DEIMOS
ache first, but then let the cuts close
spit out the blood
spit out the blood
Jaw lifted, his gaze was pulled into hers, and a sullen sort of sigh filtered out of him. Listening, truly attending to the words measured in difficulty, because he knew she was right. It was acting upon them that made it all the more harsher and harder to bear. “No,” he grumbled and pouted, half a frown mottling and molded through his mouth. But battle had been so much easier to understand than the ranges of other human complexities: fight, fight, fight, spit out blood and get up again, wield a weapon until one’s opponent fell to pieces, and somehow the rest remained. He’d fallen time and time again, cut and slashed and torn apart, joining the ranks as not the best and not the worst, striving to overcome whomever he faced. Attempting to salvage and save crumbling comrades. Ignoring exhaustion, in favor of moving forward, onward, into whatever needed to be completed.
But it’d never been about him. None of those things. The monolith didn’t have to look inside himself during a skirmish. The Sword knew exactly who he was in those moments – living, breathing armaments, intending to decimate and destroy, shield, preserve, and preside.
Physical pain was comprehensible. Emotional bore deeper than all the lacerations on the surface of his flesh. They wore into the bones and carved like hot knives through his soul. Slashed and torn without the lesions to show for it – only when he permitted them to open, only when the gates and guards were lifted.
So his brows furrowed, and he nodded, and fought off the argument threatening to mar. Tilted his head, to snag, to grasp, to take in all these words and assurances, and make them something. Not brittle. Not delicate. Not infirm. But another stronghold, just as he’d done with his own figure.
He snorted at the press between his brows, as if she was seeking to mend something there. But the only one who could tend and mend it was himself, and even those notions had their limitations. But she was wearing him down, bit by bit, and the beast had to wonder what in gods’ name rest even entailed anymore. A snarl, teasing and gentle rather than raised hackles, bound along, and then a very juvenile wrinkle to his nose. “I can try.” A pause, and the misgivings, responsibilities, and duties were already joining and melding in the rigidity of his shoulders and brawn. “But not for too long. We are supposed to be deciding our next improvements for Halo.”
Raising his hands to fold over both of hers, he sighed again, the features sinking back into a faint smile. “And what about you?” He’d had enough of bearing his own wounds – and Hotaru had been through enough damned turmoil too.
But it’d never been about him. None of those things. The monolith didn’t have to look inside himself during a skirmish. The Sword knew exactly who he was in those moments – living, breathing armaments, intending to decimate and destroy, shield, preserve, and preside.
Physical pain was comprehensible. Emotional bore deeper than all the lacerations on the surface of his flesh. They wore into the bones and carved like hot knives through his soul. Slashed and torn without the lesions to show for it – only when he permitted them to open, only when the gates and guards were lifted.
So his brows furrowed, and he nodded, and fought off the argument threatening to mar. Tilted his head, to snag, to grasp, to take in all these words and assurances, and make them something. Not brittle. Not delicate. Not infirm. But another stronghold, just as he’d done with his own figure.
He snorted at the press between his brows, as if she was seeking to mend something there. But the only one who could tend and mend it was himself, and even those notions had their limitations. But she was wearing him down, bit by bit, and the beast had to wonder what in gods’ name rest even entailed anymore. A snarl, teasing and gentle rather than raised hackles, bound along, and then a very juvenile wrinkle to his nose. “I can try.” A pause, and the misgivings, responsibilities, and duties were already joining and melding in the rigidity of his shoulders and brawn. “But not for too long. We are supposed to be deciding our next improvements for Halo.”
Raising his hands to fold over both of hers, he sighed again, the features sinking back into a faint smile. “And what about you?” He’d had enough of bearing his own wounds – and Hotaru had been through enough damned turmoil too.
watch your body pull itself back together
then let your soul do the same
then let your soul do the same
