Work Text:
It has been. A long day.
There have been many long days, lately- days of working too hard and too late and too much. Days of survival, stress, and anxiety. Days where everything is overwhelming, where everything is happening all at once and Zachary and Dorian both, from their separate lives, in their separate days, are wishing as hard as one can wish that it can be over and they can be together.
Days like these- molasses days, wire cutter days, broken shards of glass and the remnants of a coffee table days- are the worst of all. Without one another it is an eternity.
It isn’t that the work has gotten harder, no. It isn’t that the work has gotten harder or that the people have gotten more testy and less helpful, it isn’t that the room is too big, or that the room is too small, or that time is moving more slowly than usual- they had asked Time, who denied doing any such thing. It is that these days, sharp and grating and overwhelming though they are, are spent alone.
It is a misery to miss someone.
The thing is, they both have Lives. They had agreed that they both have Lives and they both should live their lives instead of disappearing into the Starless Sea, into the new Harbor, as so many else have done and will do and are doing.
They had agreed that Zachary should go back to his home, to his life, above the world. To his mother, who loves him. To school, to finish his degree, and then to school to teach. And its- it’s fine , it is, really it is. It’s rewarding, most of the time. More than that, it’s good to be out in the sun. It’s good for Zachary to be surrounded by people who love him. To make friends, and to look at the sky, and to live .
It’s just that, well, being in the world requires things like money. Money requires working, and so Zachary is busy. He is so busy. Why is he always so busy? But he needs to do it, for himself, to prove that he belongs in the world, to prove-
But he is so tired.
They had agreed, too, that Dorian needed to go. To travel. To live. He hadn’t gotten the chance before. And he wanted to find the doors, he wanted to find the collectors club, what was left of it, and to tell them about the new harbor. To tell them about his name, and his adventures, to tell them that it was safe, that it was over, that it was beginning.
And sure, it’s dangerous. When has he ever lived a life that wasn’t? It almost feels safer, that he is choosing the danger this time. He has helped so many people. He is only starting to start as many lives as he has ended. He can’t- won’t- bring himself to stop that, not now.
But it is so lonely .
There is this dream that each of them has, that they are not altogether aware that they share. In the dream, they come home to each other. In the dream, they get more than those rare stolen nights when Dorian is in town that Zachary is always exhausted during anyways- in the dream they get a life together. A home, a family.
In the dream, when Zachary comes home, Dorian is there. Dorian will pull him into his arms, and Dorian will rub his back softly and hold him and tell him stories, and sing him songs in languages he doesn’t know, and kiss him so gently that it takes his breath away. And they can have the night, together, just the two of them, every night. And there will be safety, and there will be peace, and there will be Dorian, and Dorian will be there and will love him.
In the dream, when Dorian comes home, Zachary is there. Zachary will hold him and he can lay down with his head on Zachary’s lap and, he will stroke his hair and mispronounce Arabic terms of endearment, and tell him about the things he loves. And it will all be worth it, all of it, all of the danger and pain and fear, because when he gets home Zachary will be there and will love him.
The dream propels them through these days, because they know, both of them, that it is entirely possible and entirely realistic. They know that this dream is a honey trap, and once they recognize just how much they both want it, they will never be able to escape. Because they want it- yes, god, do they both want it- but they can’t have it yet. Because they both have Lives. There are things they want to do that they cannot do together.
But on these days- the aching, bloody, broken days, the glare-in-the-mirrors days, the rotting carcass of a dead animal on your doorstep days- the dream moves them. The dream makes the days go faster, whatever Time may say about it.
They both know that Fate did not wish this for them. That Fate, kind and generous, had wanted to give them a life together, had wanted to give them the Dream. But they had- they have - other plans. They can’t help it.
Those rare nights when they are together, sometimes, at the end of passion and the blinding, star filled sky of orgasm, they will lie quietly with one another, and one will whisper to the other, “when?”
On those nights they will think to themselves that those stars might be enough. That they might be enough to never see the real ones again. That they might be enough for each other. That the world below the world may be enough for them. That they could have the Dream.
But there is always a morning, after those nights.
It is so lonely .
And he is so tired.
And the answer to “When?” is always “Not yet”.
Zachary is tired of “Not yet”. It is a misery to miss someone.
“Run away with me,” he says, on one of these nights, “Run away with me. We can go back to the Starless Sea. We can live in the Harbor. They love you there. We could have a room for ourselves. The bees would feed us. We wouldn’t want for anything. Run away with me.”
“I love you,” Dorian replies, “I love you. Not yet.”
Zachary wakes alone in the morning. All of the pillows are stained with tears.
Dorian is tired of “Not yet”, too, and there are nights where, in the dead of night, he will clutch Zachary’s naked, soft, warm, sleeping body and whisper “Stay, please stay, please stay,” over and over and over again until he falls asleep with an ear to his heart.
And he wakes to a note on the pillow.
But they both have Lives. It is important to live them. It is necessary. Even on entire-forests-on-fire days. Even on barbed wire sticking out of a cat's paw days. Even on nails scraping on chalkboard, ear-splitting shrieks of children and the empty, broken, silence days.
It is important, because when they do go- when they open the door again to the Harbor to stay, when they choose the Dream and each other- they want it to be real. And it cannot be real if the world above is still realer. There has to be nothing else they want from it. There has to be a greater emptiness.
The world is vast, and beautiful, and there are things to do and see, there are books to read, games to play, lessons to teach and to listen to. There are papers to write and stories to tell and people to meet and to love. There are mothers, and there are friends, and there are bus stop strangers and flowers to smell and there is the sunlight, and there are stars.
Down there, there is only the Dream.
And so they take the Long Days, and the lonely nights, and the lonely mornings after the not-lonely-anymore nights. And so they cry into pillows and they take the “Not yet”s and they take the molasses and the wire cutters and the broken shards of glass, and they take the remnants of a coffee table and they take the ache and the blood and the glare in the mirror and they take the rotting carcasses and the on fire forests and the barbed wire and the nails and the shrieks and the brokenness. And they will take the silence. And they will slowly put the pieces together and they will build lives out of them because they are such days that lives are made of.
Even though it is lonely.
It will not always be lonely.
Quietly, privately, they each think to themselves that there is something even worse than the Long Days.
There are days– good days, wonderful days, amazing days. There are days when the sun is warm on his skin, there are days where there are chocolates filled with caramel melting on tongues, and flowers that smell like universes, and laughter, and the sound of birds singing.
There are days- good days, wonderful days, amazing days. There are days filled with new games that make him shout with joy, and friends who wrap their hands around his, and the crunch of snow under boots, and music- so much music.
It is such a misery to miss someone.
And they wish- each of them wishes- that instead of nights together where I-love-you’s were laced with tears and the misery of missing someone, they could have…
Instead, they Dream.