searching for a couple of lost wings
“You actually don't believe I'm real, do you?” He said, with a sad smile on his face. He was tracing the knitted patterns of Faust's sweater with two index fingers, almost hypnotized with every little braid and knot. Since he has been with him, the simplest details became the most amusing. There were so many hidden treasures within the microscopic that just couldn't be appreciated by watching from afar. A whole set of constellations made of moles, scars who refused to fade because they still had secrets to tell, veins and arteries exhausted of keeping the body alive. He felt ignored, as always, he could never get used to Faust's silence. “You never did.” he said now with a more accusing tone, and tried to get up and walk away from the man's side but he quickly took him by the arm and made him fall on his lap. He didn't let go, hugging him tightly. Mephisto didn't figght back, he sighed with audible frustration. It was adorable how sometimes his mannerism matched the one of a caricature- when he got sad, his curls would loosen up. It filled him with sadness how hard it was to talk seriously with Faust, he avoided every question regarding their existence, the place where they belonged, their relationship, every question about the weird nostalgic feelings that would arose from within them every time they got closer. Some time ago it made Mephisto feel all dizzy, sick and nauseous, but now that some memories were made clear and finally sunk down, all of this just made him sad, and Faust made things even worse because Mephisto already could feel in his own body and mind that he dismissed him as just a long, painfully elaborated, exhausting hallucionation. This was the the worst way of dehumanization someone as insecure about their nature as him could ever subdued.
“What are you doing...” The boy muttered after some long heavy minutes of silence. He bit his lower lip to stop himself from laughing, just for the sake of not ruining the stupid sad/romantic mood they have built. Faust was sinking his arms inside Mephisto's shirt, feeling with his fingertips every bone that built his spine until getting high enough to find the scapulas, leaving curious strokes as if he was searching for something.
“What are you looking for?” “Your wings. Where are them?” “Leave me alone, I don't have wings.”
The hands stopped searching, but stayed quiet underneath the fabric because the feeling of his skin was the most effective analgesic, his textures brought him instant relief, and he was getting a little bit addicted to it. His back was the furthest he would get though. Mephisto always said with a flushed face that he wouldn't mind if he wanted to explore him even more, but Faust knew that doing that would mean to keep cruelly messing with him. He didn't want to hurt others with his indifference anymore, he had enough.
“What am I to you, Faust? Am I a normal human being, an equal? Am I a demon? Am I a symptom of your own mental illness?” “I always thought you were an angel, but I still don't believe in god.” “Ah... so that's how it is.”
He started to hate the rain when he learned to decipher the words that it muttered to him. Delusional, insane, mad, innocent, naive. The whole world reminded him that he didn't belong there. His soul never stopped growing thin since he got this obsession with being just one more with the crowd. He would never be seen as anything more than an illusion, or anything less that a blessing or a curse, a being that comes offering a path to salvation or vulgar indulgence, or just grief. He wanted to feel small so bad, to fear death, to get rid of his excess of life. He wanted the time to finally start for him. The only thing he ever knew was running behind the clock's tickling hands, and he was so tired, he could feel his own legs getting painfully more and more exhausted by every second that passed by, accompanied with the dread of knowing that the torture wouldn't stop until she decided to, until she could finally be satiated with her revenge.
Mephisto didn't notice he was crying.
“But are you an angel or not? If you admit it, I will convert to whatever religion you come from. Just for you.” Mephisto let go a small chuckle, he could feel Faust's smile sitting on his shoulder. “You are not being honest with religion if you do this for the sake of anyone other than god.” ''You'll be god, then. I have a lot of spare time, I'll create a complex religious system where depressed schizoids like me can connect to a deity through their own insanity. The ultimate goal would be... isolating ourselves to stop us from harming others, because we belong only to you.'' ''That's so mean.. I don't intend to isolate you, on the contrary, I...'' ''I know that you actually want to stay with me.'' Mephisto could hear the gross smugness in his voice. ''I wouldn't mind if you did, you know... I feel like I already lost everything.''
Mephisto stayed silent, he knew that trying to reason with him was a waste of time. He started to feel frustrated again, knowing that he was already failing miserabily at the only thing he had to do which is make Faust happy. He couldn't help Faust, he couldn't help Margaret, and again he was getting so weak, so frail for someone fordibben to him, and the terror was making him agonize, anticipating how this all would end-again. There was no case, no purpose in all of this already. But if he had the opportunity to get himself a little numb, if he could let his own body fall down on the bed and make his soulmate follow his motion, if he could cry of happiness while bearing the weight of his body, the strenght of his arms, the burn of the kisses that he would shily leave on his forehead and retreat right away seeking shelter on his chest...There was no way he would waste it.