Chapter Text
There’s a weight to the world beneath you that you don’t share anymore, but are desperate to capture. A sense of important worthy of coal, of harsh lines and deep smudges that leaves your fingers coal black, and the edges of the paper marked with fingerprints.
Leave your mark on the world, your father always used to say, but you know he didn’t mean it this way.
Art is something you buy. A sound investment. A thing to show off.
You cant buy a city, or perhaps you can, but not this one. Too broken, too disjointed, too without rules and too real in a way that borders on the fantastic. Ugly. Sprawling. Beautiful. Painful.
There’s a slight wind, and you have to readjust your position, drifting back to the edge of the roof to get the angle right. You never quite do, there’s a dip between the skyscrapers, the black shadows of the streets like scars into the earth and you want to dry to get the depth, but there’s something lacking. So you keep trying.
And maybe that’s it, maybe that’s the beauty of it, you can’t capture it, like your father wanted you to. You just watch and hold and kiss and there’s a face in your mind, smile like a crack, like the grand canyon, crooked and filled with mysteries and secrets. Water is soft but it erodes the hardest stone, leaves scars soft and smooth for kissing and there’s a new page now, the city abandoned for the darkness of a remembered face, and here the coal slides easily, touch-memory, sharp cheekbones, sunken eyes, too tired, fingers rubbing shadows in too bright eyes, the eraser bringing highlights to the skin, sharp, white lines tracing scars, thin, hard pencil filling in the details from memory.
“What are you doing?” A voice drifting through the wind, from the rooftop below, an anchor, a string to your balloon and you drift down, your smile growing wider.
“How did you know I was up here?” You don’t question the joy in your gut, the time for second guessing is over, you’re in love and if you weren’t already familiar with how cold and wet the clouds truly are you would have been on cloud nine. Instead you land next to him, feet touching lightly, then the weight of your body bringing you into his realm.
“Lucky guess,” he evades, like always. Sidestep still in action if not in name. “Hope you don’t mind I let myself in.”
“I gave you a key for a reason,” noting that you’ve got one of the scars wrong, it’s above that little bump on the nose, a telltale sign of it broken once and never really reset. Not below. You chide yourself for forgetting, then kisses said nose, then the smile that’s started to grow, welcoming the anchor his arms provide. “Thank you for coming up here,” you whisper. “I know you don’t like heights.”
“Eh,” he says with a shrug, a noncommittal sound that could mean anything. “What were you drawing?”
“The city,” you admit with a sheepish grin, showing him the picture, not bothering to mention the face hiding on the next page. “I just never seem to get it right.”
“Huh.” Another little word that could mean a dozen things, but he wraps an arm around you like a cat draping itself across your shoulder, looking down at the smudged paper. “Looks good to me.”
“That’s the problem,” you admit, leaning into his touch. “It’s too clean.”
“Of course it is.” An amused laugh, and he kisses your cheek. “What do you think you can see from up here? Fucking architecture, that’s what.”
“That’s not true.” You wipe your cheek, giving it another black smudge, and you see the way his eyes go soft there for a moment, an unguarded thought, an open smile and you let your own go wider and “Let me show you!”
“Up there?” The smile fades and his eyes narrow, but you don’t let him pull away. He’s dragged you down and shown you the streets, it’s only fair that you get to show him how the other half lives.
“I won’t drop you,” you assure, putting down the sketchpad so you have both hands free. “I promise.”
“Fine,” he acquiesces, wrapping his arms around your neck.
“Really?” You know your smile is too wide, too bright, but you don’t care to tone it down around him. What’s the use of being happy if you can’t show it?
“Don’t rub it in.” There’s the faintest of gasps as you lean down to sweep him up in your arms, something that always seems to surprise him. Maybe you don’t get across as strong, but you’re stronger than you look, and in your arms he feels light as a feather. Especially as you slowly drift up, making sure that there are no sudden movements.
You notice that he doesn’t look down, instead his eyes are fixed on your face. You can’t help the faint blush, you’ve never really gotten used to the way he looks at you, like the Sistine chapel on a sunny day, like seeing the ocean for the first time. A look of wonder and disbelief in equal measure.
“You’re going to have to look down,” you chide gently, making sure to position yourself so the wind is at your back, tugging at your hair. Small protection for him, but it’s all you can do.
“Fine,” another sigh, his grip tightening as he stares down at the city as if offering it a challenge. Maybe that’s what is, holding his hand in the candle flame, because you can feel his heart speeding up. “What am I looking at?”
“Life,” you say, following his gaze. “It’s not architecture, it’s people. Nobody made plans here, at least not much.” The city is filled with scars, surviving pre-quake neighborhoods intersecting with newly built ones, spiraling out into ruins and slum, massive scars still not healed. Just since you moved here almost ten years ago the scars have shrunk, the city healing before your eyes.
“It’s a fucking trainwreck, that’s what it is.” He sounds more thoughtful than dismissive. “Disjointed. Wrong.”
“Beautiful,” you counter with. “Fascinating.”
“They sky’s beautiful.” He looks upwards instead, face unreadable even to you. “And the clouds.”
“But the sky is empty.” You start drifting back towards the rooftop. “And the clouds are wet. There’s no people up there.”
“That’s not a bad thing.”
“You know something?” You land on the roof, still holding in his arms, feeling his weight hit your arms, fighting hard not to let him slip. “Dress warmly one day and I’ll take you up there one day when it’s cloudy. Up above the clouds. Up above the smog. So there’s just us and the sun.”
“I… might take you up on that.” He wriggles out of your arms, and you pretend that you’re not grateful for it, he was getting heavy. “I like the sun.”
“It’s a date then,” you smile widely at him, and gets rewarded with a reflected smirk and the faintest of blushes. Does he know how cute he is? How much he makes your body tingle just by being near? His blush deepens so you give him a wink. “Wanna go inside?”
“Let’s.” He takes a decisive grip on your hand, pulling you towards the stairs. There’s a strength to his grip that’s downright thrilling, you’ve never really gotten over how this makes you feel.
It’s not like you’ve had any experience with men before, and girls were a different story. A softer one. There’s nothing soft about him, angular and hard, scarred in ways you can’t understand, only try to empathize with. What is it inside you that makes you crave this? Crave his hands on your body, the way he looks at you like you were holding the rifle at his execution. It shouldn’t be this dangerous to fall in love, but for him it is, but he’s dooming himself anyway.
Can you do any less?
Three kisses in the stairwell, almost stumbling over each other before the door slides open, depositing you inside.
“Get the blinds,” he mumbles, nipping at your lips, sending shivers down your spine.
You free yourself reluctantly, walking over to the panel, dragging your finger over it until the windows are opaque like milk. Only then do you turn around and see him watching you, arms crossed, like…
…there’s a thrill of desire running through your body, twined with one of fear.
A predator. That’s what he looks like, and for a moment you feel your hands go up in defense, and then he steps closer and you use those same hands to pull him in and hug him. What does it say about you that you like the way he makes you feel? That you like being manhandled? Does it make you less than a hero? Less than a man? You don’t think so, but it’s hard to let go of what life’s been telling you.
You’re working on it.
For him. With him.
Maybe it’ll be easier one day.