giftsofglory | Time of Transition

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place of politics

Time of Transition

He made no move to return Mello to his room when morning came. In fact, a good week later there was still no move being made to that extent, and on that morning, when Mello woke it was to the now usual configuration of Sephiroth being wound around him, pinning his hands. This time, however, the act was accompanied by the silver haired man actually being asleep still.

Not to say they hadn't been spending all their time together, but Mello hadn't had the chance to see him asleep until then, him holding out for the blond to sleep and then rising before he could.

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"No!" he continued to protest, screaming hysterically. "Get out get out get out!" He was doing everything he could to shove Sephiroth away, still only half-knowing who he was but not caring in the least. "Get out!"

"No. Now go to sleep, we're going back home." He pressed against the nerves on his neck, making sure to use the focus of knocking Mello out in the mindscape before making sure he was firmly unconscious in reality so he could move off and get Mello settled in his lap in the livingroom, even going so far as to dig out a pair of pants for the blond and dressing him before he let off the mental pressure so he could come back around in his real house, with the real him.

Now to see how the little trip had affected the man.

"No, no, no," Mello sobbed, struggling weakly, but he was exhausted and broken and it didn't take long before he was limp in Sephiroth's arms.

He didn't come around immediately even when he was given the chance, burying himself into the darkness of unconsciousness because reality brought pain. He couldn't stay there forever though, and finally he stirred, opening his eyes-- now blank and tired and lacking the fire from before.

Staring at Sephiroth as if he didn't see him, Mello simply lay there, breathing faintly.

He stroked his cheek, tilting his face up and peering into his eyes, voice soft. "Mello. My detective, do you remember me?"

"No." He did. It was just a protest, not a denial. "I want Nakago. Go away."

"You're not going to get Nakago, and I'm not going to go away." He shook his head, kissed his forehead. "But it's fine. I can be patient. I've been patient this long after all."

"He's not dead," Mello whispered hoarsely, struggling to recall what was real and what was not. How long had he been gone? Wait... not gone but... Or had he been gone after all? He didn't know. His head hurt and his chest ached and he couldn't breathe.

"Is that what is true or what you want to believe Mello?" His voice was low, soft, and he stroked his fingers gently, carefully over his hair.

"You... You pulled me into that... place." He spoke softly, monotone. He didn't struggle again, unmoving in Sephiroth's arms, eyes unfocused.

"It wasn't real. You're lying."

He sighed softly and held Mello's eyes, cupping his cheek. "What do you believe is true? I brought you home again after giving you all the freedom you wanted. You'd be no good there like this."

But that hadn't been his house.

...or had it? Mello honestly didn't know anymore. The trouble with a universe controlled by his thoughts was that, like a dream, his mind created the things he'd wanted to see. And yet he didn't understand this, or couldn't quite wrap his mind around it. Vast intelligence did him no good when the attack was from the inside, building up a dream and then destroying it.

Mello stared listlessly, hollowly repeating, "I don't believe anything you say. You're lying." He didn't know what Sephiroth was lying about but he was. Nakago couldn't be dead. This was a nightmare. He wanted to wake up now, please.

"I haven't declared anything Mello, I've only asked you questions. How can a question lie?" He leaned down and kissed his forehead. "But you're home now, so you have all the time you need to think about it."

There was that logic he didn't want to think about. The questions he didn't want to have to answer.

Mello tipped his head away from the kiss. "This isn't my home. I want to go home. I want to go home..."

"I don't want you to be alone Mello. I want you to do what you feel you need to and stay with -me-. It's terrible being alone and I don't want you to be there while you grieve." He stroked his cheek. "So yes, it is home. There isn't any other home for you to have, is there?"

"No..." Mello sobbed, denial and agreement all at once. There was no home when he was alone.

"But... Mail..." Wouldn't the cat starve by himself? He regretted suddenly as he remembered how cruel he'd been, shoving the cat away, probably painfully. He didn't differentiate in his mind anymore between the cat in the dream and his own. "I want him here..."

He stroked his hair softly. "He ran away I think, because I didn't see any cat when I collected you. If you want a cat though, well, you can have a cat. Would you like that?"

Mello broke down crying again, crushed that he couldn't even have that part of his real home back.

"I want you to find him," he practically begged. He was too tired and upset to care how broken he suddenly appeared, curling up in Sephiroth's lap and clutching at him desperately.

He slowly stroked his hair, thinking rather seriously on how to comply with -that-. He knew what the feline had looked like, it had been a reflection of himself after all, but finding a cat that looked like that might be a bit more difficult. "I will try."

Mello nodded, crying quietly into his shoulder.

He cuddled the blond against him and rubbed his cheek on his hair. "It will all be fine eventually, you'll see."

"You're wrong," Mello insisted hollowly. "You're lying. I hate you."

"You have me and I have you. You'll learn to care about me and be content with being mine eventually." He continued to pet him, soothing strokes. "You can rest for now, I'll be here."

"I don't want to be here..." But Mello was fighting a losing battle. All the crying and grief and the mental exertion (not to mention the fact he actually was still injured, despite the apparent lapse in time) had exhausted him.

He didn't struggle further, crying himself softly to sleep.

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Time of Transition

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