Entry tags:
fic; the sound of silence
There are never many words shared between them when they meet like this. Words are spared for confrontations. For spitting insults at each other. Wit, and a silver tongue are things they both possess, though each have their specialty. But when they come together in the dark, there is always silence. Words surrendered to the blackness. With touch and taste to guide them, there was no need for anything else. They knew each other well in the dark, because in the dark the masks could be removed. In the dark and the silence the armour was stripped away, and their bodies and minds surrendered to lust, and to desire. To that which was easy, and needed no words. Because actions truly do speak louder than words, and theirs tell a tale no words could do justice.
He glances at the empty space next to him in the bed. This is the way it always is.. He never expects anything more. This is how it has to be. If he stayed it would be too much. Words would be expected, and if uttered all would be ruined. But left alone in the dark his mind is surrendered to thoughts that try to consume him. They’re thoughts that no one will ever hear uttered, but are always on his mind. Thoughts of self worth, and of how broken he truly is, and above all thoughts of death. Death consumes his mind like no other. But he doesn’t fear death. He never has. Life is finite, and death inevitable. Why should the one thing that is a fixed point in his, and in everyone’s life be feared? It still stays on his mind, and in the silence with no distraction, there’s nothing to block it out.
He had had too many close encounters with death to fear it. He had, perhaps, when he was young. But through the years he had come to realise that fear truly was the only thing that should be feared in life. Fear was raw, uncontrollable emotion that could so easily cripple you, stripping you of all your armour leaving you with nothing for protection. And so he no longer feared anything, let alone death. Death would come for him when it was his time, but that time had obviously not come yet. He’d slipped past it on multiple occasions, but in his heart he knew that he hadn’t escaped death, as some had claimed, because death wasn’t something you could escape. Death would come for you, when death was ready, but it wasn’t for him yet. It had simply shown him a new purpose for his life, and every time the vision started to slip away, it would turn him back in the right direction. Eventually it would with Loki too, of that he was sure. Either he would be turned back to the path intended for him, or this would be his death in some way. He knew not to seek death out, however. Searching for death never yielded any answers. Death, it would seem, worked on its own time.
Morning breaks the darkness, and the silence, bringing back the armour he must don to face the day. He’s a hero. A role model. Someone who needs to be strong, to keep those around him safe. It’s his job to protect others, though that always brings the question, who is there to protect him? What will shield him? It’s the armour keeps him safe. It protects him from his thoughts. Because thoughts are the most dangerous of all, in the end. When left alone in silence, ones thoughts are all you have, and in his experience, thoughts always turn negative. And so above all else the armour protects him from the silence. After all, if there’s one thing he’s sure of in this world, it’s that his death will come shrouded in silence. And though he doesn’t fear death, he’s not yet ready to follow it quite yet. Death, after all, is an eternity of darkness and silence.
(ooc: this started out as angst and turned into even more angst than planned. 8| good bye. mine, any errors are my own. etc etc etc)