“Bright eyes burning like fire, bright eyes, how can you close and fade, how can the light that burned so bright suddenly burn so pale, bright eyes”
I think what first attracted me to you were your eyes.
Even that first day we met, when I bumped into you, and you glared down at me like I was something you’d just found on the bottom of your shoe, I think I loved you in that moment when your dark, fired eyes engulfed me. I had gone into that confrontation unaware that I was even in a confrontation, and even then, I thought I was in the right. I had apologized for bumping into you, after all. You were the one being unreasonable.
But then you just glared down at me, and I know I had no idea then that you controlled fire, but I felt like my insides had just all lit on fire, and when you spun away, stalking as far away from me as you could, I felt like everything inside had been burned up, and lay smouldering as ashes - cold ashes - in my guts.
So when we became friends, I was more than pleased to discover that your eyes didn’t just burn when you were furious. They burned when you laughed, when you read a particularly interesting passage from a book, when you were faced with a good challenge like another dual match in Save the Citizen.
And then I started getting closer to you, trying to see if I could experience that intense interior burning again without getting burnt this time.
You took a bit of convincing, I’ll admit it. You didn’t like the idea of dating anyone at all, you serial monogamist, you, much less another guy. But I was your best friend, we spent all our time together anyway, and finally, I think it was logic that won you over. Logic in the form of, “It’s not like anything would really change, we’d just get to make out more often.” You laughed for once, tossed your arm around my shoulder, and let me kiss you senseless.
I was very pleased to discover that when I did, my lips burned, my whole body felt like it was on fire, and when you opened your eyes to smile lazily up at me, your pupils barely contained a roaring blaze.
I love finding ways to make your eyes blaze, to feel myself consumed in that inferno. It feels so right, so alive, so helpless and so powerful. I love that about you, most, I think.
But your eyes aren’t blazing right now.
They’re dark and cool, and I want to describe them like limpid pools, which may
sound fucking fantastic in some romance novel somewhere, but when they’re being used to describe your normally flaming dark eyes, it’s just wrong. It rubs me the wrong way like trying to smooth a bird’s feathers the wrong way, and they ruffle up.
That’s what this feels like, describing your eyes as limpid pools.
“Listen to me, Warren.” I snarl, shaking your shoulders. “You are not fucking going to die on me!”
“Sure I’m not,” you rasp, smiling weakly, eyes half sliding shut.
“No!” I shake you harder. “No closing your eyes, got it! You have got to stay awake! Stay awake! I’m not going to let you die!”
You snort weakly, coughing up a mouthful of blood. “Not going to let me, Stronghold?” you gasp, and I try to pretend that your teeth and tongue and lips are stained red and that blood isn’t dripping down your chin, plipping coldly onto my hand cradled under your head. “Bit of a superiority complex there, ordering who can die and who can’t.”
“Yeah, well I killed the bastard who did this to you,” I snarl, wanting to see your eyes fire at me. Somehow. Someway. For some reason.
You smirk still, and I use my thumb to wipe the blood away. “Did not.”
“Did too,” I argue, glancing over my shoulder at the still body that lies in the alley still, eyes open wide with shock, blood slowly dripping into the storm sewer. A mugger killed with his own gun, that sits beside me on the pavement. “He shot you, the bastard. He deserved it.”
You cough up another mouthful, then two or three more, before calming enough to look up at me, eyes slightly glazed now, definitely pools not flames, brow furrowed.
“Tell me you didn’t.”
“I did.” I answer, defiantly.
Your eyes close for a moment. “Tell me you didn’t.”
“All right,” I swallow myself, shaking you a little to make sure you stay awake. “I didn’t.”
A slight smile at that, and you hiss, “Fucking liar.”
“You asked,” I answer, smiling myself. Surely, if you can joke around like this, you’re going to be all right.
“Love you, Stronghold,” you say abruptly, wincing. “Love you lots.” You open your eyes, and for a moment, I swear I can see a spark. “Keep tough for me.”
