Jude
Thread by thread, I come apart
If brokenness is a work of art, this must be my masterpiece
He doesn't track her movement consciously, staring down into the trembling surface of his tea and trying not to remember his last few encounters with the Tidebreaker, and how much disappointment he has deservedly sown in the King. As her arms come around him he jolts, then freezes stiffly as if immediately aware of how rude - or how sad - that must have seemed. If brokenness is a work of art, this must be my masterpiece
But she smells nice. Not nice like perfumes and oils, but nice like...like normal. She smells like tea, and laundry detergent, and faintly of something she'd cooked that day. Nothing like either of his moms had ever smelled like, really. Maeve had always been polished and anointed with expensive perfumes, and Phoebe had been impervious to dirt and sweat and had always smelled of medicinal herbs and flowers. Yet the way Lyra smells, the way she holds him, the quiet way she offers her shoulder without ever moving from the embrace - not forcing him to look her in the eyes if he accepts or refuses - is so painfully maternal it makes Jude stiffly drop his arm down. The teacup clanks awkwardly loud on the countertop and his fingers ache (when had he clenched them?) as they unfurl from the handle.
The rest of him aches, too, as the tension slowly and disjointedly begins to dissipate inside her grasp.
His tongue feels like cotton glued to the roof of his mouth. He realizes all at once that he does want to talk about it. That he hasn't talked about it with anyone - verbally abusing Koa and crying himself sick aside. But opening up feels terrifying. Painful. Jude's hand splays on the counter the way someone standing would do to find their balance. He doesn't find it.
"I haven't. With anyone." Not even Noe, though she would understand most out of anyone he knows, small list that that already is. "I don't - I mean, what's there to say? He's -" Jude's throat clicks again, voice high and thready in a way he hasn't experienced since puberty. Gods why can't he ever just say it? It's just a word. It doesn't mean anything. He's a coward and a child, and the internal abuse still does nothing to loosen the clamp of his teeth. "There's no way to fix things or get closure anymore. He's gone - just like my moms." At least Jude knows for sure that his dad is dead. The not knowing is worse. It's why he hasn't learned to properly grieve until now, because he's never had the certainty to be able to do so.
