Fic - EphrimThrondir - (SiH42 Spoilers)
Sep. 7th, 2019 10:38 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
lady_mabthis is for danny, who doesn't know the definition of 'soft' (no jk ilu)
What is left of the community is oppressively silent and still after Alyosha's passing.
Throndir never really feels like he leaves the library -- the close atmosphere seems to follow him when he steps out into the courtyard. It was a small ceremony. Hardly anyone was there -- just their small group, really.
But his passing hangs over the University, a town left in mourning even though they don't know why.
Throndir buries himself in his work, what little he can make of the uneven stacks. It's easier than going outside and seeing the Spring, knowing now the truth of its shape (of Ephrim's stricken face, as the truth comes out).
He hears a bump and a shuffle, and, thinking perhaps a bug got in, or a kid, or a new plant getting curious, Throndir moves to peak around a mountain of leaflets.
Instead, he finds Ephrim, looking lost and distant, lips pressed into a thin line and exhaustion draped over his shoulders like a mantle. "What are you doing here?"
"I wanted…" Ephrim starts, then trails off, as if uncertain of what he does want. "I need a distraction."
(There was a time when that would have involved something more, a quiet moment broken by the sound of Ephrim's laugh and skin on skin, but it's hard, now. Now, it means hard work, task after task to ensure that the community doesn't break.)
"You should be resting," Throndir says on instinct, seeing the dark circles under Ephrim's eyes, knowing as he does the toll this has taken on Ephrim.
"I can't," Ephrim says, though he doesn't elaborate. Then, after a pause, "I miss you."
They've both been kept busy, and Throndir feels the absence strongly at the weakness of Ephrim's tone.
So he holds out a hand, draws Ephrim close, breathes him in--along with the silence and the dust of the library.
And it's enough, for that moment. To hold Ephrim tight as his shoulders shake; he still doesn't cry, but he feels Alyosha's passing stronger than most of them.
Throndir's hand presses strength between Ephrim's shoulders, wondering if his spine has always felt this pronounced through his skin, wondering when the last time either of them felt well-rested enough, if they will ever not be mourning a loss.
The kiss is light, a brushing of lips and the graze of fingertips, but it helps. Ephrim's expression is clearer when they part, and that is enough of a comfort for Throndir.
"Would you like to help me alphabetize, then?" Throndir asks, and Ephrim gives a still tired, still distracted, but relieved smile.
"I would love to," he replies.
For the rest of that afternoon, at least, the library doesn't feel so silent and heavy.
What is left of the community is oppressively silent and still after Alyosha's passing.
Throndir never really feels like he leaves the library -- the close atmosphere seems to follow him when he steps out into the courtyard. It was a small ceremony. Hardly anyone was there -- just their small group, really.
But his passing hangs over the University, a town left in mourning even though they don't know why.
Throndir buries himself in his work, what little he can make of the uneven stacks. It's easier than going outside and seeing the Spring, knowing now the truth of its shape (of Ephrim's stricken face, as the truth comes out).
He hears a bump and a shuffle, and, thinking perhaps a bug got in, or a kid, or a new plant getting curious, Throndir moves to peak around a mountain of leaflets.
Instead, he finds Ephrim, looking lost and distant, lips pressed into a thin line and exhaustion draped over his shoulders like a mantle. "What are you doing here?"
"I wanted…" Ephrim starts, then trails off, as if uncertain of what he does want. "I need a distraction."
(There was a time when that would have involved something more, a quiet moment broken by the sound of Ephrim's laugh and skin on skin, but it's hard, now. Now, it means hard work, task after task to ensure that the community doesn't break.)
"You should be resting," Throndir says on instinct, seeing the dark circles under Ephrim's eyes, knowing as he does the toll this has taken on Ephrim.
"I can't," Ephrim says, though he doesn't elaborate. Then, after a pause, "I miss you."
They've both been kept busy, and Throndir feels the absence strongly at the weakness of Ephrim's tone.
So he holds out a hand, draws Ephrim close, breathes him in--along with the silence and the dust of the library.
And it's enough, for that moment. To hold Ephrim tight as his shoulders shake; he still doesn't cry, but he feels Alyosha's passing stronger than most of them.
Throndir's hand presses strength between Ephrim's shoulders, wondering if his spine has always felt this pronounced through his skin, wondering when the last time either of them felt well-rested enough, if they will ever not be mourning a loss.
The kiss is light, a brushing of lips and the graze of fingertips, but it helps. Ephrim's expression is clearer when they part, and that is enough of a comfort for Throndir.
"Would you like to help me alphabetize, then?" Throndir asks, and Ephrim gives a still tired, still distracted, but relieved smile.
"I would love to," he replies.
For the rest of that afternoon, at least, the library doesn't feel so silent and heavy.