“Warren, you’re not...” I pause, frowning, leaning closer to look closer in those eyes. Your eyes are blank now. There’s no spark, there’s no flame. There’s no light at all. Panicking, I check your chest, but that’s not moving either. My head drops to your breastbone, and I listen, but there is no comforting lub-dub like there
Hand shaking, I reach up, and very carefully, very slowly, very tenderly, close the shutters on your windows to the soul. A soul that used to burn, and now lies vacant.
Then there’s a gun to my head and a barrel to my forehead and a finger on the trigger...
And then there’s fire, sweet blessed glorious explosion of flames behind my eyes, and I swear I can see you in the flames, and you’re smiling at me...
And then there’s nothing.
Magenta helps Warren get ready for a date.
“Okay, look, calm down, it doesn’t look bad!”
“Easy for you to say, you’re not wearing it!” Warren growled, tugging on his sleeve cuffs again. “I am taking this off...”
“No you’re not!” Magenta yelped, dashing over to grab Warren’s wrists. The flamethrower glared at her, but didn’t fry her. She really was trying hard, after all. “It’s perfect, Warren, and it’s not like it goes outside of your colour palette or something, it’s black.”
“It’s see through,” Warren groused, but stopped fiddling with them for a moment.
“I think it’s sexy,” Magenta shrugged. “And I know Will will like it.”
Wrong thing to say.
“Stronghold?!” Warren snorted, then started laughing almost mockingly as he circled the room, talking widely with his arms, he was so frustrated. “Do you know where he’s taking me tonight? Do you?!”
Magenta sighed. “Yes, Warren,”
He continued nonetheless. “To a gay bar! He’s taking me to a gay bar!”
“Technically,” Magenta spoke up, “It’s a gay club.”
“And neither of us is old enough to get in, neither, but that won’t stop Stronghold, he’s famous,” Warren made little funny symbols in the air with his index fingers when he said that, sneering. “Bullshit.”
Magenta sighed, trying to recover this situation. Grabbing the eyeliner, she wielded it like a sword, pointing to the bed. “Sit, mister, we aren’t done yet.”
It was a credit to Warren’s long standing opinion that Magenta was the least annoying of the entire group that he sat immediately, without question, and though he continued to complain, didn’t protest as Magenta began outlining his already dark eyes with eyeliner. “It’s just... he drives me absolutely nuts, sometimes! Just thinking he can come up to me at lunch and say, ‘hey, Warren, we’re going to this great new club tonight, all right?’ and then he kisses me, right there where everyone’s watching, and bounces off! Idiot! Damn it!”
As Warren recoiled, hand flying to his face, Magenta sighed, placing her hands on her hips. “Well, if you’d quit moving, I wouldn’t get eyeliner in your eye!
Warren rolled his eyes, but stilled long enough to let the girl finish her work on his face.
“There,” Magenta said firmly, stepping back and looking over Warren thoughtfully. “Perfect. And you realize that Will is only trying to not freak you out by not being clingy and needy and typically woman-like, right?”
Warren groaned, flopping back on the bed with a little bounce. “Yeah. I know. Doesn’t mean I have to like it, does it?”
Magenta shook her head, standing beside his bed, hands on her hips. “What kind of an attitude is that for Warren Peace? You’re the biggest badass our school ever saw, and you’re moping about your boyfriend being an idiot? Seriously.”
Warren propped himself up on his elbows, glowering from smoky, dark lined eyes. “It’s not that simple.”
“Is it not?” Magenta snorted, flopping down to sit beside him on the bed. “I dunno, Warren. I think you’re scared.”
He sneered. “Right.”
“No, seriously. You’re scared of what committing to Will and making said relationship public is doing to your reputation, which is really stupid because you should really just beat up anyone who bugs you about it. I mean, do you love the
“Warren?” Magenta demanded, arms crossed.
Warren sighed. “Yeah, guess I do.”
“Well then...” she grinned. “Make use of his celebrity status and get into lots of fun places, then get lots of pictures taken of the two of you, and I can add them to my livejournal, and tell everyone I know famous people.”
Warren snorted, then bolted up as on the first floor, the door bell rang.
Magenta smirked. “He’s here, Warren.”
Warren paused, torn, then asked, quick, “How do I look?”
Magenta laughed. “Ravishing. Now get your ass downstairs!”