ambiencespectrum:

fingers trace the lines of his spine, cool and sharp and gentle. each bump, each curve, delicately inspected for imperfection, possibly. he doesn’t know what’s in her head tonight, where her thoughts have wandered.

where’ve you gone? he sort of wants to ask, but he’s tired and comfortable and hanging in the spaces between their shared dreams and their waking nightmares. it’s been days and days and he knows each one intrinsically. its been two months and one week and twelve hours and five seconds and counting.

there’s just the two of them, just the two of them in this artificial world that’s become all too real. full of dangers they no longer balk from and trials they see no reason to complete. not with their missing counterparts, not with death hanging in every corner of the black and white planets that are covered in tar and ice that will never, ever be cleared away. fate mocks them both; Time wasted and Light smothered.

its easier to stay here, ease of company clouding his mind, shirt on the floor and the only other heartbeat in all the universe pumping softly in the birdlike ribs of an unfulfilled goddess, right next to him, here in the bed they’ve picked to share the past days and have barely left since. she in pale lavender clothes and hair falling in her face as she leans over him, headband abandoned and makeup long since wiped away. he unused to sleeping in anything but the barest minimum, kept warm by only the blanket and startled when air that’s barely lukewarm touches bare skin. and, by the icy tips of her fingers. he shivers sometimes, but never tries to shift away.

for someone of Light, rose is so very cold.

for someone of Time, dave never seems to move forwards.

they’re tired, and sad, and this whole game has been nothing but one fucking disaster after another. they’re the only two left. they’re the only two left and here they are, lying in one of the hundreds of bedrooms identical to rose’s original and lying stagnant in a timeline that’s doomed thoroughly and obviously.

there’s no Breath to stir the air and stir their spirits, no Space for new life to grow and new impossible paths to open.

there is no Light at the end of the tunnel, and they’ve just been extending their Time together, pretending what they have to do isn’t as plain as the resigned fear and grief they both fail to hide.

that what dave has to do isn’t completely and utterly clear to them both.

a Seer and a Knight. a Seer without anything to look forwards to any longer, and a Knight too cowardly and selfish to serve his duty yet.

just a bit longer. he just wants a few more weeks, a few more days, a few more hours, a few more seconds.

a few more moments spent feeling rose’s fingertips and nails glide across his back; bored, maybe, curious, maybe. a few more moments spent wrapped up in each other’s silent company, comforting themselves, comforting each other.

dave knows he’ll have to leave rose behind. rose knows she’ll have to stay and die alone.

dave knows he just wants to soak up her attention a little longer, maybe press a chaste kiss to her cheek and burn hotly across the face and feel stupidly, sickly in love with the beautiful death-sentenced girl here with him. he hopes she feels the same.

rose reaches the end of his spine, hitting the waistline of his pajama pants. she lifts her hand away, gone a handful of seconds in which dave feels wretchedly alone, and then lays it again on the upper of his back.

she begins counting his ribs, one by one, still silent, still gentle, and he opens his eyes finally, craning his head to see just the corner of her mouth, upturned subtly as ever, sweet and pale and the only thing left in their dying world that means anything at all.