where I save you and you save me
Deimos didn’t ask for much – not even affection – but that it was given freely and not expected or snared meant more to the ease of his shoulders and the prospects of the present, steeling and forging himself as they were enshrouded in his arms. Erebos giggled and then tried to slip away from his mother’s twirls amidst his lengthening hair, opting to duck underneath fingertips and then wile his own near her wrist, forgetting the crayon in his other hand.
His lips moved into another slow smile at her rhyming scheme, brow arching to see if it was intentional, before the decision. “Fine by me,” which meant more time spent in the barracks, in between the other angles.
Thereafter though, his face fell a little, and he took a piece of paper beneath the map, pulling it towards him, charcoal pressed against it as details were unfurled. “I had a visitor earlier,” he mentioned by way of warning, not wanting to press it into Erebos’ ears – even if the child wouldn’t be able to understand it, there was no sense in involving a toddler. From there was an image depicted of Dorian himself – and then the description of the conversation, the proposal, the silent ultimatums floating, the heavy decision toiled upon in the cold dominion of where his machinations had to rest – and the heart stopping mention of their family.
Then he passed it over for her to read, uncertain if he wanted to see her reaction. He knew her better than to immediately chastise and chide, to think beyond the surface level of what those promises and pleas really meant – of the wholly encompassing of shelter and sanctity. Still, he pressed his brow into her shoulder, fatigued, tired all over again.
His lips moved into another slow smile at her rhyming scheme, brow arching to see if it was intentional, before the decision. “Fine by me,” which meant more time spent in the barracks, in between the other angles.
Thereafter though, his face fell a little, and he took a piece of paper beneath the map, pulling it towards him, charcoal pressed against it as details were unfurled. “I had a visitor earlier,” he mentioned by way of warning, not wanting to press it into Erebos’ ears – even if the child wouldn’t be able to understand it, there was no sense in involving a toddler. From there was an image depicted of Dorian himself – and then the description of the conversation, the proposal, the silent ultimatums floating, the heavy decision toiled upon in the cold dominion of where his machinations had to rest – and the heart stopping mention of their family.
Then he passed it over for her to read, uncertain if he wanted to see her reaction. He knew her better than to immediately chastise and chide, to think beyond the surface level of what those promises and pleas really meant – of the wholly encompassing of shelter and sanctity. Still, he pressed his brow into her shoulder, fatigued, tired all over again.
Deimos
and we save each other over and over, a hundred times, endlessly
