"But the dream, the echo, slips from him as quickly as he had found it and as consciousness comes to him (a slap and not the gentle waves of oceanic tides), it dissolves entirely. His muscles relax as the cold claims him again, as the numbness sets in, and when his grey eyes open, there’s nothing but the faint after burn of a dream often trod and never remembered." --Brigade, written by Laura
He is breathless, restless, and not at all for the usual reasons. His heart is not pounding irregularly, but it pounds nonetheless, rattling against his rib cage as he saunters across the dull, dreary lands that lay before him. He broke away at dawn, savoring the way the gentle sun slowly peeked up over a tired, weary horizon, illuminating the melting frost and snow that lingers still on the permafrost below. He hid away in the crevices of the mountain, secluded for a few long, bittersweet hours as he absorbed the energy and warmth of a beckoning sun - his two-toned pelt painted in its light as he forgets, even for a moment, how inexplicably small (and how useless) he is in the scheme of things.
His dark hooves leave heavy imprints with each step he takes, leaving a trail and marking a path - but beneath him are the markings of many others; a path well-traveled. A path he cannot see - one that he blindly follows without realizing. A path marked by the many hefty, solid, muscular men that had lived many years before his own as he wanders towards the very heart of the tundra.
As his forelegs propel him forth, a soft breath of air slowly exhales from his lungs, leaving behind a trail of fog from the cold evening air. The sun was beginning to set, its brilliant colors of magenta and lavender shining over the horizon, reflecting off of the sheets of ice that remain along the mountain like shimmering painted glass. Gentle stems of grass peaked beneath the frost, lapping gently at his legs as he finally stands still while his lungs sting with the icy air.
In spite of the invitation of spring, the cold remains, setting into his bones and reminding him of his bodily existence. His heart gives a brief skip, but he ignores it. It is an odd discomfort (the way that it seems to forget how to function, how to thrive), but it is one he has learned to put to the very back of his mind. His legs, once spindly and uneasy, were now strengthened by testosterone that had begun to surge through his still young body. He was no longer awkward, fumbling or clumsy, but he was petite, if nothing else. He fit easily into the side of his father, who towered over him and was likely three times his own weight - but he is Argo; a growing boy with bright, brown fawn eyes and a too-curious mind.
His curiosity is sated, for however long, by the vision of stark, silvery obsidian against the dull gray of a cave entrance. A wry grin tugs at his whiskered lips as he quietly creeps along behind, nipping his blunt teeth against the hide of a too-familiar form. He presses alongside him, reaching to tug at his tangled forelock, mischief alight in his dark eyes as he observes the worried, furrowed brow of his brother's expression.
"Looking for me, Nevi? You'll never find me - where it is that I go, I mean." He muses, his taut skin pressed against his side, seeking his warmth and comfort in ways that were perhaps too inappropriate for words at times. "Sometimes I need to get away. Sometimes I need to be alone."You suffocate me, he doesn't say. You all do.
He knows the depths of their love, of their adoration, of their worry. It is all a bit too much for him, at times.
He knows his brother knows this; he does but cannot help himself.
I know you're trying to fight when you feel like flying.
I used to spend time in these caves to hide from the world, to hide from too many eyes lingering on my skin, too much open sky making me feel exposed, naked and vulnerable beneath that endless stretch of blue. God, especially after Lissie's birth, and the wolves, and how deeply I believed it was all my fault. That I had almost broken our whole family. I had barely been able to stand the light of day, especially while Dad was still mad. I almost couldn't breathe knowing how I'd let him down. Even talking to Mom, even her telling me it wasn't my fault, had done nothing to assuage the guilt that had driven me to the edge of despair.
I was so tangled up in blaming myself, in hating myself for something as simple as who I was. Neverwas. That name haunted me for years, every beat of my heart an imposition, every breath stealing air from the world around me, from people who deserved it more. And why? Because I was born to a woman who didn't know how to love me. Not because there was something wrong with me. Not because I was bad, or cursed, or never meant to live. But because she was broken.
Now? Now I make my way toward the caves for shelter, not because I want to hide from the world. Just because it's winter and I'm a little chilly and I could use a break from the wind. When I reach the mouth of the cave, I turn my face up to the sky, closing my eyes and soaking up a little of the last lingering rays of sunlight touching my face before night falls and darkness embraces the land again. With spring lingering on the horizon the nights are not as long as they were in the dead of winter, but they are still far longer than the days. Winter is too long for my taste here in the Tundra, too harsh and bitter and seemingly endless. Still, it is almost gone.
I am about to turn in for the night when teeth nip my side, shaking me from my reverie. I smile a crooked little half-smile at Argo as he tugs on my forelock, and I lean into the press of his body against mine. His words have me tilting my head, playful though they are. “I know, Argo,” I reply, gently brushing the line of his shoulder with the soft of my nose. Of all people, I understand the need to be alone sometimes, to withdraw into solitude when the world is too much or when love is too much. Even if our reasons are very different. “You know...you know I'll always respect your privacy, right?”
