mr. & mr. smith / sal & niho
Jan 6, 2024 1:18:36 GMT -5
Post by ✌ʕ•ᴥ•ʔ on Jan 6, 2024 1:18:36 GMT -5
N. A.
He can't remember the safe word.
They do have one, but he can't remember it. Something silly, stupid word, too many vowels, what is it.
What is it.
His palm hits the ground, curls his fingers up in chunks of glass and pills, no they're not pills.
His other hand reaches up, goes from below, tries to get under the wire, if he can slip his hand under then he can breath a little easier, that's all he can think about.
banana?
No, not it.
He looks up, Sal's crying. Well, that's kind of nice but it also kind of hurts at the same time. Sometimes holding Sal is like holding a bird in his hands. It's like holding a bird and feeling that heart beat, too fast, beneath a thin membrane and fragile little bird bones. Everyone looks at Sal and sees something strong, something scary. Niho looks at Sal and he sees a man that's been hurt as many times as him, that's just as in pain, that's just as lonely and he wants to hold him gentle in the palm of his hands. He wants to feel that little bird heart slow down into something calmer.
He gives up on trying to get a hand beneath the wire, reaches up instead, gotta fix it, gotta hold him, make the tears stop.
But he isn't strong enough. not enough air moving around his body, not enough blood, it's pooling out his side. It hurts but it doesn't in a scary sort of way. It's like being born, you don't remember it and you don't want it.
And then the pressure's gone, Sal's gone.
Niho wheezes, curling onto his side, scrambling, clutching at nothing as he sucks air back in to his lungs. Sal's gone, that's bad maybe, no nevermind, he's at Niho's feet, folding himself in half. Does that sometimes on bad days, Niho knows that. He's seen that, woken up with Sal's hands around his neck because he's dreaming again and doesn't even realise.
Niho drags himself to his knees, crawling away slowly in the rubble through a mess of glass and orange fucking tic tacs.
Sal's been taking tic tacs.
Niho falls to an elbow, so dizzy, but he knows where the back-ups are.
Cupboard under the cookbook shelf.
Takes him two tries to open the door and there it is, little yellow container with Sal's name on it. Shakes it, little white pills hit against the top and bottom, rattle around in there.
He turns then and sighs, suddenly Sal is so far away.
"Baby," he says, voice hoarse and cracking all over, giving away how much he's actually hurt. Niho frowns. He's fine, he feels fine, it's just that the idea of crawling back makes him want to cry with exhaustion.
"Baby, Look at me," he says, "I need you-" he falters. It's the wrong start, it probably doesn't matter what Niho needs at the point. He falls back against the cupboard door.
"You need to come get these I can't-" he sighs again, frustrated. It hurts to talk. He's past tears, past anger, love. There's just the job now. He has to finish the job.
He aims carefully, then rolls the pills towards Sal. It only makes it halfway.
Now he feels like crying.
"Baby can you just get them?" he asks, "Please?"
They do have one, but he can't remember it. Something silly, stupid word, too many vowels, what is it.
What is it.
His palm hits the ground, curls his fingers up in chunks of glass and pills, no they're not pills.
His other hand reaches up, goes from below, tries to get under the wire, if he can slip his hand under then he can breath a little easier, that's all he can think about.
banana?
No, not it.
He looks up, Sal's crying. Well, that's kind of nice but it also kind of hurts at the same time. Sometimes holding Sal is like holding a bird in his hands. It's like holding a bird and feeling that heart beat, too fast, beneath a thin membrane and fragile little bird bones. Everyone looks at Sal and sees something strong, something scary. Niho looks at Sal and he sees a man that's been hurt as many times as him, that's just as in pain, that's just as lonely and he wants to hold him gentle in the palm of his hands. He wants to feel that little bird heart slow down into something calmer.
He gives up on trying to get a hand beneath the wire, reaches up instead, gotta fix it, gotta hold him, make the tears stop.
But he isn't strong enough. not enough air moving around his body, not enough blood, it's pooling out his side. It hurts but it doesn't in a scary sort of way. It's like being born, you don't remember it and you don't want it.
And then the pressure's gone, Sal's gone.
Niho wheezes, curling onto his side, scrambling, clutching at nothing as he sucks air back in to his lungs. Sal's gone, that's bad maybe, no nevermind, he's at Niho's feet, folding himself in half. Does that sometimes on bad days, Niho knows that. He's seen that, woken up with Sal's hands around his neck because he's dreaming again and doesn't even realise.
Niho drags himself to his knees, crawling away slowly in the rubble through a mess of glass and orange fucking tic tacs.
Sal's been taking tic tacs.
Niho falls to an elbow, so dizzy, but he knows where the back-ups are.
Cupboard under the cookbook shelf.
Takes him two tries to open the door and there it is, little yellow container with Sal's name on it. Shakes it, little white pills hit against the top and bottom, rattle around in there.
He turns then and sighs, suddenly Sal is so far away.
"Baby," he says, voice hoarse and cracking all over, giving away how much he's actually hurt. Niho frowns. He's fine, he feels fine, it's just that the idea of crawling back makes him want to cry with exhaustion.
"Baby, Look at me," he says, "I need you-" he falters. It's the wrong start, it probably doesn't matter what Niho needs at the point. He falls back against the cupboard door.
"You need to come get these I can't-" he sighs again, frustrated. It hurts to talk. He's past tears, past anger, love. There's just the job now. He has to finish the job.
He aims carefully, then rolls the pills towards Sal. It only makes it halfway.
Now he feels like crying.
"Baby can you just get them?" he asks, "Please?"
