Theea
they may say you're too small, you're too young
to do it all, but you're a giant on the inside
to do it all, but you're a giant on the inside
I’m grateful when he settles in beside me, and I’m not shy about pressing close. He’s warm, and I’m cold. And he’s safe—somehow being in contact with him feels easy, unthinking. I hope he doesn’t mind.
The cub fixates on him almost immediately, those oversized paws and that long tail tail making a beeline for his chest. His resigned sigh pulls a quiet smile out of me. Of course it chose him. I like the way he looks at it—careful, steady—as if the world has finally handed him something soft. It’d be good for him to have this. He’s been alone.
When he mentions Rane, the memory pricks—disappeared. I keep my face smooth; I have a feeling he doesn’t want sympathy. After losing his parents, then to feel abandoned by the person who raised him… gods. I wonder if he trusts anyone at all. My fingers itch to find his hand for a reassuring squeeze, but I don’t.
“I’m glad you’re still doing it,” I say instead, quiet as the cub’s purr. "I'd really love to see some sometime."
The little thing mewls and I scratch just behind its cheek, earning a pleased squint. I don’t miss the way Damien’s hand stays where it is on the cub’s back, steady as a promise.
Then he looks at me. His dark eyes seem to see straight through, see me, and I can’t look away. The silence goes full and heavy; I try to read his expression and can’t sort it. My lips part like I’m about to say something—and nothing comes.
He does it for me, his question rolling low through the space between us, asking about my father. My mouth tips into a small smile.
“He taught me how to ride,” I tell him, voice as soft as the crackling fire. “My mom’s a good rider too, but she’s too short to reach me on a horse. My dad would walk beside me—sometimes on his unicorn, sometimes mine. I mostly learned on his. They’re the super-speed ones, not the healing kind.” A breath of a laugh escapes me. “Some of my favorite memories are him sitting behind me, arms around me, and we’d just… fly. Blindingly fast. It felt like the ground couldn’t catch us.”
I finally look away first, down to the cub kneading at my blanket. My smile falters.
“He died here,” I murmur. “In the Fangs. When the world split apart after the Second War. Everything crumbled and he… fell.”
A beat, and I pull in a shallow breath. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to go there.”
I haven’t talked about it with anyone since it happened. Not that my mom didn’t try—she did—but I kept the door shut. If I open it too far, I’m afraid the pain will pour through and swallow the rest of me whole.
The cub fixates on him almost immediately, those oversized paws and that long tail tail making a beeline for his chest. His resigned sigh pulls a quiet smile out of me. Of course it chose him. I like the way he looks at it—careful, steady—as if the world has finally handed him something soft. It’d be good for him to have this. He’s been alone.
When he mentions Rane, the memory pricks—disappeared. I keep my face smooth; I have a feeling he doesn’t want sympathy. After losing his parents, then to feel abandoned by the person who raised him… gods. I wonder if he trusts anyone at all. My fingers itch to find his hand for a reassuring squeeze, but I don’t.
“I’m glad you’re still doing it,” I say instead, quiet as the cub’s purr. "I'd really love to see some sometime."
The little thing mewls and I scratch just behind its cheek, earning a pleased squint. I don’t miss the way Damien’s hand stays where it is on the cub’s back, steady as a promise.
Then he looks at me. His dark eyes seem to see straight through, see me, and I can’t look away. The silence goes full and heavy; I try to read his expression and can’t sort it. My lips part like I’m about to say something—and nothing comes.
He does it for me, his question rolling low through the space between us, asking about my father. My mouth tips into a small smile.
“He taught me how to ride,” I tell him, voice as soft as the crackling fire. “My mom’s a good rider too, but she’s too short to reach me on a horse. My dad would walk beside me—sometimes on his unicorn, sometimes mine. I mostly learned on his. They’re the super-speed ones, not the healing kind.” A breath of a laugh escapes me. “Some of my favorite memories are him sitting behind me, arms around me, and we’d just… fly. Blindingly fast. It felt like the ground couldn’t catch us.”
I finally look away first, down to the cub kneading at my blanket. My smile falters.
“He died here,” I murmur. “In the Fangs. When the world split apart after the Second War. Everything crumbled and he… fell.”
A beat, and I pull in a shallow breath. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to go there.”
I haven’t talked about it with anyone since it happened. Not that my mom didn’t try—she did—but I kept the door shut. If I open it too far, I’m afraid the pain will pour through and swallow the rest of me whole.
