wintersday (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
wintersday) wrote2022-06-19 10:15 pm
wintersday) wrote2022-06-19 10:15 pm
Fic: Only Stars
Title: Only Stars
Fandom: Homestuck
Major Characters/Pairings: Alpha Rose/Alpha Dave
Wordcount: 413
Rating: PG
POV: Second person
Summary: One last dance before the end of another world.
Tonight is the last night, not yet for the world, but for you.
You’re in a safehouse that used to be a warehouse, and Rose is with you. She’s in an evening gown, lavender shading to indigo like a darkening sky, even though there’s no one here to see but you. Her lipstick is the glossy dark of ripe plums. She leans against a battered crate, drinking the last of the champaign from a crystal glass because you face the Condesce tomorrow, and there’s nothing else for either one of you after that.
There’s a weird temptation there, one that’s been following you all day: there’s no winning, so it doesn’t matter if you die or if you don’t. You could run away with her tomorrow, have coffee and toast in the mornings and maybe publish a subversive comic or two, watch the waters rise for the rest of your quiet lives. Not a single thing would change.
(It would, though. You’re not sure how, but it would. Rose might say something about small stones and ripples, but you think it might just be that you would know.)
There’s no one to watch you cross the room and offer your hand, like you’d done at a gala once as cameras flashed. You’d escaped early that night, to the cool of the balcony and then what she’d described as a tawdry hotel. Now, she drains the glass and throws it at the wall, where it shatters, and follows you out onto the concrete floor. Her face is flushed, her eyes bright, and she laughs and reels when you twirl her, catches herself easily when her feet go astray. Drunk or not, these are steps she knows. There’s no music, but that’s fine. You don’t need it to keep the rhythm, and the silence feels right. It falls around you, soft as Rose’s gown as it brushes your ankles, delicate as her perfume. Lilac, you think. Something that will dissipate quickly when you’re gone. The shards of crystal will stay, but soon enough, this place will drown, and no one will be left to find them and wonder who was here.
Outside the high windows, stars are coming out, but they’re only stars. You’ve made your choices, and the machinations of the Furthest Ring have rolled on without you.
Rose is warm in your arms. You spin her across an empty room, outside of history, and count down the seconds until another small world ends.
Fandom: Homestuck
Major Characters/Pairings: Alpha Rose/Alpha Dave
Wordcount: 413
Rating: PG
POV: Second person
Summary: One last dance before the end of another world.
Tonight is the last night, not yet for the world, but for you.
You’re in a safehouse that used to be a warehouse, and Rose is with you. She’s in an evening gown, lavender shading to indigo like a darkening sky, even though there’s no one here to see but you. Her lipstick is the glossy dark of ripe plums. She leans against a battered crate, drinking the last of the champaign from a crystal glass because you face the Condesce tomorrow, and there’s nothing else for either one of you after that.
There’s a weird temptation there, one that’s been following you all day: there’s no winning, so it doesn’t matter if you die or if you don’t. You could run away with her tomorrow, have coffee and toast in the mornings and maybe publish a subversive comic or two, watch the waters rise for the rest of your quiet lives. Not a single thing would change.
(It would, though. You’re not sure how, but it would. Rose might say something about small stones and ripples, but you think it might just be that you would know.)
There’s no one to watch you cross the room and offer your hand, like you’d done at a gala once as cameras flashed. You’d escaped early that night, to the cool of the balcony and then what she’d described as a tawdry hotel. Now, she drains the glass and throws it at the wall, where it shatters, and follows you out onto the concrete floor. Her face is flushed, her eyes bright, and she laughs and reels when you twirl her, catches herself easily when her feet go astray. Drunk or not, these are steps she knows. There’s no music, but that’s fine. You don’t need it to keep the rhythm, and the silence feels right. It falls around you, soft as Rose’s gown as it brushes your ankles, delicate as her perfume. Lilac, you think. Something that will dissipate quickly when you’re gone. The shards of crystal will stay, but soon enough, this place will drown, and no one will be left to find them and wonder who was here.
Outside the high windows, stars are coming out, but they’re only stars. You’ve made your choices, and the machinations of the Furthest Ring have rolled on without you.
Rose is warm in your arms. You spin her across an empty room, outside of history, and count down the seconds until another small world ends.