You stood by me patiently waiting and broken
She can’t see him but she can feel him, the tender swipe of his fingers over her cheeks, the way he tucks the blanket into the crevices of their joined bodies, the wandering trail of kisses over her hair and brow. She returns it measure by measure; kisses upon his collarbone, bicep, and bottom of his jaw whenever each portion nears.
Hotaru’s stomach pinches with self-conscious dismay at his easy absolution. It simmers there, needing to hear him say he loves her more than she needs to tell him the truth. At least for now.
“I love you too,” she whispers, face tilted up into his kisses, closed eyes making every other sense stronger. The smoke on his breath, the lingering hint of winter chill on his shirt, the scruffier length of his stubble. She sits in the moment as long as she can. Counts the minutes by his heartbeat. Considers over and over taking this easy out he has unwittingly given her, a door left ajar but its use entirely dependent on her own moral resolve. Something the Valkyrie has never cared to foster.
It’s not morality that pries her lips apart in the end, but honesty. Hiding things has only ever broken them apart.
“I…I was myself. At first.” A hushed confession, eyes shut tight for strength now instead of defense. “I asked for it. I thought - if we were on the same side this time, it would be better.” One less thing to mimic the last war. One more link in the chain that would keep them together. “And Frey said it was nothing to be concerned about.” But those words had come from Sunjata secondhand, and she had trusted them, because she trusts him. So which part was wrong? Trusting her fiancé, or her herald? Why did good intentions have to lead to the most painful mistakes? “It’s not the same. It was my fault. And Flora died and I didn’t even blame them.” So how can he still love her? How can he hold her, kiss her, when she walked into this with open eyes? The only other lesson to be learned is to not trust in him or Frey. How is that better? So it must be her own body on the pyre.
Hotaru’s stomach pinches with self-conscious dismay at his easy absolution. It simmers there, needing to hear him say he loves her more than she needs to tell him the truth. At least for now.
“I love you too,” she whispers, face tilted up into his kisses, closed eyes making every other sense stronger. The smoke on his breath, the lingering hint of winter chill on his shirt, the scruffier length of his stubble. She sits in the moment as long as she can. Counts the minutes by his heartbeat. Considers over and over taking this easy out he has unwittingly given her, a door left ajar but its use entirely dependent on her own moral resolve. Something the Valkyrie has never cared to foster.
It’s not morality that pries her lips apart in the end, but honesty. Hiding things has only ever broken them apart.
“I…I was myself. At first.” A hushed confession, eyes shut tight for strength now instead of defense. “I asked for it. I thought - if we were on the same side this time, it would be better.” One less thing to mimic the last war. One more link in the chain that would keep them together. “And Frey said it was nothing to be concerned about.” But those words had come from Sunjata secondhand, and she had trusted them, because she trusts him. So which part was wrong? Trusting her fiancé, or her herald? Why did good intentions have to lead to the most painful mistakes? “It’s not the same. It was my fault. And Flora died and I didn’t even blame them.” So how can he still love her? How can he hold her, kiss her, when she walked into this with open eyes? The only other lesson to be learned is to not trust in him or Frey. How is that better? So it must be her own body on the pyre.
So deeply in love with every face that I've shown
Hotaru
