~Chapter Twenty-Seven~

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                       James's arms are around Steven's waist, his long, pianist fingers stroking the baby -soft  skin beneath his shirt. Their lips are together,  moving perfectly in sync like a well composed melody.

Steven lets out a sweet little whimper as James pulls him onto his lap after seating himself on the edge of the bed.
Somehow,  James gets a good view of the room without opening his eyes or breaking away from Steven's kiss. He doesn't recognize it, but he does take note of the lack of decor around the room, the grey walls, and the grey bed.
Even James himself seems to be lacking in color.
But Steven seems to glow, his entire body a lamp in the dreary room,  a surreal glimmer that doesn't shine on James.

He's taking off Steven's shirt now, his own already discarded somewhere, and begins sucking softly along the soft skin of his prominent collarbone. Steven arches his back with one graceful movement as he lets out a blissful moan.

He's working his mouth down Steven's body when Steven appears to be losing the shine that made him stand out from the grey room.
The room itself seems to be darkening, and James hears a scream.

He realized  that it's coming from his own throat.

Steven's gone, so is the room.

It was still dark wherever he really was. James tried to sit up, only to be met with failure.  He couldn't move his shoulders, his waist, or his  legs. He was strapped to a table.

The events from the previous days flooded back to his mind, and he remembered.  He remembered seeing his parents,  bloody and lifeless on the floor. He remembered Steven, trying to come after him as one of the guards held him back.

James let his head fall back and his eyes slipped closed as he realized that he's exhausted. 
He pictured Steven in his mind before drifting back into a slumber was, "Thank god it's me and not him."

~

                    Steven's body had  a million different feelings running through it at once, all of them colliding at once, leaving him confused, thousands of voices screaming out an awful symphony within his mind.

This was a mistake, one of them declared.

It'll never work.

You're too weak to go through with this.

Steven clenched his fists as  the procedure continued to do whatever it was that it was doing; in all honesty, Steven was too nervous to pay much attention to Doctor Erksine's explanation of just what he would be going through.

He silenced those retorting, shrieking voice with a silent mantra he'd been playing throughout his mind the entire day, trying to work up the nerve to go through the procedure.

It's for James, he'd stated firmly to himself.
If anything would get him through this, it was the fact that even though every muscle in his body felt like it was being stretched to its limit, it gave him a  chance at saving James.

He felt waves of heat and shiverers of cold simultaneously climb simuntaneusly up his back as screams immersed from deep within his chest and ripped free from his throat.

It hurt in a way that he knew he could never explain, yet in another way, though he knew he would never admit it to anyone, it felt good in a sense that not even he completely understood. It was like he'd needed it to feel complete.

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