sun/down

"let's take a picture together. you'll see how—" beautiful you are. but thame can't say that aloud. it feels too much. it weighs so much on him now. 

po repeats, "i love you," because he knows—it's not enough.

the world tilts, approximately 23.5 degrees, for thame is the earth and po is the sun. and he reaches out, holding his burst of radiance with both hands, burning himself into embers, caressing the clouds of po's cheeks with joy and glee thrumming in his heart, ignoring the sting of it all.

"i couldn't save us," wrecked, thame says, his voice cracking, losing the usual rhythmic cadence. "i ruined us," he continues, but po can't let thame spiral into his self-destruct mode. he can't. he won't. "it's not your fault," po ensures, knocking the absolute truth into thame's system. they talked about this before. it's never thame's fault. it's never MARS' fault. "it's not your fault, do you hear me?"

"sometimes i saw you in my dreams." "was it a good dream?" po asks, eyes widening, curious. thame smiles. "you were in it. of course, it was," and it's the truth.

po presses the button. the world pauses. the tape no longer rewinds to those better days. someone keeps on forwarding every footage. po can't keep up. the montage is a mess. some shots are missing, while other scenes are glitching. it's no longer the movie that he saw six months ago. it's black. no longer yellow. 

po and thame; they were never meant to be.

once thame looks into the stranger's eyes—oh. his heart races. tumbles and collapses. falls and falls and falls to the pit of his churning stomach. like zero gravity, the world no longer bound thame in their suffocating hold. he's finally free.

"you should rest. don't talk too much," po suggests, already helping thame to lie down on the bed. but thame finds this whole situation wickedly funny and dizzyingly heartwarming. "i don't want this to end. it's the only time i can hear you talk. you rarely talk. you usually do all the listening. it's nice to hear you say more than ten words in a day, phi," thame jokes, and po reddens.

love me at my lowest; i'll love you when you're barely hanging on.

thame gets high when their skins touch—when his lips bestow another lie on po's trembling ones—when his fingers are busy unbuttoning po's shirt—throws it to the floor and forgets about the world—and this feels so close to the blasphemous heaven thame will never attain—not in this life—because this life is hell even with po in it.

it takes two to tango, but perhaps po isn't ready to have this dance—not with thame.

of rooftops, secrets, and us.

po can't stop overthinking. he can't. even with thame by his side, the thoughts are louder by the second. but maybe it's okay to let them consume him. as long as thame is here. as long as this lasts.