james understood the principles of medicine, that in the idealism of ethics, drugging a blood-splattered revolutionist, a child forbade sedative by their relations or a man begging to die in a hospital bed equate to the same result.

doctors, they save lives. this became the fabric of x's basic manifesto: much like the turn of the century, medical men sometimes change society first as butchers and then as scientists and philosophers.

equally composed, he believed that inducing drug-coma to assist in the creation of something like a brilliant, new social norm should follow that pattern. justify this strange closing of his throat, a crushing silence between his ears, the thought that marius appeared differently depending on who looked in on him. fear, or perhaps animal instinct.

( if they died james, and marius stroked his shoulder in a way that reminded him of home, then overlook it. that was me, not you. )

a slow october, months passed, and they walked through that door for the same reasons. he never –

— he never finished his dizzy half-thought, the drumbeat in his chest stuttering as a fishing line of bulb light spilled from the entrance. it grew to a funnel, bright white tendrils slithering over knotted concrete, and james crushed deep enough against the wall to imprint sharp lines into the goose skin of his exposed arm.

the car lock twittered, indifferent as a low clock tick, and dopamine, adrenaline, a warning fires in his brain.

somewhere, it told him, marius stared. [break][break]

tag: MARIUS LAURENT word count: 250
notes: i swear once this was coherent, let me know if you need anything fixed

the principle of the thing, a noise muffled in the rain, and he dipped deeper into his crevice. prey species prefer death-stillness to trick snakes and hawks into forgetting them. in withdrawal, his breathing gulped down and raspy, the sense of dread clawed into his amygdala worse than other days.

( he lived in a palace fit for kings, as far as destitute and disowned james luther knew, and he re-imagined his study as a prince's enclave. it domed, circled in rows of shelving with modernist ebony and cream paint, and he bobbed the book by its spine above a marbled bronze miniature of michael angelo's moses, "d'ya only read textbooks. cultured an' sophisticated?" james thumbed the pages easily, sweeping it open to a manuscript on dialysis with a muted smirk, "reminds me of that song: sympathy for the devil?"

marius observed him, fingers pressed to the line of his own jaw, and murmured with a voice like rough gravel, "you do enjoy talking. perhaps too much." timid, his moment of skittish vulnerability, and james stuttered – a neurosis, this stubborn voice he never fully wielded – through his protest when he brushed his cheekbone.

informed him that sound in a soundproof foyer had a purpose, a reason and a riddle. lies and then he dropped his hand and asked if he enjoyed music. )

james willed his legs motionless and waited, painfully crouched and numbed from the neck down. it's incredibly outlandish and peculiar how fear breaks his sense of time. fifteen minutes droning on like fifteen years, enough to paralyze.

the door shut eventually, closing a black hole or perhaps a coffin for the black-humored, and he sucked air into his chest: he's gone. right, and his mind seemed to love games when he rose on shaky, rubbery feet to stand at full height. glasses tucked meticulously inside his coat pocket, james gritted his teeth at the tremor in his hand and rounded the corner –

— a centimeter a second, slowly.
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tag: MARIUS LAURENT word count: 330
notes: it was lovely ♥