How do I keep myself from fallin' apart when I ain't never felt part of a whole?
He could not have spoken words that resonate more fully. She tilts her cheek onto his shoulder and closes her eyes, inhales the subtle scent of his skin as the oldest yawning pit of grief inside her aches in resonance. “It is the only pain that never heals. Madness is better than feeling that.” Learning she’d arrived mere seasons after her son’s second death had nearly killed her anew. It was the only time she’d hated Kiada, her own niece - for being even a passive instrument in his death.
“Does creation need an end goal? Or is it not the act that is meaningful?” What did it matter that they amounted to anything if they brought him joy? Her nails scrape playfully at his fingertips as they move against hers, a dark laugh escaping her throat. “I would not have apologized at all. But yes - I think you can be regretful for the pain it caused, while still aware you would cause it again if needed.”
If he is nervous, it is not wildly apparent, but she interlaces their fingers idly all the same to give a reassuring squeeze. “I’ve met them in this form twice now. Will it bother you, if I am here?” His boundaries are the ones that matter to her - her own scarcely exist in the first place.
His eyes are an anchor as she drowns in grief anew, and her sticky-stained lips tremble with a gratitude he can feel. He may not be able to do much; Hotaru doesn’t know if Atlas could ever return, not like Isla did, and certainly she wouldn’t deserve it as the orchestrator of his downfall. But Remi’s support means so much to her in this moment that she doesn’t care about the odds. “Thank you,” she whispers, and leans to press her juice stained mouth to his cheek, a creature of touch to the end.
“Does creation need an end goal? Or is it not the act that is meaningful?” What did it matter that they amounted to anything if they brought him joy? Her nails scrape playfully at his fingertips as they move against hers, a dark laugh escaping her throat. “I would not have apologized at all. But yes - I think you can be regretful for the pain it caused, while still aware you would cause it again if needed.”
If he is nervous, it is not wildly apparent, but she interlaces their fingers idly all the same to give a reassuring squeeze. “I’ve met them in this form twice now. Will it bother you, if I am here?” His boundaries are the ones that matter to her - her own scarcely exist in the first place.
His eyes are an anchor as she drowns in grief anew, and her sticky-stained lips tremble with a gratitude he can feel. He may not be able to do much; Hotaru doesn’t know if Atlas could ever return, not like Isla did, and certainly she wouldn’t deserve it as the orchestrator of his downfall. But Remi’s support means so much to her in this moment that she doesn’t care about the odds. “Thank you,” she whispers, and leans to press her juice stained mouth to his cheek, a creature of touch to the end.
HOTARU
