you are such a soft and messy thing, nobody knows how to take care of you
Patience is exactly what the Valkyrie needs. Patience and soft hands - things she has been given aplenty since the war, but which never carried the same weight as his do now. And though his rebuttal is teasing and refuting, Hotaru's own answer is sincere. "You are. I can see it in you - and I'm proud of you." Words that come easier now because of her children, because of Flora. Honest admissions she'd had to learn to open up to for the sake of being a better woman, a better mother. They've both changed. Hotaru thinks it has been for the better.
She is still unused to the open weight of his emotions, making every nerve light up and every hair rise to be able to know in a way she has always so direly needed to. Her hand clings harder to his nape, fingertips sliding up into the edges of his hair almost desperately as he gives her every word she needs to hear, punctuated by little kisses that tie her into knots. And then, completely unexpectedly, she realizes she's crying. Hot, slow tears that accompany an almost painful smile - because she's happy. It's like cauterizing a wound that has been bleeding slowly since the day she left, and it hurts but it's finally, finally over. "Gods I'm a mess," she chokes on a laugh, though she can't bear to take her hands off him to wipe the tears away. "I've wanted to hear -" but she can't say it, can't admit to how pathetic she's been these past years. Instead, she tilts her head to kiss the high point of his cheek, the closest part she can reach. "I don't want to be so uncreative as to steal your words. But you have me. I'll be here as long as you want me, I promise." Because she can't think to word it any other way than to have it rely upon his own desires. If he leaves her again it will merely be a return to those early days; loving him in silence, and carrying onward despite it.
She is still unused to the open weight of his emotions, making every nerve light up and every hair rise to be able to know in a way she has always so direly needed to. Her hand clings harder to his nape, fingertips sliding up into the edges of his hair almost desperately as he gives her every word she needs to hear, punctuated by little kisses that tie her into knots. And then, completely unexpectedly, she realizes she's crying. Hot, slow tears that accompany an almost painful smile - because she's happy. It's like cauterizing a wound that has been bleeding slowly since the day she left, and it hurts but it's finally, finally over. "Gods I'm a mess," she chokes on a laugh, though she can't bear to take her hands off him to wipe the tears away. "I've wanted to hear -" but she can't say it, can't admit to how pathetic she's been these past years. Instead, she tilts her head to kiss the high point of his cheek, the closest part she can reach. "I don't want to be so uncreative as to steal your words. But you have me. I'll be here as long as you want me, I promise." Because she can't think to word it any other way than to have it rely upon his own desires. If he leaves her again it will merely be a return to those early days; loving him in silence, and carrying onward despite it.
