---
what is (right) white?
---

a priori;

(he dreams of whitewhite bones and fire. of glowing guns and widewide eyes. the way the wounds peel and blister. the rough skin of heels, cracking.)

He dreams so that his body presses, hard, into the sheets. Startling the air from his lungs, bruising his ribs. (So the mattress begins to feel like a lonely boat on the sea. The waves rolling in reverse. Coming inside the wake of his arms.)

he dreams so that, when he wakes, he pulls in air like a diver - bubbles in his blood - eyes taking in the sun.

a verbis ad verbera;

he can't sit up without feeling the need to empty his stomach out onto the snow.

coldcoldcold.
(there is pinksandredsandblacks, in the shape of a footprint. he pulls the shrapnel from his skin, jagged-edged and stained and ---)

he feels sick. he feels sick. a gunshot backwards, into his heart.

(tsuzukitsuzukitsuzuki---)

he doesn't want to stand up. he doesn't want to stand up. he needs to stand ---

"...up! Hisoka, get ---"

(his eyes are dark. a wide rim of ink. a slim ring of violetandsilver. he can almost taste his breath. sugarysweetsickly.)

his eyelashes are matted. wet. he can see the tense line of his jaw, blurry and beautiful.
(hisoka expels a laugh from his lungs like a prayer. tsuzuki's ears, disbelieving.)

and his hands are pulling him up. cradling. he doesn't have the energy to fend him off.
(he wants to say: "i'm fine. i'm just closing my eyes for a minute, you ass.")

and its almost embarrassingly gentle, the way tsuzuki inspects each wound. each bruise. each inch of exposed skin. rightfully raw. (ignoring the impressive gash along his own shoulder. the way hisoka's groping hand comes back sticky and brightbright red.)

and hisoka knows they've lost when he can't hold back his sickness anymore, much to his displeasure, when tsuzuki removes his ruined shoe and his skin moves.

amantes sunt amentes;

(tsuzuki is far too awake when hisoka finds himself, despite the warnings, by his bedside. against an ocean of whitewhitered. a hand against tsuzuki's chest, testing for his breathing.)

He can feel a heartbeat there. Bluesbluesandgreens. A shell held up to his ear. (likeasea)
He can feel the throbbing in his foot. The irritated itch of mending skin. (he knows a scar will form there. he wills it.)

He can smell medicinal herbs on his skin. He can taste antiseptic on his mouth. (bleachandmorphine,fire.)

He can taste the way Tsuzuki's breath catches there, all startled goldsandviolent---He can taste his laughter. The relieved way he opens his eyes, hazy under his thick eyelashes. He can taste everything against his lips. And he can taste his words, mumbled, still:
"Hisoka." Inhale. His breath is thick. Humid. "As much as I appreciate the kiss," Exhale. His arms are pulling him in. "you could have brushed your teeth, first."

(but, in the end, tsuzuki doesn't really care. acidictonguedandlovely, its hisoka that he wants.)

a mari usque ad mare;

he breathes in gray and the tepid scent of silence.
(and he can hear the waves in his head. in his ears.)

he breathes in downy feathers of faraway gulls. of snow on seas.
(and he can feel tsuzuki's hothumid breathing against his skin. against him.)

and he can hear the boughs of trees and hearts snapping and bending. he can hear the drifts outside his window, requesting entrance. he can hear the way the color of his eyes is reflected back.
(and he can hear the softsweet sound of tsuzuki's voice, sung low and murmuring.)

and he can see the way his body answers him.
(answers this.)

"---"

and his answer, fogandmistandwinterfreeze:

"tsuzuki."
(thisisit. thisishim. thisisn't---)

and white is all there is.

---
notes; Hm. Oh, and yes, I borrowed the idea of the gashed foot from my own experiences. It was lovely, as you can tell. Minus the lovely (fe)male holding me up. Sad. And, of course, emptying my stomach.