Oh sure, I worry sometimes if he's gone for too long. I can't help but remember now and then the sorrow and the fear in his voice so long ago when he'd told me he thought he was broken. He'd meant it so very differently than I did; my heart has always functioned perfectly no matter how jagged and broken I've felt. His stutters and skips, stealing the breath from his lungs. So of course I sometimes worry. But I would never keep him from living his life. And I would never want to make him feel weak, make him feel dependent, make him feel less than.
He could never be less than.
I love the way he presses against me, casual touches that leave my skin feeling more alive for the contact with his. I rub my cheek against his neck, breathing in the scent of home that lingers in his mane. Not just the place, not just the way our parents and our siblings tangle into that scent, but him. Since the moment I met him, home has been the stuttering beat of his heart, the sweet scent of brother that has deepened as he has grown, richer now and stronger with the onset of early adulthood.
Rather than burying my face in his mane and breathing him in, I return his playful touches with a nudge to his neck and a gentle bump of my shoulder against his. “You think you're the only one who ever needs alone time? Take what you need, Argo. You always know where to find me when you want me.”
Almost is a delicate word, meant for empty promises and hopeful possibilities - neither of which Argo held close to his stammering heart. He is, by nature, a hesitant soul. A mistrustful one. He has known nothing but the endearing, overly affectionate love of his parents, but in the midst of it, he watched the glee and adoration for each other slowly seep out of their eyes. Dead and weary of letting go, they remained, fragmented pieces of what had once been when he had only just been born. Their family had not almost fallen apart; it had most certainly fallen apart, before their very eyes, leaving them longing but powerless to stop it.
It had not been any of their doing - nor did the fault belong to any one individual. Instead, the wide-eyed defect Prince had seen the loved shared between his mother and father slowly unravel, fueled by their inability to communicate and each of their own stubborn pride preventing them from seeing it for what it was. Still, a part of him longed for it himself. A part of him ached for their relationship to remain; to maintain. He knew, by their averted gaze and cold shouldered approach that it was not going to happen, and it left a heavy ache within him. Wise beyond his years, perhaps in part to being so stifled and suffocated by his overprotective parents and siblings, he knew an undoing was when seen with his very own brown eyes.
Now, his breath lingers warmly against Neverwas' neck, pushing the angst of the inevitable to very deep recesses of his mind. He had not seen him in several days, though he had - as previous mentioned - kept to himself. He felt a swell of pride within his imperfect heart at the mere thought of being independent, though in reality, he knew little of his own capability (and often tired himself to the very brink of exhaustion; a dangerous place to linger for someone has truly weak as he). Alas, he never stayed away for long, and tonight, he longed to be with someone else.
With an amused glimmer in his doe eyes, he peers upon Neverwas, who takes to his wry jest with too much legitimacy.
"And I respect your privacy, Nevi - especially as your time has been so .. occupied with our sister as of late."
His youth wavers with these words. Though he still retains the delicate features of a growing colt, his intelligence is beyond what might be expected of him. An introvert with a desire to listen, to hear, to understand. He knew more than many expected he would, and he often used it to his advantage. His age, however, is given away easily by the gentle bite of jealousy lingering in his voice, though he did not know himself that the heaviness of his heart was due to much more than fatigue. He knew of Lieschel and Neverwas; not many were unaware. Their gentle touches and giddy whispers were enough to tip off the deaf and the blind, equally.
"You don't deal much with alone time these days. Is someone waiting for you?"
There is an unspoken tension in his voice, but he does not realize it.
I know you're trying to fight when you feel like flying.
Argo’s breath on my neck has my eyes drifting closed, the warmth of its touch flowing through me and melting away everything but him. His words, on the other hand, have a rather different effect. My eyes open wide, meeting his for a heartbeat before dropping to the ground. “You, uh. You noticed that, did you?” I thought we’d been...well, not careful. There was no reason to be careful, after all. Just two Tundra kids wandering around together, exploring the caves and enjoying each other’s company.
Except for those moments when we were alone in the dark.
What’s between us left innocent behind a while ago, but I’ve only just begun to see it. To notice the way my body leans into hers, the way my lips linger just a little longer than they should, to admit that the way my skin comes alive when she’s pressed against me isn’t just brotherly anymore. I didn’t think...I didn’t think anyone else knew.
That Argo knows...my ears flick back, uncertain, as I glance at him quickly out of the corner of my eye. I’m opening my mouth to say something, anything, explain what’s brewing between Lee and I, find the words to tell him he’s right, when he speaks again. And this time, there’s...there’s something different in his voice. Something a little tangled, a little snarled, a little upset.
Something that coaxes my head to tilt, my eyes to narrow just a little in puzzlement. “No, there’s no one waiting for me. I was going to sleep alone tonight...though you’re welcome to join me. You know I love your company.” He doesn’t know how much I love the weight of his body against me, or the way our scents mingle together in the dark, or the fall of his hair as it spills down his neck, or the way his lips trace my skin in ways that set me on fire. He doesn’t know that I want those lips to slow down, to take their time and make their way along my neck, my shoulder, trailing along my spine.
