( it begs to pose some very intense, and likely insane questions about reality...the universe...conscience...omnipotence... or, this world is a living, breathing alien being beyond their comprehension. perhaps the concepts are one in the same.
see? insane questions, and they haven't the time for them, right now.
Will shudders with realization, and Ben swears he can feel it rattle through the mirror. it prickles in Ben's arms, not from being lifted up, but something more in the surface...like fingertips on his skin. Ben almost has the knee-jerk to apologize, to withdraw, but he knows — it isn't something he inflicted. the realization is at a wound they realized they share, to find t hasn't healed by being covered up.
Will remains connected. Ben remains, too.
it's then that Ben realizes how clear the sight of Will has become, realigned, pieces remerging. his breathing is hastened in a strangely calm way, anxious, but not in any way that Ben knows. he isn't filled with dread, just...anticipation.
he lets his attention shift to the glass itself, nods at the acknowledgement as it slowly knits itself back toward one smooth piece. Ben doesn't know what it means, that the mirror is melting back down, its fractures healing, has not a clue if this will mean anything later. if they can't get out of these rooms, what will it matter?
if they do get out of these rooms, and back out into that nonsense world...what will that matter?
Ben doesn't...care right now. he can feel those questions tumbling around, percolating, but they don't touch him. not at a distance. he spreads his fingers out as Will does, out and back to resting. he breathes in, letting his eyes snap in a reflex to blink. that's all it takes—
the echoes of his breathing change. he opens his eyes, and the lighting is different — dim, very dim, like someone's just shut off a light. he can still see, he can still see Will, but something has changed...
his hands are warmer. Ben twitches his fingers against the mirror and — it's soft. where Will's hands are.
no subject
see? insane questions, and they haven't the time for them, right now.
Will shudders with realization, and Ben swears he can feel it rattle through the mirror. it prickles in Ben's arms, not from being lifted up, but something more in the surface...like fingertips on his skin. Ben almost has the knee-jerk to apologize, to withdraw, but he knows — it isn't something he inflicted. the realization is at a wound they realized they share, to find t hasn't healed by being covered up.
Will remains connected. Ben remains, too.
it's then that Ben realizes how clear the sight of Will has become, realigned, pieces remerging. his breathing is hastened in a strangely calm way, anxious, but not in any way that Ben knows. he isn't filled with dread, just...anticipation.
he lets his attention shift to the glass itself, nods at the acknowledgement as it slowly knits itself back toward one smooth piece. Ben doesn't know what it means, that the mirror is melting back down, its fractures healing, has not a clue if this will mean anything later. if they can't get out of these rooms, what will it matter?
if they do get out of these rooms, and back out into that nonsense world...what will that matter?
Ben doesn't...care right now. he can feel those questions tumbling around, percolating, but they don't touch him. not at a distance. he spreads his fingers out as Will does, out and back to resting. he breathes in, letting his eyes snap in a reflex to blink. that's all it takes—
the echoes of his breathing change. he opens his eyes, and the lighting is different — dim, very dim, like someone's just shut off a light. he can still see, he can still see Will, but something has changed...
his hands are warmer. Ben twitches his fingers against the mirror and — it's soft. where Will's hands are.
the glass is gone. )