holiness of the wren (karl&johnny, day 2)
Mar 3, 2023 1:03:32 GMT -5
Post by calla on Mar 3, 2023 1:03:32 GMT -5
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His eyes go bleary from staring at the inferno. It's gotten a little darker by the time the pyre really catches.
But the problem is this -
Karl doesn't know how to show gratitude. Or elation. Or despair or excitement or anything adjacent to those. He's more familiar with the straightforward things - people like Dyno, where it's more obvious what they want and what they're looking for. Sometimes that's a good thing, sometimes it isn't. Sometimes it gets him in trouble.
Affection is a foreign language. The fire only gets bigger, eating away at the wood and the grass and the air. That's what it feels like to think about this, he can read a love language on paper and then never recognize it in practice. The puzzle pieces don't slot together. Sometimes his own skin feels like a collection of needles.
He sits next to Johnny and Yael and they take turns sipping from the sake bottle.
Karl didn't want Dyno to kill him. He wanted to live. Karl kissed Dyno because that's what he wanted and then Karl got to walk away. It was a trade. It was gratitude and despair and excitement and it felt like the most straightforward way to get that across.
If X plus Y is Z, then Z minus X must be Y.
It's an impressionable pattern.
Calamity's body lies burning in front of them. Johnny helped Karl take the heart out first and now it's sitting in a jar at their feet. Johnny didn't run or yell or decide to strangle Karl and take his chances with Yael.
He could though. Could've. He probably should've.
And Karl doesn't quite know what to do with that. It's like standing in waist-deep water without knowing how to swim - there isn't really a danger to it, but there's something there that's metallic and intense, something that sticks to the back of your throat the whole time. There's a giddy sort of adrenaline that goes with it. The world spins too fast and Karl is left fumbling for the brakes, he's still trying to catch up to everyone else.
There's a line of soot that trails up his arm. There's streaks of blood that have dried tacky against his skin. He's got gore under his nails that's probably from Calamity's heart and he knows he scraped his knuckles against the jagged edge of their ribcage and it hasn't scabbed over yet. It feels like his brain is on fire, there's smoke filling his skull and his lungs and his shoulder bumps against Johnny's.
There's only a quarter bottle of sake left between them.
It takes about fifty three seconds of staring at the side of Johnny's face for Karl to pinpoint what that great big welling feeling is.
Gratitude. Like Dyno.
Rinse and repeat; deja vu.
Unhealthy mindset; this toxic point of view - if it worked the first time, then it should work the second. There's a precedent he can follow, there's a pattern he can grab onto.
The fire crackles loud enough to drown out the sound of their breathing. The scent of burning flesh starts to fester. It's as much of an atmosphere as any.
He puts his hand on Johnny's knee and leans in.
But the problem is this -
Karl doesn't know how to show gratitude. Or elation. Or despair or excitement or anything adjacent to those. He's more familiar with the straightforward things - people like Dyno, where it's more obvious what they want and what they're looking for. Sometimes that's a good thing, sometimes it isn't. Sometimes it gets him in trouble.
Affection is a foreign language. The fire only gets bigger, eating away at the wood and the grass and the air. That's what it feels like to think about this, he can read a love language on paper and then never recognize it in practice. The puzzle pieces don't slot together. Sometimes his own skin feels like a collection of needles.
He sits next to Johnny and Yael and they take turns sipping from the sake bottle.
Karl didn't want Dyno to kill him. He wanted to live. Karl kissed Dyno because that's what he wanted and then Karl got to walk away. It was a trade. It was gratitude and despair and excitement and it felt like the most straightforward way to get that across.
If X plus Y is Z, then Z minus X must be Y.
It's an impressionable pattern.
Calamity's body lies burning in front of them. Johnny helped Karl take the heart out first and now it's sitting in a jar at their feet. Johnny didn't run or yell or decide to strangle Karl and take his chances with Yael.
He could though. Could've. He probably should've.
And Karl doesn't quite know what to do with that. It's like standing in waist-deep water without knowing how to swim - there isn't really a danger to it, but there's something there that's metallic and intense, something that sticks to the back of your throat the whole time. There's a giddy sort of adrenaline that goes with it. The world spins too fast and Karl is left fumbling for the brakes, he's still trying to catch up to everyone else.
There's a line of soot that trails up his arm. There's streaks of blood that have dried tacky against his skin. He's got gore under his nails that's probably from Calamity's heart and he knows he scraped his knuckles against the jagged edge of their ribcage and it hasn't scabbed over yet. It feels like his brain is on fire, there's smoke filling his skull and his lungs and his shoulder bumps against Johnny's.
There's only a quarter bottle of sake left between them.
It takes about fifty three seconds of staring at the side of Johnny's face for Karl to pinpoint what that great big welling feeling is.
Gratitude. Like Dyno.
Rinse and repeat; deja vu.
Unhealthy mindset; this toxic point of view - if it worked the first time, then it should work the second. There's a precedent he can follow, there's a pattern he can grab onto.
The fire crackles loud enough to drown out the sound of their breathing. The scent of burning flesh starts to fester. It's as much of an atmosphere as any.
He puts his hand on Johnny's knee and leans in.
