I Have Shattered Under Midnight (post two)

Here is another post from the roleplaying thread I posted earlier with the characters of Jian and Jiordano. As I write Jiordano it is my pieces I will be posting, of course. You can find pieces written by the creator of Jian, Lily, in the previous blog post I made titled similarly. Again I apologize for the Italian. I use google translate as I do not speak the language. I hope you enjoy reading this as much as I did writing it, and please feel free to leave feedback! I do so enjoy reading it 🙂

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If walls could talk. . .

Well, they’d have quite a story to tell. Even these ones still yet new to the world. The building’s design not even completed, but some rooms held tales that would entertain. Tales of joy, of sorrow, of love, and of hope. They’d speak now of Jiordano’s grief, his utter heartbreak, over the departing of Jian. Yet they’d also be able to tell one of the moment the monk walked into that room.

Lost in grief so intense that it made his soul rage, Jiordano did not sense the little monk’s presence at first. All he could feel was the way the paint squished between his fingers, the way the glass pressed against the skin of his feet, and the way the tears trekked warmly down his cheeks. All he could feel at the moment was his pain, but it was the monk whispering his name from right next to him that drew Jiordano’s attention. Head jerked around to see if… if he was real. If he actually stood there. Staring intensely as though Jian would vanish before his eyes.

It was only when the monk’s hand pressed against his heart that Jiordano knew. “Vi sono reali…

The italian rolled off his tongue in a breathless rush. Accepting the grasp of Jian’s hand with a teary smile as he was lead toward the chair. Grief forgotten for a brief, hopeful moment as the monk stood there in front of him. Jiordano wanted to hold him, to keep him close, for as long as time would allow. Every sweet touch brought a softening, but at the same time intensified the pain. Knowing that soon their times together would fade to become past instead of present. The monk’s gentle ministrations to his tear-covered face and the touch of his hand on his neck was comforting.

On Jian’s wool wrap he could smell the cold of winter’s touch. The way it coated his clothing, and perhaps even his skin just a bit, allowed it to pervade his nose until it was overwhelming. The smell of the fire as the wood popped repeatedly mingled with it until Jiordano wanted nothing more than to have him close. Every sense seemed enhanced in this moment. The blue of his eyes turned green as the emotions churning inside him faster and faster, but they refused to drop from Jian’s own.

The way they communicated was impossible in the minds of most people. Both spoke different languages where a common ground was hard to even find, but they still managed to understand one another through touch and looks. An intense passion that spoke volumes passed between them, and sometimes it was mere understanding that provided laughs and smiles. Jiordano could recall many times they’d shared a thought through look in this very room.

Do not weep, caro. Do not…

Jian’s tears tore at his heart until it felt like it’d burst inside his chest. Arms wrapped around the monk as he sat in his lap, holding tightly and drawing him close. In the silence of the room the only sound was the result of tears. They wept for what both would soon lose: each other. He pressed his face against his shoulder and inhaled the scent of Jian into his lungs. Feeling the way his body pressed against his chest while his hand gripped his curls. A hold so tight it felt like he’d never let go…

Just as Jiordano held him.

A shiver raced through his body accompanied by an ache. An ache for the man that sat with him. To soothe away his tears and offer comfort, and capture a moment of love before it was ripped from them both. Jiordano’s hands moved up the monk’s back until he came to his neck and ever so gently placed a hand under his chin then lifted his head a bit. Meeting Jian’s gaze in the pulsing silence.

Jiordano’s deep voice broke it, the ache intensifying each word,”Just once, il mio amore.”

Then he dipped his head to press lips softly against Jian’s own. A gentle, teasing slide of warmth before he drew his head back.

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