carson | female | 17 | word enthusiast | first class procrastinator.
i spend an awful lot of time weaving tales of the forgotten and wasted potential in the world.
this is the place where i dump all of my writing references, pretty things, and stuff that inspires me.
you can just call me carson phillips.
"Life comes at you fast. It runs through your body and tries to escape and be expressed in any way possible. It's a lot like lightning.."
we have heard on high
It is when he looks up at the grey and cloudy sky on one soft evening that he realizes why it is, exactly, that he left. For all intent and purposes, he had initially left simply because he didn’t think he could bear to be by Sion’s side for that much longer. It was bad enough that he’d found himself completely and utterly at a loss for this boy, feeling things that he had never dreamed of feeling in a million years — but staying with him for a continuous period of time… that scared him. Nezumi didn’t like running, but he’d had to, though they both knew he’d come back.
But staying away was hard. It was exactly five months, seven days, and four hours since his first departure that Nezumi found himself standing on the wooden windowsill of the small house in Lost Town, staring into the foggy window and watching Sion with all the close precision of a man hopelessly and fallably in love with something just outside of his dangling reach. Of course it had been late, and of course that idiot was sleeping, unaware of the rat’s presence. Still, it had taken every last ounce of his resolve to remove himself from the window. Because the desperation with which he wanted to stay, get inside, curl up beside that pale haired boy and kiss the living daylights out of him, it was, simply put, uncanny and unlike him.
It was often at night when he began wondering why he’d left in the first pace. Because those original driving factors seemed to be less and less reasonable as the days drove forward, leaving the past in their heady dust. And he is sitting alone on the outskirts of some old village just outside of No. 4 when he realizes. Silver eyes shift up and it is like the truth is scrawled across the oncoming rain clouds, dazzling and plain for all the world to see.
Sion was like a bad illness that he just could not shake. When he wasn’t thinking about him, he was thinking about all the turmoil that he had caused, which inevitably lead to thinking about him. The way his hair was always just slightly curled at the ends, how soft it was, especially after it had been washed; how easy it was to lose himself in the graceless nights of sleep they had shared; how, when Sion looked at him, it felt like walls that had been built with utmost care were being ripped down just like they had ripped down the walls of No. 6; how kissing Sion had been like kissing death or kissing his fate square on the mouth — it had only taken one, and he’d known he’d never be the same, would never be able to recover again no matter how fruitlessly he tried and struggled. Sion had wormed his way into places of Nezumi’s life that he had no business being.
It was just that Nezumi could not bring himself to be upset, or angry — only afraid, because he had no experience with being exposed and being vulnerable.
However, when he looks up that night, unexpectent and unprepared, he realizes. He loves Sion.
And this revelation only makes things that much more horrifying.