you are such a soft and messy thing, nobody knows how to take care of you
Nothing can compare to the intimacy of the bond, and she'd often mourned seeking out Frey too late, wondering if things might have been different if they'd been able to share in the honesty of their own emotions. But here and now it is honey on her skin, a protective layer of warmth that pools in every crevice, inside and out. It appeases the possessive feline inside enough to begrudgingly offer, "You can have it back if you'd like." She'd never assumed it would leave her den given reconciliation seemed so impossible, but now things are different. He deserves the option to have it back, even if it unequivocally smells like Hotaru now instead of himself after so many years. Perhaps that's why she's more inclined to part with it since his ghost doesn't live in the fabric and seams any longer.
It's painfully nice to talk about Nate without wanting to gouge her heart out of her chest. Even these idle, passing comments are a comfort, the same way talking about Enzo without discussing his death helps her remember the young man he'd been instead of the life that had been cut short. It's easy enough that when he mentions Melita, she laughs openly against his damp skin and pulls back to sit face-to-face once more, amused and at peace. "She's the one I fear retribution from the most, but it's almost impossible to resist the urge so I always end up going back." Hotaru shakes her head, grinning shamelessly. "I even went so far as to find the shop she buys from so I can replace them with new pairs. It's a very involved heist." One the Honeybee hasn't caught wind of yet, and Hotaru would like to keep it that way.
The sudden lapse into silence triggers a small flicker of concern in the bond, the emotive equivalent of a question mark without ever opening her mouth. Not that she could have expected such a question. Clearly, it bothers him, but Hotaru can't figure out why. Is he worried he smells differently after becoming a demigod? Something with the House of Midnight? "What do you mean? You smell the same to me as you always have." Unaware of just what she's revealing with not only her confusion, but her utter certainty. Leaning forward, she lifts a hand to firmly wipe the water from his neck before pressing close enough that her nose is nearly to his skin, inhaling slowly with both human and animal senses activated in turn before retreating with a puzzled frown. "Yes, still you." As familiar to her as Deimos', or Tal's, or Flora's. She could parse the undertones in her sleep like a collector describing a fine perfume.
It's painfully nice to talk about Nate without wanting to gouge her heart out of her chest. Even these idle, passing comments are a comfort, the same way talking about Enzo without discussing his death helps her remember the young man he'd been instead of the life that had been cut short. It's easy enough that when he mentions Melita, she laughs openly against his damp skin and pulls back to sit face-to-face once more, amused and at peace. "She's the one I fear retribution from the most, but it's almost impossible to resist the urge so I always end up going back." Hotaru shakes her head, grinning shamelessly. "I even went so far as to find the shop she buys from so I can replace them with new pairs. It's a very involved heist." One the Honeybee hasn't caught wind of yet, and Hotaru would like to keep it that way.
The sudden lapse into silence triggers a small flicker of concern in the bond, the emotive equivalent of a question mark without ever opening her mouth. Not that she could have expected such a question. Clearly, it bothers him, but Hotaru can't figure out why. Is he worried he smells differently after becoming a demigod? Something with the House of Midnight? "What do you mean? You smell the same to me as you always have." Unaware of just what she's revealing with not only her confusion, but her utter certainty. Leaning forward, she lifts a hand to firmly wipe the water from his neck before pressing close enough that her nose is nearly to his skin, inhaling slowly with both human and animal senses activated in turn before retreating with a puzzled frown. "Yes, still you." As familiar to her as Deimos', or Tal's, or Flora's. She could parse the undertones in her sleep like a collector describing a fine perfume.
