share your dreams with me [lucas & sierra]

("Don't lose yourself.")

You never listened to the words that reverberated across the primordial sky. But you still held them close, clutching them to your chest like they were the words of a god as opposed to a dead man with a bullet through his brain. You were only six and he still gave you warnings as if they were omens but he was never superstitious. He told you not to lose yourself and yet you never saw how you could possibly be stolen; so long as you kept your mind you would still remain anchored to the ground. No matter how tired your feet became, no matter how many fragments your heart splintered into. Right?



You prepared yourself for the eventuality that it would be your heart that splintered and you decided that you could live on without it. And it didn't matter who broke it, even when if it was the boy who stole it from your chest without so much as realizing what he had done. You prepared yourself for the eventuality that he was break it because he never knew he carried such a small and fragile thing in his hands. But you would not lose yourself, and you could split your skin and break sinew but so long as you had your mind you would remain firmly anchored to the ground.

That's where you miscalculated, from the very first axiom you presumed to be true. For it wasn't a stolen and shattered heart that reclaimed you, but a reclaimed and mended one. It wasn't a desperate wish upon a falling star that you found yourself within, but you found yourself on a rooftop and smog. When you lost yourself, you expected to struggle to reclaim yourself. Yet here you are and you don't think you could've never been happier.

You told yourself that while you were the same, lonely, dark haired and shy boy that you would never lose yourself. And yet you haven't felt lonely in weeks and the shell you confined yourself to since the death of your parents has not only cracked, but crumbled. You've lost yourself because this is the first time you've spent an evening hunched over your desk and working through the night, where a year ago this would've been routine. This is the first time you've done worked through the night in weeks, not even bothering to change out of your jeans and white top. Back then, the only company you allowed yourself was Bellamy or Sierra during the day, this isn't the case anymore and you know you've lost yourself.

You've never been happier.

Those ginger locks always find a way to pry themselves into the back of your mind when you allow yourself the luxury of silence, the second you take pen off paper and think of something that isn't a Cartesian or a function. You've lost yourself because you're distracted, you retained your genius, beautiful mind and mended your fragile heart but you've lost yourself.

You hear your door swing and you bite your lip, recognizing the rhythm of those bare footsteps. It's a good thing you stopped living by those words you held so tight to your chest. "Are you really doing math at this time?" She's already next to you, leaning against the desk and you blink. You're lost. But you look up anyway, at the face caressed by that red hair and her lips. You remember touching those lips with yours, the way her hair tickled your cheeks.

She speaks, talking about how she needs to clear her mind and your left hand is already lacing across the table to find itself at rest on top of hers. "And you thought my boring room was the best place to come?" You ask with a hint of amusement, smiling slightly as you leave my pen on its side across the paper filled with scrawls. You know that if you look around, there will only be numbers on the wall and intriguing cogs and spare parts on the shelf. Nothing she'd like. "I don't know, what did you think was here that could possibly clear your mind?"

Of course, you know that her mere presence clears your mind just fine.

She stumbles and stammers and your eyes are dead set on her eyes wandering to the warmth your hands share. You swear, it's as if there's a solar flare tucked itself within the crevices in your hands, shining through the gaps between your fingers and revelling in the palm of your hand. This is what you miss whenever you're apart, this is where the hunger biting at the back of your throat comes from when you haven't so much as met her gaze in over twenty four hours in this broken biological clock of yours. It's feral thing, a primordial lust felt in thousands of men before you, but you can't help but hunger for her touch.

It's worth losing yourself over.

She stumbles and stammers but you hold onto every word that tumbles out of her mouth that chases away the silence. A strange habbit you picked up, words spoken in your direction which you once thought of as trivial at the time bury themselves in this great library you call your mind. And you swear, you could dedicate a whole section just for Sierra, everything from the way her hair feels tangled around your fingers to the feeling of her lips pressed against yours.

If each word your held onto was a star, you could form an entire galaxy. Her hips would be the axis each planet revolved around and her hair could be the flare its people would gander towards in pure wanderlust. So it doesn't matter how much she stumbles or stammers because you hold onto every sound in your subconscious and make a note to never forget it. If there's one thing the death of your parents taught you, it was to hold onto every moment you never would've thought of cherishing.

"I just wanted to speak to someone." She forms a sentence and your eyes wander up from the sun trapped between your palms and up to her. And you would never admit it, but you feel the same. You just wanted to speak to Bellamy once, at a time that felt like eons ago. Now you forget why you thought the ground would shake when your heart shattered, you don't understand why you suspected the world would end when you hit a dead end in your attempt to burrow into his chest and find your heart entwined with his. You just wanted to speak to someone, and it's taken you too long to realize and never admit that he's not the only one whose words you can latch onto.

You just want to speak to someone, too.

"And well you are the only one that seems to be awake." She continues and you let yourself laugh and let your fingers trace themselves up her hand and wrist but stop just short of her forearm. You're feeling playful and it's moments like this when you feel ready to be yourself again, no shell and no walls.

"Oh? And what if someone else was awake? So are you saying I was your last resort?" You end the question with a smile as you look up, ensuring you lace it with mock offense. Your eyesight's always had a keen eye for detail and it takes you less than a second to compute the fact that she's edged closer to your chair, your desk and you.

You grin, standing up abruptly pushing all your things to one side and onto the edge of the desk and set yourself down on the space you just cleared. With one free hand, the one ont in hers, you pat the empty space next to you. "Go on then, have a seat and clear your mind."

You don't want to let go of the solar flare in your palm.