i am one of them | Reslife/LEMUR crossover

[betteralready]

 Archie tries to tell Horatio not to come. 

He tries to tell Horatio not to come; knows that it will be too much, with the French and the gunshots and the quiet longing his role requires. Only relents (still reluctantly) when Edgar confirms he'll be going as well.

(Elliot tries to tell Edgar not to come, either, but he doesn't mean it-- never could-- the way Archie did. Loathe though he is to admit it, he's always going to want Edgar there-- and is likely always going to be surprised, still, when he shows.)

It's still one of the hardest performances he's ever done, knowing his boyfriend is sitting in the audience watching the obvious heartache. Archie has to breathe through the quiet panic of his own, when the young woman playing Éponine comes in covered in blood; notices a tremble in Elliot's hands. The tears in his eyes (and Elliot's, he notes) are real when they press their foreheads together as the quiet desperation takes hold in the play.

He tries as hard as he possibly can to look nothing like himself, in the scene where they die. Tries to look all gloom and despair and not sacrifice. More like a man brought half-unwillingly to the gallows and not like one who stepped up to the noose himself. 

(Elliot, in rehearsals, had aimed for the opposite. Aimed to look more like himself so that it wouldn't hurt Edgar to see, because this was realer for the both of them than it was for even Archie and Horatio. And so Archie had held his tongue about how better to look like a man willing to die for something so much bigger than himself-- of a man who walked almost blindly into the range of bullets to protect what he loved more than life itself.

Neither of them quite manage, entirely, to achieve the image they're aiming for.)

They stand atop the false barricade and get shot while hand-in-hand. They'd almost had a fight with the director about it, but Elliot couldn't face this echo of his death without a hand in his and Archie, well--

(--He'll never tell Horatio, because it will kill the man certain sure, but there's something nice about the idea of having someone hold your hand while you're dying. He doesn't begrudge his boyfriend the way things had ended, but that's the one thing he'd wanted that he hadn't gotten, when he'd died the first time.)

They arrange to meet, all four of them, once most of the crowd has thinned, because they know it's not going to be an easy reunion. Thankfully, they're alone when they exit the stage door. Elliot steps towards Edgar with a hint of nervous uncertainty, his hand already offered out to be held. Archie shifts his attention instantly to give them some privacy; tuning out the quiet murmurs of French that reach his ears as he moves to Horatio.

He doesn't think twice about catching at Horatio's hand and bringing it up to his chest in the old, unfortunately familiar way. He'd brought a white shirt to change into after exactly so Horatio could see the utter lack of blood.

"I'm not hurt," he murmurs in lieu of a proper greeting, "'nd I love you."

Comments

[midship]

It doesn't feel real until it's already too late.

Horatio and Edgar sit apart from their other friends, carefully surrounded by strangers who won't pay them any mind at all. The tension that sets into Edgar's body come almost immediately, breath careful and fingers twitching to hold a little too firmly to the armrest between them. It's easy to feel distant, at first, with the much more obvious discomfort settling into Edgar's limbs. Yes, there's something dull and painful about watching Archie's eyes drift longingly after someone with the sun too much in their eyes to understand what a gift they had been given. Yes, it's like a magnet to keep his attention flitting against discomfort over his boyfriend's features, so oddly familiar with this second chance at examining their first life together.

It feels almost safe, reaching over to smooth protectively at the back of Edgar's hand. It feels almost like certainty that he'll make it through this entire ordeal--even with the French, even with the threat of violence, even with the hauntingly familiar look in Archie's features.

Then Éponine's coat is pulled open, and Horatio feels the world fall out from under him.

He isn't sure when his and Edgar's hands got so fully intertwined, blunt nails digging into one another's flesh without any sense of reality. He isn't sure whether the waves of nausea actually stopped or he simply became accustomed to them all over again. A piece of him is aware of the soft, gutted noise that escapes his friend's lips as Elliot and Archie link hands. A piece of him is aware of the tears pricking his own eyes when Archie's body crumples.

