All I can hear is the gentle roar of flames as I slowly peel my eyes open. They feel heavy, impossibly heavy, and I rasp out a low groan at the effort. Everything hurts, especially my throat; it feels like I swallowed glass. As my blurry sight adjusts, though, I begin to realize why--the plane lays, crashed into the sand, aflame. A crash landing; did everyone die?
No. Squinting, my bleary eyes can make out the silhouette of a tall, thin figure against the flames; the flickering light barely illuminates his outline. I blink rapidly, eyes burning, and turn my gaze up to the starry night sky. So... so many stars. Wow. Breathless, I just stare up and admire the night sky without any light pollution.
"This is a deserted island. No other living soul is here," a familiar voice informs me, and I close my eyes with a breathy laugh. Of course. Of course. Who else would have survived but him? How fitting. "I saved you. Pulled you out of the plane myself; I liked the way you smiled at me," he pauses as the plane shifts, a plume of smoke exploding into the air, and continues, "like I am an actual human." I open my eyes with effort and turn my head to look at him; he has turned to look back to me.
The flames throw light against his back but leaves most of his front in darkness; somehow, though, the light of the fire manages to shine through his warm brown eyes, which almost seem orange. Or maybe that's just my hazy sight and mind; everything feels like it's swathed in cotton. Slowly, he walks toward me, and I watch his bare feet approaching mine. Sand shifts with every step. Somehow, the unsteady footing seems all too-fitting, but maybe everything just seems poetic against the burning plane, the starry night sky, the entire situation.
"Poor thing," he soothes, running the back of one finger down my cheek. I want to pull away, but I can't bring myself to move. "Bet you're terrified of me, aren't you? Who am I to you?" The question hovers in the silence, broken only by the sound of the plane burning. I can't answer him; nothing wants to work. What would I say, though? Because, honestly, he is an enigma to me; I see so much yet so little. Even now, with his face hovering inches over mine, I can't read him.
I've always prided myself on my ability to read people. Had to. Him, though? He seems so human but so distant, as if every emotion he could ever have lays miles beneath the surface. None of this I can say, though, but he doesn't seem to mind as he carries on a conversation with nobody, so smoothly that I wonder how often he does this.
"Let me help you read me. And before you freak out about me reading your mind, well, it's what all you people do. You read people. You try to pry them apart, figure them out, understand them and their next move, so let me help," he offers, and I manage the slightest of nods in response. He stares down at--no, through me; it's a hollow stare with flames of madness dancing in it. There's nothing there, but there's everything under it. "I grew up with a religious and abusive father; my mother just avoided us as much as possible. Home-schooled, sheltered, punished, all of the like," he begins. His eyes slowly refocus on me, and he gives me a smile.
When he smiles... something changes. The sharpness in his face melts into a softness, a warmth, that would almost be comforting if it reached his eyes. Except his eyes seem do seem warm--too warm. Hot, feverish, alight with excitement. His breath rattles in his chest with the harsh, ragged sound of a smoker, and I wonder if he smokes or if he's just been around that many fires.
"Fire has always fascinated me. My father used to go on about Hell--you know, the place of eternal damnation, fire, brimstone, all that. 'Your soul will burn eternally in the flames of the damned,' he'd warn in his low, guttural voice, 'unless you obey.' Obedience... never my thing, really. Always a bit of a loose cannon, willing to go off, at any time. That's what he told me, anyway. Always with a hint of thrill in his voice. I think he liked to punish me," he recounts, his voice trailing off, and his heated eyes stare directly at my own.
Sympathy, something I've always struggled with. I can only imagine what he has endured, but I can clearly remember the burned husks of the buildings, the blackened corpses, the lives destroyed--all because of him. Still, though, is it his fault? Did it have to be this way? If someone had saved him when he was younger... what could have happened?
"Then my mother left. She wrote a note, calling us all demons from Hell. I read it first; at first, I was mad. I burned every picture I had of her, everything that even mentioned her. I wanted to burn her, give her a taste of Hell like she claimed she already had, but I slowly realized that she was right. I was only proving her right." He chuckles hollowly, shaking his head and running a hand through his hair. Taking a deep breath, he seems to absorb the peace of the night before continuing, "My first target was my house. Or my father's house."
The words hang heavy in the night, and he lets them sink and settle on the sand. I can almost visualize the impression it leaves. We had always thought his house-fire was the starting point, yes, but not in that way. We thought it set him off, not that it was his first target.
