𝑻𝑨𝑺𝑻𝑬 𝑶𝑭 𝑯𝑶𝑵𝑬𝒀, 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒃𝒆𝒂𝒕𝒍𝒆𝒔

✵ 𝑰 𝑫𝑶, 𝑴𝒀 𝑩𝑹𝑶𝑻𝑯𝑬𝑹, 𝑰 𝑫𝑶 / 𝑴𝑪𝑳𝑬𝑵𝑵𝑶𝑵

[warning: minor violence]
i do, my brother, i do
༊
'82

he said that it was all blue when he opened his eyes. a soft, hazy blue that could only have come from the moon's craning light through the sheer curtains that billowed over the windowsill. he liked to sleep with the window lifted just a bit.

there was nothing extraordinary around as his vision cleared and he could begin to make out the dark room. it was all arranged the way he had left it when he went to bed that night, untouched and quiet.

but he blinked once and someone was there. standing in the open doorway of his bedroom, they were just waiting. a stranger.

paul, in his right mind, would have screamed in terror and blunderingly questioned the intruder with trembling lips, but he just sat up under the covers and studied quietly. the figure wore a thick gown that fell to his ankles and covered his arms. all paul could see was white.

a head of long red hair cascaded down his shoulders and framed the thin, sickly head of the man who had yet to move. a pair of trademarked coke-bottle glasses remained tight on his discerning face.

because he couldn't see past the strong, aquiline nose that ran between his hollowed cheeks and stopped above a sliver of angry lips.

blind as a bat. that's what they said.

"'ow are ye', paul?" it spoke in a perfect scouse that was crystal clear with genuine warmth.

"'m fine, john," paul answered with that same warmth, though his voice was far away and misty. he was crying.

through the incoherent fog that suddenly appeared between them, he saw john's mouth moving slowly, but no sound came out. he would never get to hear that strange declaration again, not even in the nights that followed this.
he could see his crescent eyes shining behind the reflection of paul's tender face. their eyes had both aged with wrinkles that marked them like the golden rings around an ancient stump which told the world where they had been; what they had seen; together. 

in an instant john was splayed on top of him and paul wrapped his weary arms tightly around the breathy body. he kissed his stubbly cheek passionately and closed his eyes as the ghostly hands touched his clothed chest and squeezed his torso as if he was assessing which one of them was truly real. they moaned together in absolute awe of each other, amazed that they could feel each other again.

they wouldn't have done this before.

"do you love me?" john griped, pressing his body against paul's, crazed locks of hair flying all over the two of them. paul tugged at it, the strands turning brittle beneath his grip. their arms and legs struggled against each other, kneeing groins and groping harshly at the other's shoulders. they wrestled like this until john begged the question again and his arms were around paul's neck, choking him.

had he been this cruel?

though paul wished to speak, his throat became clogged with trapped air and his nose could only recognize the rancor of his friend's anguished body. he clawed desperately at john's weathered garment and wheezed unpleasantly at his aggressor, but to no effect.

it was so hard to breathe and it was so hard to love him. but he did. he loved him, god, he loved him. loved him black and blue, loved him with his entire body and soul. forever.

through his suffocation and blackening sight he whimpered out a response, shaking hands seeming to blend with the hard skeleton of john's pulsing shoulders.

"i do, my brother, i do..."

and then the white body vanished, as it was keen to do even in life.

and paul's bed was cold.

cold as death.