redwritinghood (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
redwritinghood) wrote2013-04-08 09:37 pm
redwritinghood) wrote2013-04-08 09:37 pm
(no subject)
title: tides that i tried to swim against
author:redwritinghood
fandom: merlin bbc
pairing(s): lance/merlin
warning(s): terminal illness/cancer
beta(s): xdawnie&weepingwillow9. also eleture who confused me horribly. i love her anyway.
prompt(s): milk
disclaimer: they are not mine. and now they never ever will be. and the title is from coldplay's 'clocks'.
summary: there's no point in crying over spilt milk.
“Fuck!”
“Merlin?” He closes his eyes and leans back against the bench so he doesn’t have to watch Lance walk in. It’s bad enough listening to the muffled shuffle and thump of his footsteps coming down the stairs.
“I’m fine,” he calls belatedly. He opens his eyes to Lance standing in the doorway. His gaze skips over the stark lines of Lance’s collarbone peeking out of the collar of the shirt that’s way too big now. He jumps past the thin fuzz of hair that’s just starting to peek out on top of his head. He ends up with his eyes on the door lintel, then he closes them again.
“You should be resting.”
“I heard the glass break.” Lance’s voice is soft, offering comfort, and that makes him all mad and guilty and tied up inside all at once.
“I’ll clean it up.” He forces himself to look at Lance, take in the weight he’s lost, the circles under his eyes. Notice the way the warm kitchen lights somehow make him look more gaunt and hollowed out than the cruel hospital ones ever have.
“Let me get you some clean pants.” Lance disappears from the doorway and Merlin looks down at the ratty, stolen jeans that probably fit him better than they fit Lance now. He wriggles his toes under the sodden cuffs and watches the ripples spread across the puddle of milk on the floor. Feeling unaccountably heavy he pulls a few paper towels off the roll on the bench, spreading the puddle further with each step.
He kneels on the tiles and watches the paper go limp and soggy. Once the worst of the mess is soaked up he reaches out to pick it up. It falls apart in his hand.
He stares at it, shocked. He thinks he’s going to laugh. It’s funny - not funny, but it feels like enough. Then he makes a sound and realises it’s a sob.
It’s like the glass smashing; he can feel himself breaking apart, sobs spilling out of him to fill the room. He doesn’t even notice Lance coming back until a warm hand touches his shoulder.
“Hey,” he looks up at Lance and the delicate fuzz of hair and the lines all the treatments and appointments have drawn on his face crinkling up into a worried smile. “You know there’s a saying for situations like this, right?”
Another sound breaks free but this time it’s laughter. Merlin leans against the uncomfortable cupboard door with its handle digging into his back, and lets the laughter shake him until the last of the spilt milk soaks into his jeans and the tears dry on his cheeks.
author:
redwritinghood fandom: merlin bbc
pairing(s): lance/merlin
warning(s): terminal illness/cancer
beta(s): xdawnie&weepingwillow9. also eleture who confused me horribly. i love her anyway.
prompt(s): milk
disclaimer: they are not mine. and now they never ever will be. and the title is from coldplay's 'clocks'.
summary: there's no point in crying over spilt milk.
“Fuck!”
“Merlin?” He closes his eyes and leans back against the bench so he doesn’t have to watch Lance walk in. It’s bad enough listening to the muffled shuffle and thump of his footsteps coming down the stairs.
“I’m fine,” he calls belatedly. He opens his eyes to Lance standing in the doorway. His gaze skips over the stark lines of Lance’s collarbone peeking out of the collar of the shirt that’s way too big now. He jumps past the thin fuzz of hair that’s just starting to peek out on top of his head. He ends up with his eyes on the door lintel, then he closes them again.
“You should be resting.”
“I heard the glass break.” Lance’s voice is soft, offering comfort, and that makes him all mad and guilty and tied up inside all at once.
“I’ll clean it up.” He forces himself to look at Lance, take in the weight he’s lost, the circles under his eyes. Notice the way the warm kitchen lights somehow make him look more gaunt and hollowed out than the cruel hospital ones ever have.
“Let me get you some clean pants.” Lance disappears from the doorway and Merlin looks down at the ratty, stolen jeans that probably fit him better than they fit Lance now. He wriggles his toes under the sodden cuffs and watches the ripples spread across the puddle of milk on the floor. Feeling unaccountably heavy he pulls a few paper towels off the roll on the bench, spreading the puddle further with each step.
He kneels on the tiles and watches the paper go limp and soggy. Once the worst of the mess is soaked up he reaches out to pick it up. It falls apart in his hand.
He stares at it, shocked. He thinks he’s going to laugh. It’s funny - not funny, but it feels like enough. Then he makes a sound and realises it’s a sob.
It’s like the glass smashing; he can feel himself breaking apart, sobs spilling out of him to fill the room. He doesn’t even notice Lance coming back until a warm hand touches his shoulder.
“Hey,” he looks up at Lance and the delicate fuzz of hair and the lines all the treatments and appointments have drawn on his face crinkling up into a worried smile. “You know there’s a saying for situations like this, right?”
Another sound breaks free but this time it’s laughter. Merlin leans against the uncomfortable cupboard door with its handle digging into his back, and lets the laughter shake him until the last of the spilt milk soaks into his jeans and the tears dry on his cheeks.