Author's Note: I was sick, tired, and suffering some kind of feverish delusions when I apparently wrote this. I woke up the next morning to find this. Personally, I think it's kind of neat. It's very stream of consciousness.
So just a warning. This is very, very strange.

TV Light
(By "God, I love perverting song lyrics" Zarla)
(Warning: I'm not responsible fer any mental damage caused by reading this fic.)

I wish I could fall in love
Though it only leads to trouble, oh I know it does
Still I'd fool myself and gladly, just to feel I was
In love, in love

Oh, it was so beautiful. So beautiful that it could almost hurt. But it was something that he had, something real and something permanent.

He could hold it, feel it, touch it. Something real, something true. It was something that would never leave him now. It would be there when he was lonely, it would be there whenever he needed it. He had eternity, he had something that made life worth living. He had something so beautiful it should have already been destroyed. He had a purpose, a motivation, a goal to aspire to. The most beautiful thing he had ever known. He owned it, he had it. He helped make it.

So many efforts, so many wasted tries. He had given up early on some, given up before anything ever truly began. Sometimes, when he had it within his grasp, it had vanished. It had left him, slipped through his fingers in a flurry of red and white. It was difficult, he knew it. But he knew that someday, he would have perfection. He knew it. And he did. He did have perfection now, and it was worth it. He had found it. For all his losses, the pain, the loneliness, he had found what he had always been looking for.

He could not be happier.

He had never expected it. Maybe that was why when it found him, he was so pleasantly surprised. Maybe that was what it needed, a safe method to get to him so that he could accept it truly. Accept its real purity. He never would have thought that the true source of happiness could be found in such an unassuming, uninteresting package. He had never thought about it, never thought about him in that way, but in the end everything he had wanted was there. Hidden, waiting for the right proximity before revealing itself.

Sometimes the most amazing things could be hidden in the strangest places. He never knew. He never thought himself capable. But there. He found it. He tried, he suffered through it, and for his efforts he had a love that was real. A love that was deep and real and true.


I wish I could feel my heartbeat rise
And gaze into some gentle, warm, excited eyes
And give myself as truly as an arrow flies
In windless skies

Oh, he knew it. It was so true. He had never felt this way before. He had never known this was possible. Such joy but so slowly. Just small increments over such a long time. It snuck up on him, pleasantly surprised him, and now he cherished it so deeply. He had no idea what he would do without it. What he would do without him.

Edgar. So close to death before, so close to ending it. But through so much time things changed. Things always changed. It was so beautiful.

Those beautiful moments he cherished now when he lay in bed, staring at the ceiling. Precious memories of glass that he held so close, so shiny. He loved them as much as he loved his Edgar. Oh, he never knew such devotion was possible. Was capable. He had no idea that hating yourself would allow for such love for others.

He could remember it so clearly, so beautifully. He knew it word by word, action by action. The look on his face when he promised him. The moment. That moment that Nny now cherished. When Edgar had looked at him, looked directly into his eyes behind those thick glasses, and promised him. Had told him that he knew it, he would appreciate it, he would love.

"I trust you, Nny." He had said in his pleasant, soft voice. "I trust you now. I know you won't hurt me."

It made him feel warm inside just thinking about it. Trust. Someone trusted him, someone trusted him. For being himself. Someone had faith in him, knew the depths of his madness and yet trusted, believed, supported. Edgar had smiled at him quietly then, surely understanding the import and gravity of his words. Edgar understood so much. So very much. That was why he was so valuable, so careful. He was so important to him. So very important because there was no one like him. It was a single chance and Nny had succeeded, he had completely succeeded.

Edgar trusted him. He trusted him. He warmed at the thought, surprised. He was surprised then, just as he would be later. He stared at him, stared through those lenses into his eyes, trying to read his meaning. It was only later that the importance of what Edgar said would hit him, but it was a beautiful memory nonetheless. Something that Nny kept close with him, kept in the sleeves of the coat. The coat. He kept it with him, in his mind and in his thoughts and in his warming blood. He gave up at that point. He knew he had to keep this happiness. He knew that he had to work, to capture the peak of it all. There was nothing in the world anymore except Edgar. What he did, what he said, how he acted, his voice and his fingers. His touch. The touch that caused him to shudder, to flinch.

Because for once, when he touched him he felt something touch back. He could feel Edgar, reaching out for him. Sinking tiny tendrils into his bones, spreading throughout his body until it was all he could think of. Blood-type Edgar.