But he knows he is welcome.
“I have been spending a lot of time with Lee lately, yes.” Does that bother you? A little rush of excitement flutters through my belly at the idea that Argo might be...maybe just a little bit jealous? Oh, it’s probably just a matter of missing me and wanting to spend time with me. As his brother, nothing more. Still.
“But the cave is empty tonight. Just me. Unless...unless you care to join me.” To be quietly, hopelessly yearning with every breath, every touch, every beat of his heart? I’d take it over cold and lonely in a heartbeat. Whether he’s jealous or not, I’ve missed him too, and I’d give just about anything right now to be tangled up in him. Or even to fall asleep next to him, his head on my shoulder and the sound of his breath coaxing me toward sleep.
His expression melds smoothly into one of incredulous disbelief; did his brother truly think him to be so daft? It was obvious to anyone with a set of functioning, observant eyes - the shared glances between the two, the gentle touches and wistful sighs that lingered on their breath. His nostrils flare gently as he exhales sharply, disdain expressive in his deep brown eyes. "Who hasn't noticed, Nevi? It's obvious," and he does not disguise his distaste for it. Perhaps it came from a lack of understanding the depth of Lieschel - she had kept away from him as if he'd been some sort of pariah, and he had not been blind to her distance. "anyone with a pair of eyes can see it." He pauses. And then, "I'm happy for you."
But I will not be a part of it.
The deeply rooted jealousy pangs once more at his feeble heart, but he pushes it away, burying it to the bottomless depths. He is not blind to the way the others' eyes linger on him - and though it pulls at his heartstrings, he cannot bear to meet his gaze, and he draws away from him, breaking the warmth of their skin-to-skin contact. The envy that festers so heavily within his aching heart grows with each day, but he cannot become victim to it. He is slave to nothing, to no one, least of not matters of the heart. There is much he is stripped off by his weak, fettering heart condition, but he will not allow himself to fall so easily. He knows that there is something beyond the horizon that calls to him. A life, and maybe a love as deep and as fulfilling as the loved shared by his mother and father. A love that is not shared with any other; two souls destined.
He would sooner lie alone than in the misery of playing second fiddle.
With each and every touch and gentle word, he recoils, drawing deeper into himself. Though Nevi's soft caresses and alluring touches had always soothed them, they did little else but anger him now - he saw the way his gaze fawned over her body, and he sees it now in the way he watches him. Quietly, but with resolution, his own dark gaze meets his, "No, thank you." He pauses to glance off, the gently wavering tendrils of black hair lapping at the slender lines of his neck with the icy breeze. "There will be no rest for the wicked tonight. I'm leaving," His eyes meet his once more, hardened again. "I think it's time for me to go. The cold is not for me, and I have grown tired of old rocks and dirty snow."
His lungs fill with frigid air as he inhales deeply, the burden of a deeply guarded secret lifted.
"I will see you soon, I am certain of it. I love you, Nevi. Take care, brother."
I know you're trying to fight when you feel like flying.
Argo pulled away, putting distance between their bodies, turning away from his touch for the first time in their lives. And there was distance in those dark eyes, distance that tore at the jagged pieces of Neverwas’s heart, that caused fissures and cracks to appear in the shards he tried so hard to pretend were whole, unbroken. Argo was so polite as he tore those jagged shards out through Neverwas’s ribcage, so calm as he left him bleeding out onto the ground.
I’m leaving.
One little moment of hope, crushed beneath the relentless tread of two words. He’s not yours. He never was. If he were yours, he would have fought for you. Would have said something, anything at all but goodbye. Dark eyes close against the sharp flood of sorrow, knives flowing through his veins, cutting him open, leaving him bleeding, how could he not be bleeding? But Neverwas had plenty of practice painting smiles on his face, making them look almost real. Though perhaps less practice than he thought, if Argo could see through him so easily.
Better not to look him in the eye, then. Argo didn’t need to see him breaking, didn’t need to see the dark devouring him from the inside. Swallowing him down one bite at a time until there was nothing left. “I will miss you, brother.” He even managed not to choke on the words, not to drown them in hurt, because the hurt wasn’t Argo’s burden to bear. He’d sooner die than burden his belov--his brother with the depths of his pain.
Maybe it was better this way. I could never have been good enough for you anyhow. Better to watch Argo walk away, dying inside with every step and freeing him from the weight of a love drowned in darkness and depression. I’d only ruin you. And he would climb back up that goddamned mountain and throw himself off the edge before ruining the boy who had been his shining light from his first ragged breath.
“I hope you find what you’re looking for, Argo.”
He doesn’t beg him to stay, because he doesn’t deserve to. He doesn’t say the million things he’s left unsaid all this time, because it would be selfish and cruel to make Argo say the words written all over his face. It is only at the last moment when his resolve falters, and he stares into dark eyes he’s loved from the moment their gazes first met. His voice is thick with unshed tears, breaking on the words, “I love you too.”
