07-31-2020, 08:54 PM
Time blurred. Raffe was distracted. Nox was quiet.
The push and pull of emotion as he warred with his new revelation made Raffe usually silent in turn. He needed the time to think it all through, and sinking into the fortress of his own skin was the way he did it. Carmen didn’t begrudge him the day off, or ask questions. He grinned at her, scrubbing a hand through his curls like he always did, but he knew she saw the strain.
For once he didn’t want company. The waterfront was naturally busy on a warm day, but it wasn’t difficult to find a quiet spot to roll a joint and watch the world ebb by. He laid back in the grass, clouds drifting overhead. Glad for the release.
He feared being a disappointment; feared the edges of Nox’s patience turning sharp on his reluctance to meet the challenge head on and conquer it. Feared that it changed something between them in some indefinable way. Nox talked so often of those he helped -- not in those terms, of course, but from the outside Raffe saw it. He didn’t want to be just another in a long list of duties. Saved from the power that might kill him otherwise.
He didn’t want saving.
His chest tightened, though the fear breathed out on an exhalation. Would the power be like poison to the darkest parts of himself? Raffe’s eyes half lidded, not willing to confront it even now. But therein lie the recoil. Memories of his father. Memories of the boy he’d beaten bloody, caught in the winds of madness. It sickened him, but it hadn’t stopped him either. And he remembered the thrill as much as the disgust.
Nox said it was his own choice to be a weapon; that the power might be used for other means. Raffe believed him. It wasn’t that. But god he didn’t want the temptation.
The day idled through his fingers. By the time he returned to the club, the girls were running through skits in the theatre, though he didn’t pause to check on them. He hit the showers instead, standing a long time under the weight of water, like it might sluice away the debris of his mood. Afterwards he pulled on sweatpants and finally discovered the message on his phone. He stared at it a long time, quiet, before he pocketed the device and headed upstairs.
The message had said to wake him, but Raffe didn’t want to, and not just because he was sleeping soundly. It was still light outside, though the thumping bass of music from rehearsals downstairs vibrated softly in the silence. He crawled into bed alongside, glad of the closeness and of the quiet rise and fall of breath, and closed his eyes.
The push and pull of emotion as he warred with his new revelation made Raffe usually silent in turn. He needed the time to think it all through, and sinking into the fortress of his own skin was the way he did it. Carmen didn’t begrudge him the day off, or ask questions. He grinned at her, scrubbing a hand through his curls like he always did, but he knew she saw the strain.
For once he didn’t want company. The waterfront was naturally busy on a warm day, but it wasn’t difficult to find a quiet spot to roll a joint and watch the world ebb by. He laid back in the grass, clouds drifting overhead. Glad for the release.
He feared being a disappointment; feared the edges of Nox’s patience turning sharp on his reluctance to meet the challenge head on and conquer it. Feared that it changed something between them in some indefinable way. Nox talked so often of those he helped -- not in those terms, of course, but from the outside Raffe saw it. He didn’t want to be just another in a long list of duties. Saved from the power that might kill him otherwise.
He didn’t want saving.
His chest tightened, though the fear breathed out on an exhalation. Would the power be like poison to the darkest parts of himself? Raffe’s eyes half lidded, not willing to confront it even now. But therein lie the recoil. Memories of his father. Memories of the boy he’d beaten bloody, caught in the winds of madness. It sickened him, but it hadn’t stopped him either. And he remembered the thrill as much as the disgust.
Nox said it was his own choice to be a weapon; that the power might be used for other means. Raffe believed him. It wasn’t that. But god he didn’t want the temptation.
The day idled through his fingers. By the time he returned to the club, the girls were running through skits in the theatre, though he didn’t pause to check on them. He hit the showers instead, standing a long time under the weight of water, like it might sluice away the debris of his mood. Afterwards he pulled on sweatpants and finally discovered the message on his phone. He stared at it a long time, quiet, before he pocketed the device and headed upstairs.
The message had said to wake him, but Raffe didn’t want to, and not just because he was sleeping soundly. It was still light outside, though the thumping bass of music from rehearsals downstairs vibrated softly in the silence. He crawled into bed alongside, glad of the closeness and of the quiet rise and fall of breath, and closed his eyes.
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