Nothing could move him, nothing could shake him. The chains, the string, the tendons that held them together now stretched through time and space, tying them to each other. They were one, they would always be one, because Edgar had accepted him. Had accepted all of him, accepted the knife handle and the white knuckles. Accepted the fear and hatred and helpless rage, and gave himself. Edgar gave himself to him, bared his chest for the blade without the slightest tinge of fear, with the only intent, his only hope being that Nny would find some peace with him. Some happiness. He tried. He tried so hard and that made all the difference. That made everything.

Oh I remember you in the TV light
Holding you close to me where we lay
And now I wish I knew some of those softer nights
Whispering quietly, feeling you turn to me

He trusted him. And Nny trusted Edgar. He knew then that he had always trusted Edgar. He had trusted him when he had his hand on the lever, he trusted him when he tore out those gashes underneath his eyes. He trusted Edgar when he called him, to tell him what was right. He trusted Edgar to talk and accept. He had always trusted him, always let Edgar take care of his problems. He trusted Edgar to kill him once.

And Edgar trusted him as well.

Things could never be the same after that. A barrier had been broken. A new goal to be obtained. New accomplishments to measure against, new people to aspire to. Things changed and he worked with it, struggled to keep it. He wanted it. Deep. He wanted to have what he knew he could get. What the warmth in his blood meant to him. He had to keep trying. Keep reaching. Keep moving forward.

Oh, Edgar. Such a gentle man. He never fought. He never ever fought. So quiet, so non-threatening. He had no fear that one night. The night he moved, brushed fingers against his arm. Edgar had just looked at him, asking silently what he was planning. No fear. No twinge away. He was there just for him, just for what he wanted.

So close. So warm and so close. The little pieces of Edgar that came with touch. The aura around him that made him him. It was so beautiful. God, he knew it. He knew that he trusted him. He knew that he was the key. He was the ultimate goal. He was everything, he just had to reach out. Just had to reach out and take it, seize it, hold onto it, and he would never lose it again.

To give himself up...but he trusted him. He trusted him so much, so truly. He trusted him deep. And he knew it. He believed him. He would never lie.

I trust you he had said. And he had meant it. He seldom lied.

Was it joy he felt when he was moved? Confusion? Oh, when Edgar's arms circled his thin body, lifted beneath his ribcage, pulled him towards him. His soft whispering voice, asking if it was okay. Of course it was okay. It always would be. But he was so considerate. The confusion. The strangeness. But what was it? What was it? How?

So vulnerable and so weak. So childish, so small. A child on stilts. But Edgar had held him there, bodies meshing against one another, heat flooding through his thin shirt, arms closed around him protectively. Edgar trusted him, trusted him so trusted him. And here he was. He had to reach, he had to give. To get the true happiness he knew lay at the end of this fall. He turned to the television and stared at its blinking images, its sound and the music. And Edgar was beneath him, a cushion. Holding him close, very close. So gentle. He was such a gentle man. He always was. So careful, so careful.

He breathed. He breathed. Rustled through his hair, could feel him swallow occasionally, the motion of his throat. The twitches of his thin fingers, but he could feel more then that the general satisfaction, the affection. The affection he knew. That allowed this was affection. Edgar trusted him and Edgar cared about him. He cared about him, not what he thought was him but what really was. What always really was. He cared. So many had tried. But how deep? How much?

How much possible? How deep could it go? To plumb the depths of this love. That was his ultimate goal. He twisted his legs around Edgar's, curling against his body, pressing against him. Oh, how much can you love me? How much could you care? It was a frightening thought. Frightening for its possibility. For its potential.

How much will you love me, dear one? How much in the dawn? How much can you love me, my heart. How much can you ever care? How much for me, for others? How much of me is you? How many times do you see me in others? How many thoughts are mine and mine alone? Oh, how much, how much, how much...

To drift away, not to sleep. To drift, feel such calm. Never jumping, never shaking. Never questioning. Just quiet. So quiet and breathing. In and out. In and out. So quiet. Oh, he was a gentle man. So quiet. The opposite of him. The opposite of a Nny, any Nny.

How deep.

Only last night in the winter dark
I dreamed of how you loved, in all your innocence
And I've never known a softer warmer feeling since, or a truer heart

That night. How far and how deep had come as one. One concept to accomplish. Time was meaningless. It was always meaningless. Sections for something that had no end. What was the point? Seconds, minutes, hours, all scratchings on a never ending table. It never ended. Time was so meaningless.

