wear the moon like a halo

Her embarrassment is lost on him, Sunjata too swallowed up in his own emotions, in his markings of Safrin and the idea of children and how much he wants to prove to his husband that he had only meant to do it with love for him. But it hadn’t come across, the deal might even be void now, and the one thing he wants most? To hold his husband and comfort where he can?

Well, he can’t do that either.

And so it’s a long painful pine of Sunjata to try and show he wants to fix it by being here, helping prepare the clinic from the monsoons with Maeve’s help. An act of love in an attempt to right his wrongs. “[say]Safrin has been there for me, without asking anything but spreading her name. I was the one that wanted more. I asked for all of this.[/say]” He rumbles, shaking his head lightly. She didn’t have to be something to them and they would show her affection. That he has no doubt.

But he gestures to his starry tattoos on his arm, to the center of his chest where through the way his shirt clings to him with sweat she might be able to spy the constellation freshly marked on his chest.

But when he looks back at her, she’s kneeling there with the bag of sand, peering up at him with sad emerald eyes, and he sets the shovel down back in the sand from the wheelbarrow, moving to take the bag from her to tie it off — gently, of course — but to at least do something with his hands. “[say]Because you don’t know about the things I’ve done and who I am.[/say]” He shrugs those tattooed shoulders. “[say]Of course I’m always trying. I just do a pretty shit job at it. Good intentions, they might be, but that’s all they are. Intentions.[/say]” He half mutters, tying off the bag.