i fell in love with a war
Icarus ghosts a little closer, moving to study the flower crown in Deimos’ hand, trying to memorize the intricate way the stems weave together to make a tight, beautiful halo. How can someone so large, so strong, so capable of such incredible feats of strength and power, weave something with such delicacy? He’s having a hard enough time reckoning the waving, squealing baby with the firm-but-fair commander he’s known since he was a child.
”Could you teach me how to make one? A flower crown, I mean,” He asks, hesitant and a little apprehensive. A fiend for battlefield knowledge, Icarus works himself long after the drills are done pushing himself to perfection, trying to gauge every glimmering piece of knowledge he can get to be better, to finally learn enough and prove himself enough to defend his home. This, though? This feels different, superfluous, something just done for the beauty of it instead of the utility. But if the Warden determines it’s worth enough of his time, perhaps Icarus can loosen himself enough to learn it as well.
He shook his little flower at Idalia, trying to coax out another gurgling laugh, before tucking it behind his ear, a little splash of color in his curls of dark hair. Looking at Deimos out the corner of his eye, a soft and yearning ache fills the cavity of his chest where his bleeding heart lingers. Whether it’s at the sight of father and daughter together, or or Deimos’ stern face softening into something closer to familial fondness, or even this gentle, domestic scene he happens to have intruded upon, he doesn’t know.
”Could you teach me how to make one? A flower crown, I mean,” He asks, hesitant and a little apprehensive. A fiend for battlefield knowledge, Icarus works himself long after the drills are done pushing himself to perfection, trying to gauge every glimmering piece of knowledge he can get to be better, to finally learn enough and prove himself enough to defend his home. This, though? This feels different, superfluous, something just done for the beauty of it instead of the utility. But if the Warden determines it’s worth enough of his time, perhaps Icarus can loosen himself enough to learn it as well.
He shook his little flower at Idalia, trying to coax out another gurgling laugh, before tucking it behind his ear, a little splash of color in his curls of dark hair. Looking at Deimos out the corner of his eye, a soft and yearning ache fills the cavity of his chest where his bleeding heart lingers. Whether it’s at the sight of father and daughter together, or or Deimos’ stern face softening into something closer to familial fondness, or even this gentle, domestic scene he happens to have intruded upon, he doesn’t know.
Icarus
and nobody told me it ended