In front of the television. Being held. Oh, to be held. To know, to think. To feel thoughts jarred into action by arms and body. To feel warmth accompany curiosity. How deep, how far, how close. How much do you love me? Will you love me forever? Will you love me till the sun no longer shines?

What does it feel like? What does real love feel like? What does real happiness feel like? Oh, it's beautiful. It is something to be remembered, to be treasured, to be kept safe in a box in your heart. To be kept forever. Oh, the love. The joy. The quiet joy from things unknown. Never experienced.

So many new things from such an unassuming man. So normal. So bleedingly normal. So scarringly, bleedingly, screamingly normal but so wonderful. Everything in normalcy, everything he ever wanted. Everything in those eyes and glasses and scars and goatee. Everything there.

Oh, that night. It was cold, cold indeed. Things were dying, dying all around. That period, but time was meaningless. They had slept. Slept for so long. Together in front of the television, enclosed in each other. Trapped in a cocoon of warmth. So long. Years. Months. Forever.

That night was so cold outside. Things died. People died of cold. But not that night not for him. No. That night was different. It was sun on shining snow, it was light through ice.

He could still remember it. He had gone with him, stayed at his house for that blessed silence through static. To ignore that buzzing, to ignore everything. To be quiet with him, to sit and stare. He had gone into his bedroom and Nny had followed him. How deep. How much.

Edgar had sat at the edge of his bed and stared at Nny. Stared directly into his eyes. Silently asking. He must have kept track of time surely. So many quantifications so important for him. Logic mattered. It didn't matter to Nny. It never had. It never would because it didn't exist, but Edgar followed illusions.

He was not an illusion.

He trusted him. He trusted him forever and he trusted him now. It was dark outside. The moon was hidden, but shone weakly. So weakly. But it was dark. Very dark. What possessed him? What made him move forward? Curiosity, the need to know. The need, the desire. He had to be happy. He had to find it, the peak, the finest point. He had to find true. He had find the truth and he knew it, it was underneath his hands, gasping in surprise.

Such a gentle man.

How awkward it was. To discover steps. To move forward and then step back. To carry one another across one threshold. Away, clothes. Away, shirt, shoes, sheets. Away everything. Away glasses. Large eyes, staring at him. He was so easy to surprise, to shock. But he trusted him now, he trusted and he knew that to gain he had to give, to get had to give. To give he had to get.

Gasp. And breathe. And gasp again. Dark lines underneath his eyes glanced with fingertips, gliding and moving. This wasn't touching. It was never touching. He knew what touching was and this was not it. The confusion was gone, only tendrils, spikes, strands. Tying and gluing together. Bonded. It was getting hard to breathe he felt so close, so close. This wasn't touching. He held his lips with his own, he could feel him exploring with his tongue hesitantly, but they weren't touching. They never touched, they only shared. Touching meant something else, it meant humanity, and Edgar was not a member of humanity. No, Edgar was his own, something beautiful and special, something glass and something smooth. It wasn't anything that could ever be ugly, ever be sharp and break. He was strong and he was resilient and he was so gentle. So gentle with his hands, shaking and trembling violently.

Gentle reaching, reaching out. Reaching across vast areas, coming close. He held as he had once been held, close. He had no warmth to give, only to take, but he shared. He gave something. He knew it. He trusted him he trusted him and he would not betray that, he would never betray that. How deep did it go. How deep did he go. He had to breath, had to breath, had to break away but he was pulled back, elastic stretched and rebounded. He could not pull away, could not stop. Everything was so smooth, so quiet. Silence, almost complete silence.

He was such a gentle man, asking. Asking questions that didn't need answers. Asking constantly if he was in pain, if it was okay. But it was. It was always okay and there was no need. There never was a need. He knew. He knew what it meant and what he was doing and therefore. There were no need, but it was the thought that counted. It was the candles, the time, the clock hands that made the importance, that heightened everything, that caused the sharp exhalation, an involuntary noise. A short cry that was quickly stifled, almost in an embarrassed way.