They manage to stand with the rest of the crowd in the roaring ovation, but just barely. They don't quite manage to let go of the support of having another hand in their own until they've found the quiet little hall where they're meant to meet the most important men in their lives.

Most of the time, Horatio doesn't mind the soft sound of French brushing his ears. Today, it sends a new wave of sickness through him to hear even faintly across the hall before all of his attention can be thrown into Archie properly.

His fingers at Archie's chest clutch and stretch unhappily. His other hand lifts to smooth uselessly at the young actor's cheek, still half-panicked in the frenetic motion.

"I love you." It feels like years since he'd last said it. "You-- were crying."

[betteralready]

He presses his cheek into Horatio's hand instantly. Lifts his own free one to rest carefully against his boyfriend's side, pulling them a little closer. His smile is weak as he hears the first words, but at least he's smiling.

"Yeah," he agrees with the second statement, the words coming out on a huff of air rather like a bitter laugh, "'t was-- hard."

[midship]

His thumb shifts entirely unconsciously to smooth at the faint edge of Archie's smile. It's infinitely important that the expression, however faint, is real.

The right words are at the edge of the fuzziness in his mind. He wants to compliment the performance. He wants to explain how moving, how real, how truly amazing he found each and every one of the other young man's performances had always been and continued to be.

"You're all right now?"

It had been fiction. It hadn't even been fiction based on what they had actually lived through.

His fingers are still twitching nervously over the smooth expanse of Archie's skin, at the absolute lack of a gaping hole in his boyfriend's chest.

[betteralready]

He nods roughly, still leaning against Horatio's hand at his cheek and into the one drifting along his chest. His fingers at his boyfriend's side shift steadily up and down, grounding them both.

"Tired," he admits softly, "But 'm-- okay."

It's better, now that he's with him.

[midship]

It's getting a little easier to breathe again. It's getting to the point where he trusts the steadiness under his own fingers--the unscarred skin, the steady breathing, the gentle heartbeat.

"We should-- get you home."

They're supposed to go out for drinks, he knows. They're supposed to spend a little time with their two friends who had just been through their own version of this terrible hell.

He's not sure he'll be able to let go of clinging exactly like this until morning, is the thing.

[betteralready]

He nods again, pressing a rough kiss against his boyfriend's cheek.

"That'd be nice," comes the quiet confession, "Just-- worried about Elliot. We should-- at least check in."

Maybe not right now, though. He needs to linger here a little longer.

[midship]

His breath comes in a faint huff, adoring and exhausted all at once. Of course, even in this frazzled and painful time, Archie's first thought is for others. Of course Archie's attention is on his boyfriend's pain, his co-star's nerves.

It's part of what he loves--what he's always loved. It's just much easier to be nervous about that selflessness, at the moment.

"If you're sure, Archie." His fingers on his boyfriend's cheek shift delicately, reaching now to catch carefully at the back of the other young man's neck. "If that's honestly what you want."

[betteralready]

He can't help but relax at the way Horatio's fingers settle against the back of his neck. It gets him breathing just a bit more easily now.

"'s at least say goodbye properly. Maybe-- plan to meet up, later."

Not tonight, though. Tonight, he needs to stay tucked in close to his boyfriend.

[midship]

"All right."

Anything would be, really, so long as they were allowed to keep clinging tight like this. Thinking straight has been, slowly but surely, getting easier as well.

"You-- were brilliant, by the way."

[betteralready]

That earns a small, grateful smile.

"Yeah? Thank you. --You really didn't have to come."

[midship]

Shaking his head this close is an oddly wonderful thing, even with his nerves jangling like they are now. Moving together is one of the most comforting feelings in the world.

"You said, but-- you know that's not true, don't you?"

The past couldn't rule them, this time around.

[betteralready]

It's definitely a nice feeling. It's definitely got him relaxing all the more, the tightness at the corners of his lips relaxing slightly.

"I suppose you're right."

[midship]

"You've-- been living with this."

