// it's not enough that you're wrestling yourself
but your friends talk shit while you're going through hell //
but your friends talk shit while you're going through hell //
He knows her enough to know that she wars with herself. That it’s a war between understanding and wanting to be cruel and he severely hopes she doesn’t go down the cruel route. This was already cruel enough, and gods knew their history was one wrought with more than just barbed words. He doesn’t want it to go like that, and there is some small part of relief when she doesn’t go there either.
It hurts, obviously it hurts, but Sunjata needs his space and his time to come to terms with everything. To decide if this is something he can continue to do. It isn’t like he’s actively looking for someone else to spend time with, he just needs to live with the understanding for a while that it’s his choice this time.
Because it very rarely was his choice before, wasn’t it? And for a man who seemed like he had control over everything, he very rarely did.
Her okay is an answer enough and as the pocket dimension opens, Sunjata waits, his muscles tense and nerves getting the better of him. He wants to back off, to crumble like he knows he probably should, but the darker part of his aching and breaking mentality feels void, hears and roars with the reminder of his father’s voice.
Weak child.
It burns, and it’s the only time he takes to exhale his shaky breaths are when she’s gone, sucking in a breath deep enough to put the masks back into place when the heart is retrieved. She doesn’t hand it to him, instead placing it on the marble countertop he’d built for their home that felt more like a museum of her memories these days.
He doesn’t go for it immediately, just stares at it the way Hotaru does. But something feels off about it.
Actually, he feels nothing.
And that, perhaps, is the scariest part as he hears her question but doesn’t absorb it. Not as he walks over to the heart, flips open the box he’d placed it in for her, and stares at the heart within that doesn’t beat anymore. Decayed, limp, lifeless. It explains a lot, he imagines, the way that he knows how he should feel, how odd it might seem to Hotaru, how it doesn’t add up to how he actually does.
His heart is dead, laying in the box like a forgotten bouquet, dried out and staring back at him like a mockery. He takes a slow inhale, exhales it out even slower and closes the lid of the box and picks it up, tucking it under his arm.
He doesn’t look at her as he steps away. Doesn’t tell her what was in the box. “Keep the house. Make it your own, I guess.” Muscles feather in his jaw. “’Nella, come on.” He calls out to his companion, the sea panther toddling out quietly and with her ears lowered, and he heads to the door. Most of his things were at the House of Midnight anyway, unable to sit in his home with all the memories alone.
It hurts, obviously it hurts, but Sunjata needs his space and his time to come to terms with everything. To decide if this is something he can continue to do. It isn’t like he’s actively looking for someone else to spend time with, he just needs to live with the understanding for a while that it’s his choice this time.
Because it very rarely was his choice before, wasn’t it? And for a man who seemed like he had control over everything, he very rarely did.
Her okay is an answer enough and as the pocket dimension opens, Sunjata waits, his muscles tense and nerves getting the better of him. He wants to back off, to crumble like he knows he probably should, but the darker part of his aching and breaking mentality feels void, hears and roars with the reminder of his father’s voice.
Weak child.
It burns, and it’s the only time he takes to exhale his shaky breaths are when she’s gone, sucking in a breath deep enough to put the masks back into place when the heart is retrieved. She doesn’t hand it to him, instead placing it on the marble countertop he’d built for their home that felt more like a museum of her memories these days.
He doesn’t go for it immediately, just stares at it the way Hotaru does. But something feels off about it.
Actually, he feels nothing.
And that, perhaps, is the scariest part as he hears her question but doesn’t absorb it. Not as he walks over to the heart, flips open the box he’d placed it in for her, and stares at the heart within that doesn’t beat anymore. Decayed, limp, lifeless. It explains a lot, he imagines, the way that he knows how he should feel, how odd it might seem to Hotaru, how it doesn’t add up to how he actually does.
His heart is dead, laying in the box like a forgotten bouquet, dried out and staring back at him like a mockery. He takes a slow inhale, exhales it out even slower and closes the lid of the box and picks it up, tucking it under his arm.
He doesn’t look at her as he steps away. Doesn’t tell her what was in the box. “Keep the house. Make it your own, I guess.” Muscles feather in his jaw. “’Nella, come on.” He calls out to his companion, the sea panther toddling out quietly and with her ears lowered, and he heads to the door. Most of his things were at the House of Midnight anyway, unable to sit in his home with all the memories alone.
// you said it feels like you're swimming through mercury
and every night you think you're gonna die in your sleep //
and every night you think you're gonna die in your sleep //
SUNJATA
Feel free to use magic/force on Sunjata, without killing him <3
Sunjata speaks with an Australian accent and has a passive magic that makes him produce a subtle scent that matches exactly to whatever those around him most desire him to smell like.