Oh, it did hurt. It did hurt. But he fixed it, asked, fixed and asked. He always tried so hard to help, so hard to comfort and soothe. Pain was the last thing he wanted and to see such concern in his made him feel warm all over again, made his arms feel as if blood were rushing back into them. His heart was working again, pounding blood back into his body. Making him feel, making his fingers reach out and comb through short black hair. Run across high cheekbones, across raised skin, over ears. He felt something in him, something resonating like a tuning fork struck too soon. Vibrations that shot through his body, repeatedly over and over and over again. It was a sweet sound, a touching moment, the sense. It was the feeling, the pressure on his shoulders. It was tense grip he held on his neck, the white lines he saw his fingers drawing across his skin, the breathe that had to leave him faster and faster and faster. He couldn't breathe he couldn't breathe so he had to let go he had to he had to breathe and faster and faster, faster and faster and faster and he couldn't think, he couldn't see his eyes were shut, pressed shut but he could see through his blood, through everything that they called touching, through everything that was happening. He could see, he always could see and he knew, he knew what this was. He knew what this rising peak was, what this rushing in his head was, the pounding in his ears and in his chest, the short cry from Edgar as he felt his nails tear through his skin, blood contacting his fingers with a sensation he knew all too well. Oh pity but so gone, so quickly. The feeling, this rushing pounding rising feeling, the rising, the rising of it all. He could feel his body quaking, shaking, shivering from end to end. The muscles firing, clenching, firing, twitching helplessly. He was making sounds he was sure of it but to him there was only silence, there was only two. There were only two. There had always been two and there were only two, there was nothing else. There was no mattress underneath his shaking body, there was no ceiling above Edgar, there was no lamp, no shaking table, no fallen objects, no window. There was nothing, nothing but two of them. He couldn't breathe and he could feel his lungs crying, crying out for a chance to breathe properly, to take in a breathe and hold it, to stay silent. But he couldn't he couldn't do that he was breathing too fast and too hard but it wasn't hard enough or fast enough he had to do something do something now

He knew he was raking his fingers across Edgar's back, no doubt clawing through layers of skin, but he knew there was nothing wrong. He knew that he had to know. He had to know and there was no anger. There never was anger and never would be. He would never be angry. He would never be angry at him. He loved him, he loved him, he loved him, he loved him so, so, so. He loved him no matter what, no matter what happened, no matter how many scratches he endured, no matter how many small whimpers he elicited, no matter anything. He loved him he loved him he loved him no matter what, no matter what. He knew this he knew this so well and kept it, kept it in him, kept it with him. Such a sensation. Such a sensation he never knew. He rose and fell, his breath coming out shorter and short until he wasn't sure he was breathing at all. Oh, oh. Oh, he could feel it. Feel the warmth from the body surrounding his own, from his arms and his legs and his breath all around him, bathing him, warming him. Through and through and down. He moved deep and deeper and he moved with him, diving downwards. No, you are not alone. You never were alone. You knew me and we were never alone, you will never be alone again.

He tried he tried he tried. To breathe to speak to love. He clung to him, holding on to him, struggling to convey the love that he only knew how to think. Oh god I love you I love you I love you I love you forever. I never knew I never knew this was possible oh god. Oh god I never knew you existed, I never knew that I could exist. I never knew. I never knew at all. He struggled, he clung, burying hands in his hair. He tried to voice it, tried to voice everything and all that came was a drawn-out moan. Breathing and panting and faster. Faster.

How much. How much how much do you love me how much how much how much do you love me how much do you love me do you love me how much do how muchhowmuchhowmuchloveloveloveiloveiloveiloveohgod ohgod ohgod ohgodohgodohgod


He knew this had to be it. This had to be it.

Nothing could be better then this, he knew it. He knew it.

Oh, the look on his face. His sweet, gentle face. He looked at him, worried, large eyes staring at him in concern, with love. Oh, he trusted him so much. So very much. That hand brushed away blue hair so softly. He asked a question he knew the answer too, and he drifted.

He didn't sleep, he drifted, drifted on waves spread. Waves from within, waves from without. Deep and unyielding, but so soft and so consistent. He felt Edgar hold him again, just like in front of the television, and he curled against him as before. He had found it. He had found it. He had found what everyone was looking for. Warmth and softness and skin.

He had found perfection. He had found it in the most unexpected place.

Maybe these dreams are leading me
Maybe love is not as gentle as my memory
Maybe time and wishful half-remembered fantasy are the greatest part

Oh, beautiful memories. To think back and remember. To know. Snow globes on shelves to be pulled down and held, polished, shone. To remove blemishes smudges and fingerprints. To have. To have not. Oh, to have. Forever. A permanent piece. Forever. Every single thought, every movement, every gasp and breath forever marked, forever marked.

How much of this was real? How many of these memories of his ever happened? Ever existed? How much of this was real? He had slept and that meant weakness, that meant vandals smashing snow globes.

But if it wasn't. If it wasn't. Wasn't.

