Chapter Text
“If the heavens ever did speak,
[he’s] the last true mouthpiece.
Every Sunday’s getting more bleak,
a fresh poison each week.”
He was still drawing. He hurt his hand at some point last week—cut it right open trying to shape some glass. But he noticed the mistake in the drawing he made, so he had to redo it before he tried again. It had to be perfect, just like he remembered.
It had to be perfect because it was Imari.
He lost track of how many hours it’d been since he started drawing, but time wasn’t important to him. Once he put the pencil on the paper he was wearing down the graphite like water to rock. Even if it looked like utter nonsense to others, they didn’t understand it the way he did. He could see him in it, and that was what mattered. He just had to perfect him.
As long as he could draw him, he was still with him. He could feel him in his ‘art’, in the way he so carefully marked and remembered the details of his face from the way his nose curved to the way his unnaturally black hair fell across his tan face. Imari couldn’t have possibly disappeared in any capacity—no, he was right there in front of him, looking him in the eye.
His lover was staring right back at him.
”I love you.”
He reached out to touch him, but he felt flat.
A shiver went down his spine. He was cold now. He looked over towards his window—it was completely ajar even though the ground outside was rigid with snow. Some forecast today on the news said it was below freezing, and he swore he’d gotten up to shut that window once he stopped being able to feel his hands in the middle of the night when he got up to piss. He had to get up now, since he could barely draw anymore.
He didn’t want to bring himself away for even a moment, but he knew the paper would rip if he was clumsy with his hands, and he wouldn’t be able to forgive himself for ripping anything with Imari’s face on it.
On wobbly legs, he stood, dragging himself across the dimly lit room and draping bony hands onto the windowpane to pull it down. With a grunt, it was completely shut, and he was less cold almost immediately. While he was up, he grabbed the blanket off his bed and took it back to the desk, wrapping it around himself as he forced his hand back into drawing position.
If he couldn’t feel it now, it was either because he was cramping again or because it was still technically injured. But that wasn’t his problem. His problem was that something was off about his face, but he didn’t know what it was. Were his eyes off kilter? His nose too high up? What was wrong with him?
A voice suddenly called out to him.
”Ren, are you still up?”
”Yeah.” He replied.
Heavy footsteps moved across the hallway, followed shortly by a rhythmic knock that rang out against his door.
”Can I come in for a moment?”
”I guess.”
The door opened rather swiftly for his taste, a familiar face appearing from the dark hallway. The man was getting older now, his hair graying in a way that was quickly matching his beard. Wrinkles were set into his skin, particularly around his eyes. He hasn’t been sleeping much either.
”What’s up, dad?” Ren asked, still adding and removing little things to his model.
The older man said nothing as he went up to his son and put his hand on his shoulder. He was taken aback, however, by the sheer state of his room. There were drawings and scraps and scribbles all over his floor, his walls, his bed. But what caught his eye was in the corner—two stuffed animals of Imari and his son sitting atop a box of gas’s sculpture supplies. His bookshelf was in that corner too, previously filled with booked but now housing clay statuettes and smal trinkets with labels.
”I didn’t notice how many things you’ve made of that kid,” he said bluntly, picking up a light stack of papers from his son’s desk to examine the contents. “He means an awful lot to you.”
”Yeah.” Ren agreed dryly.
He rubbed his son’s shoulder firmly, putting the papers back where they were and looking down at him as he worked.
“Watch your hand, bud. You hurt it real bad last week.” He urged, but Ren didn’t do anything in response.
The pastor sighed deeply, looking away for a moment before turning back to face him.
”Look,” he began slowly. “Your mother and I, we’re getting a little concerned for you. You rarely leave your room anymore, not even to come with us on Sundays. It’s not the same without you there anymore, Ren… Besides, you used to love doing that.”
”I loved doing that with him,” he snapped, “but he’s not here anymore. So everything I loved to do with him, I don’t wanna do it anymore. Isn’t that understandable?”
”Of course it is,” the man sighed again. “You know, I won’t make you do anything you don’t want to. I’m not here to make you feel bad either, but… I want you to know that you can talk to us. I know things have been difficult for you, and I’m sorry your old man can’t do much to help you out. This is all I got.”
Ren frowned, putting down his pencil for a bit. His hand was truly starting to hurt now anyway, so he decided he should listen. He stood up, pulling his father into a hug.
”I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it like that.” He murmured.
The old man returned the hug, a tighter embrace than he probably realized. It’d been a while since they had a genuine bonding moment, and he couldn’t say he didn’t appreciate it.
”I won’t hold anything against you. I just—I want you to be okay, Ren.” The old man eventually replied.
“I know, dad. Thank you.”
”Get some sleep, okay? Between you and me, your mother’s worried sick about you… It’ll put her to rest knowing you’re alright.”
Ren nodded knowingly. “Okay, okay. I will. Tell her I said goodnight.”
”Will do. See ya in the morning, champ.”
”Goodnight, dad.”
The pastor left the room, closing the door gently as he watched his son crawl into his bed.
Ren sprawled out on his mattress, letting the blanket drape itself over him as he let slumber start to overcome him. Right as he went to close his eyes, however, a voice rumbled through the dimness.
”I’m going to sleep, dad.” He called out instinctively.
”I’m not your father, dude.” The voice retorted, rather sarcastically. “Can you stay up? I needa talk to you.”