[Not uncommon for him - for any of them - but it's so hard to tear himself out of that state. Like a bad dream (that it was, or was not?) it will fade over time and he'll reestablish his link to reality... but he hates this limbo in between. His saving grace is Sylvain, the weight of his body and the softness of his words, both of which anchor Emmet. He slowly works his arm around Sylvain, squeezing him tight, and turns his head to press a kiss to his forehead. It's a motion that is, to him, now just second nature.
His eyelids flutter and he can see it, just barely, on the end of the film reel in his head. He can feel the blood running wildly down his throat, the crush of his lungs and the feeling of falling toward the wet earth and seeing one fuzzy figure so close and yet so far. Is he picturing Sylvie there because he's told he was? Or does he really remember him, just barely?
Emmet hates feeling shaky but this is what his dreams do to him, worse when it's something predictive; he feels cold and hollowed out, kissing Sylvie's brow a few more times as he lets himself return to this world, this present. He can start to remember the things around them, like the pile of his laundry folded on the night stand and feel of his favorite blanket across them. He breathes in deep and then lets it go.]
I'm starting to not be able to tell a past that was from something still yet to come. It all just... overlaps now. Maybe I'm losing control of it, like Fabian.
no subject
[Not uncommon for him - for any of them - but it's so hard to tear himself out of that state. Like a bad dream (that it was, or was not?) it will fade over time and he'll reestablish his link to reality... but he hates this limbo in between. His saving grace is Sylvain, the weight of his body and the softness of his words, both of which anchor Emmet. He slowly works his arm around Sylvain, squeezing him tight, and turns his head to press a kiss to his forehead. It's a motion that is, to him, now just second nature.
His eyelids flutter and he can see it, just barely, on the end of the film reel in his head. He can feel the blood running wildly down his throat, the crush of his lungs and the feeling of falling toward the wet earth and seeing one fuzzy figure so close and yet so far. Is he picturing Sylvie there because he's told he was? Or does he really remember him, just barely?
Emmet hates feeling shaky but this is what his dreams do to him, worse when it's something predictive; he feels cold and hollowed out, kissing Sylvie's brow a few more times as he lets himself return to this world, this present. He can start to remember the things around them, like the pile of his laundry folded on the night stand and feel of his favorite blanket across them. He breathes in deep and then lets it go.]
I'm starting to not be able to tell a past that was from something still yet to come. It all just... overlaps now. Maybe I'm losing control of it, like Fabian.