DEIMOS
the resurrected sword
For a moment, he wondered – if he was reaching, reaching, reaching for something discarnate, formed in between hazes of dreams and despair; trapped and caught in snares. Because, so very rarely, did the ones who’d left him behind ever turn back around.
And the pieces that had fallen apart, cobbled together with frayed strands, felt all the more shocked, bewildered, when she was real and whole, pulling, closing around him. Eyes rounded and widened, boyish, young, desperate, where she couldn’t see, but likely feel through the bonds and connections. No behemoth, no rock now, just a man striving to stand above his failures.
He returned the embrace, tight but not smothering, enfolding over until she was simply in his arms, tucked against his chest. A breath held, and then only loosened when she spoke, something about Phoebe to Hotaru, which might’ve made sense if any modicum of thought entered his mind. Instead, there were other overwhelming measures, and no walls to hide the clutter of confusion, melancholy, and love. Unaware his gaze said the same as he looked down, into familiarity and change all at once.
“Yes.” It is okay, a low rumble, a nod to follow through. Deimos couldn’t figure out why, not now, not after all the pain. Maybe it didn’t matter in the moment. “How are you?” Another gesture of his head indicated the food nearby, hares waiting to be cooked over the open fire. “Are you hungry?”
And the pieces that had fallen apart, cobbled together with frayed strands, felt all the more shocked, bewildered, when she was real and whole, pulling, closing around him. Eyes rounded and widened, boyish, young, desperate, where she couldn’t see, but likely feel through the bonds and connections. No behemoth, no rock now, just a man striving to stand above his failures.
He returned the embrace, tight but not smothering, enfolding over until she was simply in his arms, tucked against his chest. A breath held, and then only loosened when she spoke, something about Phoebe to Hotaru, which might’ve made sense if any modicum of thought entered his mind. Instead, there were other overwhelming measures, and no walls to hide the clutter of confusion, melancholy, and love. Unaware his gaze said the same as he looked down, into familiarity and change all at once.
“Yes.” It is okay, a low rumble, a nod to follow through. Deimos couldn’t figure out why, not now, not after all the pain. Maybe it didn’t matter in the moment. “How are you?” Another gesture of his head indicated the food nearby, hares waiting to be cooked over the open fire. “Are you hungry?”
under the bludgeonings of chance
my head is bloody, but unbowed
my head is bloody, but unbowed
