Hi there! This is my first FMP fic. I love the series (I love it good!) so I always wanted to try one, but this one just kinda popped out of me (like an unplanned baby) while I was listening to the song "I Still Believe" from "Miss Saigon", the musical. Don't worry, it's not a songfic.
Setting: Takes place after the end of Continuing On My Own (novel)
Disclaimer: I do not own FMP.
Night. I am alive and dead at night.
When it is dark, he holds me, too close, too warm, too real. My body, he owns. My mind, he infects.
He whispers in my ear, those whispers that echo in my mind. His warm lips are welcome on my cold skin. His face I see, even in my dreams. His eyes—oh God, those eyes!—penetrate my body, not just seeing through me but pulling out of me everything I have to hide.
I feel everything tumbling out of me, gushing through my clasped fingers and betraying my soul. Everything that I am, is no longer mine. My thoughts are now subject to his scrutiny, stripped of all pretenses and rendered bare. My feelings are kept in a glass casing. He shines a light through to wake them, though he already holds a key.
All of me is his.
Him. He is... What is he? What is he to me? He is my jailor and my lover. My captor and my only ally. He is what I live for. Now.
Day. I am nothing.
When it is morning, no one is here. I own myself once more, but there is nothing left to own.
My thoughts are not real thoughts. Just vain, false reflections.
My emotions are not real emotions. Just colorless paper cranes.
My heart... I have none.
My body is irrelevant.
At day, I sleep.
Night. I am dead and alive at night.
When it is dark, I remember his touch, too far, too fleeting, too real. Not real enough.
He shouts in my mind, desperate, pleading screams that fill my ears so much it hurts. His voice which resounds through my blood soothes my wounds. His face I see even awake. His eyes...oh, God, those eyes...I would give myself to them, knowing that they'd never ask.
My body trembles in the wake of his memory, my hand reaching out to him. My eyes close and I wait for the feel of his hand meeting with mine. My thoughts are always of him, dressed in sheets of his scent. My feelings flutter for him. He is their caretaker, he has never needed a key.
All of me is his.
Him. Yes, him. I know what he is to me. He is my hero and my friend. My rescuer and protector. But, he is more. He is less. He is everything. He is what I live for. Still.
I am alive, but I am dead. I cannot choose and I cannot think. But I can feel, and I feel pain and joy both at once.
I feel through a body and soul which were once mine. I feel the decay of a man's love creeping through me, relentless and cruel. I feel his lips, his face, his body. I feel him. I own him. We resonate together. He is my partner.
But the decay cannot be completed, I know. My core, my heart, is everything I am. I feel the presence of a man's love. I feel him. He has always protected my heart, and I have always entrusted it to him. We are apart. He is my anchor.
He is my lifeline. I am alive and I am dead. I cannot choose. But I want to live.
This is my unwilling duet.
Night. I only exist at night, only in the dark. My heart begins to pump again at night. My body heaves with pain. The nights are only kept apart by the sun, which dries up my blood, sweat, and tears and empties me completely. But I welcome it every morning. I know that, with the sun, my heart is far away somewhere, fighting for me, coming to me. I know that, every night, he will return to me to keep away the death.
Night. I know that he will come for me at night.