Work Text:
Run. To move at a speed quickly, never having both feet on the ground at the same time.
To run was a tradition between them. Running after each other since the young days of playground games. Chasing each other up trees and around swing sets, trying desperately to catch the other in an impossible round of tag. One would climb up onto the jungle gym of their elementary school park, escaping down the slide as the other just made it up the ladder. Round and round they would go, laughing and yelling and panting from loss of breath.
Running from the older kids when they got into middle school. They were the backbone of one another, always protecting and watching out for the other boy. The older’s height, build and cleverness gave him a reputation that was feared of yet still got him in trouble. The younger’s quick wit and loud mouth made him a gossip king and, no matter the situation, he could always find his sources to ruin you.
Running away in the middle of the nights, disappearing in the middle of days once they got to high school. The younger boy with shaggy black hair would figure out ways to skip classes and sneak out of his house to see the one who got teased for growing out his hair. They would crawl out of bedroom windows and escape down the streets, to the park where they used to play to meet each other in the dead of night.
Running with each other when the older, who dyed his hair a striking platinum, tried to convince the younger once they’d graduated. Run away to see something other than the houses and roads they were trapped amongst, to see the fields and the endless skies. See breathtaking views and meet extraordinary people. Yet the younger said he’d think about it.
Running noses of the cold, seemingly never ending winters stretched out for way too long. Yet they ran away from it all, buried themselves beneath layers of blankets and scarves and mittens. Running noses of red, coming home and sitting on bathroom counters, to tend to wounds from attempts of protecting one another in yet another fight. Crimson stained shirts and scraped knees of battered boys that just one the best for the other. Broken glasses and the small gems chipped off of rings.
Running fingers through long blond hair and warmth running through pumping veins. Comforting nights and sweet whispers past split lips. Shivers racking down spines and goosebumps trailing up bare arms. The younger protected him, wrapping him in a hug with his face buried into the older’s sweater. Yet he cried. They cried with each other, for each other. They tried. And, oh, did they try.
Running down empty sidewalks when the sky was black above their heads, stars glittering at them as they slowed down to bump into each other with heaving chests and pained eyes. Footsteps make them turn over their shoulders, breath that has not yet been reclaimed already getting caught in their throats. The younger grabbed the older’s hand, pulling him along into a dark alley as others chased them in.
Running heat, seeping red through the fabric of the younger’s shirt. A sickening stain surrounding the slice in his flesh. He was pulled close to the older’s chest, dirt dusting his bleached hair that the wind tugged at. Tears streamed down red cheeks as he whispered to the younger, brushing locks of black hair out of his brown eyes. Those damned brown eyes. Fingers clutching the white t-shirt that was beginning to turn red, too, weak fingertips painted with royal blue. The quiet ringing of the phone to the older’s ear, his voice shaking with sorrow as he filed the attack, giving the street corner they were on and the condition of the boy in his lap. A knife, abandoned, rested on the curb of the road only feet away.
Running pulses, one boy trying desperately to hang on to his heart to keep it slipping away. And he tried. Oh, did he try. Nothing was seeming to go his way this year. From not being able to attend the college he hoped, to missing the opportunity to escape with the one he loved, to this. Running pulses, the other boy leaning over him attempting to keep himself steady, to stay strong, but failing. His voice cracked and his shoulders shook, his crying tearing him in half as he listened hopelessly to the younger’s speech dull by the second.
Running thoughts that swarmed the older’s mind and slipped from his lips. Rambling sentences on how much the younger meant to him, about how he was terrified to think about where he’d be without him. About how he had calmed the busy and anxious mornings and brought a fulfilling light to pitch black nights. How words kept spilling as the younger shook his head, closing his eyes tight as tears seeped into the older’s jeans under his head. The older’s sentences faltered as he choked, feeling the grip on his shirt loosen. He watched, going dead silent as the hand of his love fell. Shoulders untensed and the pained features on his face softened.
Running tears, down his face, as he could sense his world shatter into millions of fractals around him. All at once, everything collapsed. He sat there on the damp sidewalk, leaned over the younger. His heart broke as well as his mind, his eyes blurred and the world became unfocused. Nothing made sense anymore.
Running rain down car windows as clouds sheltered the skies, sunlight trying to break through to maybe brighten up the day. The older stood, umbrella on his shoulder, in a long black jacket over his suit. His hair was done in a neat braid by his mother for the occasion since the younger was unable to anymore. The others, whether being crying relatives or mourning friends, had been long gone. It was only him now. He stood off to the side, not wanting to stand on freshly covered dirt. Maybe it was because of respect, maybe it was because he refused to sink into the reality. His heart ached, but no tears fell that day. He was too worn out to cry. Perhaps he cried all the tears he had. It wouldn’t have surprised him if that were the case. He glanced down at his hands, one holding a small bouquet of pink carnations. He shuddered with a sigh, slipping off one of his rings and using it to secure the stems. He crouched down, placing the flowers in front of the grave stone. He ran his fingers across the chiseled letters before standing back up and stepping away.