"Nobody pointed any fingers at me because I was in the middle of it. I didn't die, sure, barely even got hurt, but not by lack of trying. A miracle, everyone said. A failure, to me; I wanted to die alongside everyone else. We were all demons from Hell, we would die by the flames that made us. Souls in eternal suffering," he explains; excitement bleeds into his voice, frenzy starting to show through his normally cool, unbroken exterior. He shifts his weight and begins to fidget; his fingers busy themselves by fixing my clothes, brushing over my wounds, anything to busy himself.
Interesting. I watch as he composes himself, taking deep, rattly breaths as he does. He coughs, a harsh sound, and I feel my own lungs burn in response. Oh, so weak... I let out a breath and just lie limp against the ground. Hazy-minded, I just admire the flames glinting off of his blond hair, the faint scars barely visibly through his charred clothes, the smoke wreathing everything.
"My mother visited. No emotions. She just stared at me coldly and walked back out, and I never saw her again. I didn't feel anything, either; I was just numb, empty, and alone," he breathes out, and I watch as he slowly unravels the walls he built around himself. He stares down at me, and I shudder under his intense gaze. Frowning, he carefully slips his arms under me. I try to protest, but only a quiet gurgle comes out. He doesn't pay any attention and instead carefully lifts me up; only a faint pain races through me at the movement as he carries my closer to the warmth of the fire.
Gentle... almost caring. I wince when he sets me down, and he whispers an apology while fixing my clothes. His fingers graze against my skin; I watch, intrigued, as he almost flinches at touching my bare skin. Closer to the light, I can make out more of his physical features, and I notice for the first time how attractive he really is. Fine features, maybe a little distant and crazy in the eyes but... honestly attractive.
"I've never kissed anyone before. Not hard to imagine, I'm sure. Solitary arsonist, who could have guessed? It all... it all just scared me. The open world, the temptations, the people--but most of all, me. The need I had to set fires; it would go away for days, weeks at a time. Then, I'd see something--a familiar shadow, some imagined reflection, the echo of a voice. After that, I couldn't suppress it, I just needed to watch something burn down, needed that... so bad," he rasps, his voice weak and trembling. Gritting my teeth, I ignore the screaming protests and raise my arm to lift a shaky hand to his face; slowly, I rub my thumb across his cheek.
"Th-there's... help," I grit out. The words scrape against my tender throat, and I wince at the pain. He stares down at me, astounded, but it smooths out into a soft, warm look as I continue to smooth my thumb against his cheek. He leans into the touch with a soft sigh; I watch the emotions flow through his eyes before settling on regret.
"Yeah, I suppose there is, but not anymore. It's ending before the dawn," he informs me finally, an overwhelmingly sad and lost look in his eyes. I frown but can't say anything in response, even if I could speak; there's nothing to say in response to such harsh truth. Slowly, he leans down until his lips are barely away from touching mine. "Can I?" he asks, gently, quietly, desperately. Slowly, I nod; he presses his surprisingly cool lips against mine in a chaste kiss before pulling away.
So simple. For the first time, I think about how... caring he has been, and it astounds me how he doesn't take advantage of my vulnerable state in any way. Why did it have to be this way? Tears well up in my eyes as everything sinks in, and they slowly slip down my face to wet the sand below. With my tears, I can almost feel the rest of my energy draining out, and he notices this as well.
"I wish things could have been different. Maybe we could have been more. Can I have another kiss? You... it feels... it's like Heaven," he tells me, and I can only weakly nod. Smiling faintly, he leans down again; his lips press against my own softly, gently. This kiss lingers, and it holds more intimacy as our lips slowly move together, tongues mingling in the slightest of touches. Finally, he pulls away, and I silently watch as he slowly pulls his clothes off and drapes them on my body. "I won't leave you alone for long. I am sorry," he apologizes sincerely, making sure I'm as comfortable as possible before standing.
I watch the way the light flickers off of his skin and how it glints off of the silvery scars that wrap around his body. As he turns, I find my gaze drawn to the tattoo on his back--a phoenix. Slowly, he walks to the burning plane; with one last glance back at my body on the sand, he ducks into the wreckage. Tears blur my vision, along with the smoke, and all my energy drains out of me as I stare up at the starry night sky.
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