These memories, these crystalglass memories of love and respect. Touted as reality, believed to be true. If they were fiction, then there was no reality. It was reality, reality was subjective and contained in globes of ice. Shelves of reality, forever. On and on. Which one for which person, which time. It was the choice that mattered. Maybe. Time had passed and perhaps that first night was not as fresh as he remembered.

Maybe it was a lie. Maybe these glass orbs lied to him, swirling and giving colors not recognized on regular spectrums. Maybe. But was that it? Was that the point? No. It was not the point. He HAD these memories. He had them. Maybe they were lies. Maybe there was no love for him, ever. But these globes said there was. That someone loved. Loved him forever. Beautifully. And so closely.

Maybe fake was better then real. New colors over old. And new globes over old ones. On and on, forever expanding. It did not matter, he held it in his hands. He held the world in his hands, swirling. He held heat and movement and sweat in his hands and he would not let it go, not for anything.

No one would ever take this away from him. Take his accomplishment. Take him away. No one would ever take him away from him. No one had that power. No one would ever have that power. He would be his, he trusted him and he had given himself. He would never let someone take that. No.

it was his.

Wish I could feel my heartbeat rise
And gaze into some gentle, warm excited eyes
And give myself as truly as an arrow flies
In windless skies

So beautiful. To cherish to hold to protect to love. To feel those tips across his arms, through leather and cotton. To feel fingers intertwining with his own. To talk and think and know.

He had no longer to wait. To desire. He had what he wanted, he had seized it. He had kept it. Asked and received. He had it, he had it all. And it was beautiful. He knew it was and he kept it that way, kept it that way. And he kept it. So wonderful. The look in his eyes, that adoring, affectionate look. Oh he loved him so much. He loved him. And behind those glasses, he knew it. He could touch him and feel him respond, could feel him lean. And he let him, he let him go.

He could look back, find the appropriate memory, and love. He could love purely and beautifully forever, forever and ever and ever. No one could ever take that. No one could hurt this, hurt him. Nothing would ever change, no time would pass. Just the holding, the intertwining of arms, the quiet and love and breathing. The silence, the skin against skin. Nothing. Nothing could take that. It was his. His for now and forever, 'til death do us part.

To fill inside, to fill with so much concern and care. To want nothing but the best, but the kindest for his beloved. To want nothing but to hold him, place a palm against his scarred cheek, to hold his glasses in his hand. Nothing. He never wanted anything to touch him, to harm him, to change him. Nothing would ever hurt him, Nny would see to that. He would protect Edgar, he would protect him from everything.

Oh, to love. To love to love to love.

I wish I could fall in love
Though it only leads to trouble, oh I know it does
Still I'd fool myself and gladly just to feel I was, in love

It was so beautiful. Even the last snow globes on the gray shelf. The last nights, the days when eyes were open. The nights when arms were close. Those last times, the beautiful times. When they loved, they loved so deep and so strong that they felt that nothing could drag them apart, break those ties, break the nerves that held them, the bloody strings that tied one to the other. The last snow globes.

Time was so meaningless. So meaningless.

It was quiet and it was beautiful. It was just as he imagined. He asked and Edgar understood, he understood with that quiet grace and dignity. That dignity that held him up. He sat and waited, and Nny came for him, held across him. Pushed down on him, holding feather and cotton in place until movements stilled. The quietness. Nny remembered sitting back against his chest, the pillow held in his two claw-like hands, staring at his beloved's silent face beneath him. The quiet of it all. And the seeping warmth that came from within. Oh he had smiled then, he had laughed. He had held and slept and hugged and loved. He loved then, so deeply and so purely that he thought it impossible. He had felt the peak and preserved it beautifully, preserved it perfectly with no struggle. Touching cold skin with a glancing fingertip, to know the last movement was so subtle, to know the last words from his lips were an expression of love. His last words of love to him, understanding.

To think of it now made Nny smile. It made him laugh, tears of joy coming to his eyes. Edgar was perfect. Edgar is perfect. He looked out the window, staring upwards, smiling in his chest, in his entire body. He felt at ease, at peace, happy. He felt it, inside him, a constant source of strength and warmth.

Oh, he felt him. In him. He felt his love and he knew it, he knew it forever and ever. He loved him and he always would. And he always will.

Such a gentle gentle man. Nny loved him so much. So much forever.

And it warmed him.

The End
(Author's Note: I'm sick and tired and I think I'm royally tripping out. I swear ta god, I'm sorry in advance. This made no sense.)