OC Oneshots

A Second Breath

((Ignore the cringe playlist things I add, I enjoy associating my stories to music))

David V. (character belongs to Beagletime)/ Johnson Morgan (my character)

Cw:
Mentions of former traumas, attempted suicide, etc...

It's not angst; the opposite. Almost bittersweet.

Enjoy!

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~Story Starts~

The evening was quiet as the two men sat together, the songs of birds drifting in the wind, spinning into a lovely melody between the trees, frogs, and crickets. Yet, the two men sat together with a mutual understanding of why they were there.

Something had drawn them closer than they ever had been before.

Perhaps it was the scars on bare feet or the rope burn around one's neck, yet they sat there, leaning on one another as life moved around them, encapsulating them in a portrait far more significant than a man could make.

Wandering blue eyes scanned the fields, bustling with life. The day was warm, carrying the scent of various aromatic flowers and vines. He smiled gently, lowering his hand to cradle a little flower's petals, pondering its name. 

This was something he hadn't felt in ages. Curiosity, warmth. The sun shone on his back as the world sang a song of mending. No, the world hadn't mended him. Not yet. Not by itself. 

His eyes turned to the man who brought him out here. He was a freckled lad with eyes that shone like honey. Delicate in words and hard to read, yet appeared peaceful, resting amongst the flowers and tall grasses shifting in front of his face. 

But that warm smile held pain, and those eyes saw things no one could understand. 

He couldn't understand. 

Those eyes looked at him with love, looked at him with care. The man who had gone through everything acts like he isn't in pain. But, sometimes, that pain escapes, and that's okay.

"Johnson." 

How relieving the name felt on his tongue.

"Yes?"

"What is the most beautiful thing you've ever seen? Like- in all of your travels across the colonies." Oh, his German accent was slipping through heavily. A simple question- undoubtedly, a simple answer would follow.

Yet, Johnson pondered, his hands delicately tracing over the flower pedals, silently praising them for their efforts.

"There are many things I could name. The world is beautiful, no matter how much it's poisoned with lies. Nature mends what she has broken, of course. I've watched fallen trees give shelter, produce fertile soil, and create life. I've seen the beauty of spring, the harshness of summer, and the melancholy goodbye of fall, welcoming the cheerful cry of winter. I've seen nurture and fundamental growth. Yet, one thing tops the list."

"And what's that?" Oh, David was more curious now.

"Life returning into someone's eyes. A second breath as they realize that life isn't what they once thought. The way one holds tight, not for the world, the people inside, or for the duties around them, but for themselves."

Dumfounded, the blonde brought a hand up, covering his mouth. All of the beauties of this world, yet the freckled man still believed that he was beautiful. When he was at his lowest, slowly building back, the freckled man continued to hold the tent open, allowing him the first look at the morning sky, the first breath of the early morning air, and the first warmth of the sun's rays. It was love, not pity.