date posted: 2022-05-24
summary: It all comes down to lost composure.
word count: 436 words
notes: guys help i can't stop rewatching su future
The sensation of his stomach churning wasn't helping him to rest any faster. He couldn't stop himself from gagging, even with the knowledge that nothing would come up. Nothing went the way he hoped, as of late.
Even through the deafening silence, the commotion still rattled and rang endlessly in his ears, days after it ended. Steven tried to turn over in the bed, tried to muster enough energy to do so, but his vision blurred and his stomach lurched. The sheets have always stuck to him in this heat, but he almost feels as if he's the one stuck to them, arms heavy like they were filled with magnets drawn to the bed, legs stuck in place like resin being cured. He drew as much of a sigh as he felt he could and closed his eyes.
Steven's also found, as of late, that it always seems to come down to lost composure. He thinks he could settle for that, if only it meant he lost his composure where it wouldn't be seen, be felt, by anyone else. The graduation was enough evidence for that conclusion, but recent events further underlined it - the cactus seemed to be the only confidant he could turn to, until his power gave it sentience, intelligence. Speech, louder than normal when the words iterated were his own, reiterated around the last people he'd ever want to tell.
He remembers her excitement and subsequent fury, watching that ridiculous show with him, and then the excitable fury they shared upon realization of his dream projection abilities. But he overestimated his ability to stay composed in his dreams, once they were turned public. It's easier on him for his dreams to become nightmares in private. The television remained unplugged ever since Peridot left the house.
Somehow, a bitter, breathless chuckle mustered easier than a sigh. He opened his eyes at the sound and was finally able to focus on the nightstand beside him, his phone on the edge and the picture frames behind it, the images inside obscured by the dark, narrowly missing the moonlight brought in by the window.
He thinks again of the cactus, then of the damage to the house, to the gems. He closes his eyes again, remembers those color bars in Peridot's visor, forever seared in his memory, and opens them again.
Steven decides to settle for sleeplessness. He knows it'll be harder to maintain composure without sleep, but he's also realized it's an easier task in isolation. The thought of safety for all he knows is what finally settles his stomach, lightens his limbs, brings him rest.