a finality in was that makes her hurt. Was — like her name stopped being her own when her heart stopped beating, like it doesn’t belong to her now that she’s only bones and earth, dead and gone. It’s still her name though, isn’t it? In the stars they would still call her Moselle, wouldn’t they?

She doesn’t want to think about that, though.

She wants to think about the kindness in his face.
She wants to think about the way he touched her like they weren’t strangers at all.
She wants to think about now, for once.

“And your parents,” she says, creeping forwards with a playful edge to her smile and bumping his shoulder lightly with her nose.

“Would tease you for your suggestion that we ‘platonically speaking, out-of-the-water warm up’ earlier, I’m sure.”


 

⤜ nobody's watching, drowning in words so sweet ⤛

@[Lydia] Sorry this one is poopy.

[Leander]

Her words stuck a chord within him. He imagined how his father had always looked at his mother – like she was the only sun in his universe – and perhaps they hoped he would one day find that kind of light, too. Just as Eilidh had done, Leander silently lets the name she pronounces sink in. It’s a lyrical name, and so similar to Rayelle that a corner of his mouth tilts upward. Perhaps their mothers would have been friends. Maybe they were, even now – looking down on them as two of the brightest stars, shining side by side.

Eilidh’s soft teasing comes as a surprise, but the laugh that escaped him follows so easily. “I’d never hear the end of it,” he agreed, returning with a wry grin, “though I’d have you to blame for telling them about it in the first place.” He couldn’t help but notice the way her smile turned her expression into one of openness. It reminded him of the air – the feeling of wind beneath his wings.

They stayed together under spinning stars through to the small hours of the morning, conversing and sharing the quiet of the night in turns as though they were old friends. The truth was that they were no longer strangers, having been woven instead by an invisible thread of commonality that spoke at once of old memories and new.

When the sun finally broke the horizon and gilted the river in gold, Leander felt almost sheepish while they bid one another goodnight. “Until next time?” Leander ventured, though it only took seconds for him to reform the question into something else – something to better express his certainty that this would not be their last meeting. “I’ll see you, Eilidh.”

And perhaps he left feeling a little lighter than before.

leander

take a bullet to the heart just to keep you safe; like a dream in my arms but i’m wide awake

@[Nev] um your writing could never be remotely poopy and I love Eyelid so much.