[ Sen’s nearness granted, gifted. The warmth of lips and the soothe-soft brush of an inhale. All the world encompassed in one act. All of the world’s wealth expressed within that breath.
This, they think, composes the core of a finespun, crucial universe.
The strands of which sway with every inhale, exhale, voice and word. The strands of which sway perdurable, drifted gentle yes by whim and circumstance, and ever, always holding to their gossamer, their intricate-webbed radiance.
The strands of which waft nimbly now, buoyed by the breath of Sen upon their forehead, Sen’s breath along a quiet (and acute; and indelible) kiss. Again they think: how simple it is. To welcome Sen’s fondnesses. To know that every gesture, every touch and every eyebrow quirked rings resonance through their own being. To know that every sign is granted to the Rin they are at heart and in intention; the Rin - intrinsic self of new and old alike - that Sen has known unfailingly to look for and to see.
Sen kisses Rin’s forehead - kissed Rin’s forehead, but the act repeats itself in knowing, the act spins recurrent as the moment multiplies out infinite, through every iteration of Sen and Rin reclined together - and their eyes slip shut, reveling in the gentle pressure, consonant breath. Sign of this enduring, this crucial man.
Rin could, they know, linger here until time’s dwindling. Long past the fall of twilight, aglow and in serenity with Sen, with Sen, until the deep night overwhelms.
All of which makes it difficult to gather words in argument against Senan’s talk of lesser celestial bodies, of meteors and jesters. Would-be-arguments that in any case disperse when Sen obliges, and speaks of fate; speaks of himself.
Rin could, they think, kiss the man in return for this alone. For favoring their wish with descriptors that settle aptly (if insufficient; oh, but there are scarcely words enough to compass all that Sen is, has been, has always held and hummed with), descriptors that warm their eyes and bloom hyacinths beneath their lungs. This, yes, reflects images of the man Rin has known and how gratifying, how vivifying it is to hear.
They place their hand against Sen’s chest and press, once, softly. Head cocked in faux-admonishment. Grin warmed by pleasure at Sen’s speaking. ]
Don’t think it beyond my influence to form you to a star.
With a wave of my hand, I create galaxies, hm? With words, I readily reveal the splendor held in Sen.
This once, I’ll spare you the theatrics, as well as the lecture. You’ve obliged me, and illustrated Senan - my Sen, as I have known him and as I constantly feel him to be - to my satisfaction.
[ Now holding up their hand, forefinger extended, slightly cocked. ]
For the moment! Just as my vanity requires regular maintenance, I will wish always to hear well of Sen. There, too, I am voracious.
To hear you have been happy…
[ There’s a hummed sound, a space of thinking, of seeking expression, and then, in Spanish— ]
What more could I ask? What better than to see my vagabond philosopher ensconced within content, in happiness.
I could like nothing better. He is owed nothing less.
You, whose wonder has ever been both admirable and dire. You, who know to see so well in all the world around you.
[ And, as they tilt their head further against Sen’s chest, still watching Sen, they continue in French— ]
I am here because you knew me. My capability grows from your admission and from your esteem.
What can I say? I am I because I have been known by you.
[ A soft smile, and - deftly, deliberately - they tap Sen’s nose with their forefinger. ]
Senan, Senan.
[ Shifting to Russian, voice half a resigned sigh— ]
no subject
This, they think, composes the core of a finespun, crucial universe.
The strands of which sway with every inhale, exhale, voice and word. The strands of which sway perdurable, drifted gentle yes by whim and circumstance, and ever, always holding to their gossamer, their intricate-webbed radiance.
The strands of which waft nimbly now, buoyed by the breath of Sen upon their forehead, Sen’s breath along a quiet (and acute; and indelible) kiss. Again they think: how simple it is. To welcome Sen’s fondnesses. To know that every gesture, every touch and every eyebrow quirked rings resonance through their own being. To know that every sign is granted to the Rin they are at heart and in intention; the Rin - intrinsic self of new and old alike - that Sen has known unfailingly to look for and to see.
Sen kisses Rin’s forehead - kissed Rin’s forehead, but the act repeats itself in knowing, the act spins recurrent as the moment multiplies out infinite, through every iteration of Sen and Rin reclined together - and their eyes slip shut, reveling in the gentle pressure, consonant breath. Sign of this enduring, this crucial man.
Rin could, they know, linger here until time’s dwindling. Long past the fall of twilight, aglow and in serenity with Sen, with Sen, until the deep night overwhelms.
All of which makes it difficult to gather words in argument against Senan’s talk of lesser celestial bodies, of meteors and jesters. Would-be-arguments that in any case disperse when Sen obliges, and speaks of fate; speaks of himself.
Rin could, they think, kiss the man in return for this alone. For favoring their wish with descriptors that settle aptly (if insufficient; oh, but there are scarcely words enough to compass all that Sen is, has been, has always held and hummed with), descriptors that warm their eyes and bloom hyacinths beneath their lungs. This, yes, reflects images of the man Rin has known and how gratifying, how vivifying it is to hear.
They place their hand against Sen’s chest and press, once, softly. Head cocked in faux-admonishment. Grin warmed by pleasure at Sen’s speaking. ]
Don’t think it beyond my influence to form you to a star.
With a wave of my hand, I create galaxies, hm? With words, I readily reveal the splendor held in Sen.
This once, I’ll spare you the theatrics, as well as the lecture. You’ve obliged me, and illustrated Senan - my Sen, as I have known him and as I constantly feel him to be - to my satisfaction.
[ Now holding up their hand, forefinger extended, slightly cocked. ]
For the moment! Just as my vanity requires regular maintenance, I will wish always to hear well of Sen. There, too, I am voracious.
To hear you have been happy…
[ There’s a hummed sound, a space of thinking, of seeking expression, and then, in Spanish— ]
What more could I ask? What better than to see my vagabond philosopher ensconced within content, in happiness.
I could like nothing better. He is owed nothing less.
You, whose wonder has ever been both admirable and dire. You, who know to see so well in all the world around you.
[ And, as they tilt their head further against Sen’s chest, still watching Sen, they continue in French— ]
I am here because you knew me. My capability grows from your admission and from your esteem.
What can I say? I am I because I have been known by you.
[ A soft smile, and - deftly, deliberately - they tap Sen’s nose with their forefinger. ]
Senan, Senan.
[ Shifting to Russian, voice half a resigned sigh— ]
Splendorous fool.