Dreams, Xavier/Whitney

[vulpixinculta]

The sensation of falling, like a rope snapping, rouses Xavier from his sleep. Mind scrambling for a moment before the warm arm beneath his head and the hand curled against his chest settle him into the present moment. Whit is wrapped around him, breath warm against the back of his neck, and for a moment everything is fine.

 

As he lays in the opaque darkness and tries to line up his breathing with the soft rise and fall of Whit’s chest against his back, like the billowing of a curtain, the dream casts light over itself. Clarity returning to him. More vivid than a memory. More tactile.

 

His head hurts, and he flinches. Demers’ hand digging into his jaw and his head cracking against concrete. The sound is a strike of gunfire inside his head, his teeth clack together in his skull like shell casings. Everything shatters against the floor and falls away into darkness. Saint’s blood is on his hands and her eyes are on his gun.

 

Eyes on his gun. Same as the man with the t-shirt pressed against the messy gash in his neck, black shrapnel still peering from the red. Blood on Xavier’s hands. Eyes on his gun. Hole in his head. Notch on his grip.

Comments

[stitchcasual]

YAS. I love how this starts off kind of sweet and just spirals down *chef kiss*

[vulpixinculta]

aaa thank you stitch!! xav can definitely spiral like nobody's business, the poor lad