He hadn't fully appreciated how carefully Archie had been keeping this from him. He hadn't fully understood what it must have been like for Archie to come here every day, to throw himself into this world and something not so actually terribly far off from an ancient pain.

"The least I could do was-- show up."

[ofthecubs]

Edgar is glad he'd come, at the core of things. It's simply buried somewhere underneath the torrent of memories which stubbornly refuse to leave off smothering his thoughts.

It's all he can do, when Elliot is properly before him again, to reach out with a blind desperation. Both hands are needed to catch firmly at Elliot's cheeks for a moment, fumbling to seek the solid familiarity of the other man's pulse at the join of the neck.

"/You're-- still here./"

He barely notices that he's fallen into French. In all honesty, it's more than he can manage to actually notice what year it is.

"/You're still here./" Panic lurches him forward all the same, forehead pressing firmly against Elliot's as he tries to find his breath. "/And you-- weren't alone./"

Even here, in this ghastly remembering of the end of dreams--the end of life--Elliot had had someone to hold his hand.

[meonmyway2stealurgirl]

It makes his hand shake again, but he rests his own hand against the back of Edgar's neck when he leans his forehead back in against the other young man's. His own breath is trembling just a little with the edge of tears as he nods.

"/'m here./" It's largely for Edgar, yes, but with the taste of powder still so strangely prevalent in his mouth, it helps to say aloud, as well, "/'nd-- I-- wasn't alone./"

[ofthecubs]

"/And that's all over now./"

They would settle back into their lives. They would go get a drink with their friends; would go home and curl up in their bed, fingers tangled and lips ghosting absently together even in sleep. They would wake up in the morning, limbs thrown casually over one another, and they would fight the fights that needed fighting without half so much risk as the last time around.

"/Are you okay?/"

It hadn't been exactly right, of course. It had still been too much of an echo. It had still been watching himself brought back to life again. It had still, to some extent, been watching the man who had loved him then bring forth the ghost of who he had been--blinded and shining all at once.

[meonmyway2stealurgirl]

"/I need a drink,/" he confesses, nose nudging against Edgar's a little clumsily.

He isn't an alcoholic, this time around. There's still something a little dangerously familiar about the way he says the words; about the shake in him as he leans in.

[ofthecubs]

He can't help the way his entire body tenses up all over again. The impulse is beyond his control, dredged up again and rasping at the surface. The edges of reality aren't quite lined up where they ought to be.

"/You don't need it./"

He needs to hear it affirmed. It needs to be different, this time around.

The world can't start to be thrown back into the chaos of their first lives again.

[meonmyway2stealurgirl]

It takes him a little longer than it ought to. He needs to refocus on Edgar again; needs to let himself process the protectiveness and the insistent love.

"/--No/," he finally manages, "/But it'd-- really help./"

Maybe not so much as this is, though.

[ofthecubs]

"/In-- a minute, then./"

After a little more of simply clinging here. After they can begin to speak in English again.

"/As long as-- you stay here./"

[meonmyway2stealurgirl]

"/I'm-- right here./"

It's a promise. It's a little firmer once he lifts a hand to catch at Edgar's and squeeze lightly.

"/'m not--/ I'm n-not going-- anywhere."

[ofthecubs]

For half a second, it's terrifying having their hands joined together. The moment passes, and he clings a bit tighter, forcing himself to focus on the reality around them.

"--you are." English feels thick and dumb on his tongue for a moment. "We are."

It's impossible not to switch back for just a moment, so that the words come smoothly.

"/I love you./"

[meonmyway2stealurgirl]

There's a slight tremble through him (just a little from relief) as he hears the three words. His eyes shut briefly to try and gather himself as he nods slightly.

"/I love you, too./"

But surely he knows that.

[ofthecubs]

The kiss he presses against Elliot's lips is soft and unassuming. It's important to come back softly from shocks like this.

"/Never forget that./"

It's a little easier to find his way again with their lips brushing together.

"Okay?"

[meonmyway2stealurgirl]

The kiss helps. The kiss, a little embarrassingly, earns a few overwhelmed tears and a hint at a blush.

"Okay."