[open] that day even the sun was afraid of you; any

[firion]

that day even the sun was afraid of you and the weight you carried

They dance around the root of the matter, and he can’t decide whether he is relieved that she does not press him too hard for answers or frustrated that she doesn’t provide her own. He knows that it’s hypocritical to want to know more of her while he is so invested in hiding himself though, and he is so afraid of her finding out the truth that he decides he is okay with giving up his right to know more.

It leaves them in a weird space in between.

A dance they both seem to acknowledge and yet not look at too closely.

He keeps his eyes trained on something other than the girl next to him, this girl trapped in the body of a doe, tail flicking languidly behind him as though he feels anything but pent up irritation. At her question, his shoulder twitches—a small sign of the turmoil that he feels, the angst that builds beneath the mask.

“I don’t know,” he finally says, rolling his shoulders in pretend ambivalence. “Because it’s too damn sad to think that there’s not.” Closer to the truth but still not quite striking the core at it. How was he supposed to tell her that he had to hope there was a world for him out there where he wasn’t who he is? That the issue wasn’t that he was trying to get away from his parents but instead getting away from himself?

He finally looks over, studying her face, something like honesty showing on his features.

“Haven’t you ever wanted to run until you found something more—something better?”

so you saluted every ghost you've ever prayed to and then buried it where bones are buried