fumitory: (145)
ᴛʜᴇ ᴅᴇᴍᴏɴᴏʟᴏɢɪsᴛ ([personal profile] fumitory) wrote in [community profile] wasteyard 2019-06-14 01:31 pm (UTC)

( the earnest eye contact...helps, surprisingly. the relief that swells to see Will again, after the mirrors had crumbled to nothing, is nearly sharp; Ben can't not stare back, can't keep his eyes anywhere except on this cracked image of the other. like a hunger, it keeps Ben's complete attention.

the answer only confirms what Ben expected, though he would have hoped that Will wasn't here under the same restraint. the room — which, as Ben designates in his mind, feels instinctually more like an entity than a place. doesn't it feel like they're being observed?

doesn't it feel as though they were brought here, them in particular, for a reason?

Ben stares openly while Will pushes a hand out, spreading wide and flat against the mirror; usually, he might avert his gaze, keep from gawking, but there really is nothing usual about this. any of it. Ben swallows and listens, intent on Will's observations. he has a way of commentating that Ben has never encountered — he validates that instinct, that this place is alive, some how, and goes so far as to...seem to understand it, to some extent.
)

Stubborn, or...

( Ben reaches his own hand out, under a frightfully sentimental whim — if he touches the glass with his fingertips, as he does now, will he feel the heat of Will's palm? are they that close, or impossibly far? ) Perhaps, it's trying to fuse back together?

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