RORY
i told the stars about you
In hindsight: perhaps not a wise phrasing, or a wise sentiment at all, given the present company. When the dry mutter reached his ears, he felt something twinge in his heart.The first pricking of guilt and regret.
Rory couldn't even begin to fathom what it was like to have memories taken, so completely. How did you even know that something was missing? How long did you go, not remembering someone (or something), until some external circumstance made it painfully obvious that it had been taken? Such a violation—just imagining it made something coil in his gut as terror shadowed his heartbeat.
"You did," he said after a heartbeat, something sad snaking around the words. His eyes were still on the goat. "I'm sorry, I should've put it some other way..." It wasn't necessary losing yourself so much as letting go: allowing yourself to smile and laugh and forget about the world's hardships for a while. Giving yourself a few days off from planting and working, to twirl someone around in dance in the spring sunlight, so precious after days and days of darkness.
He glanced up, into that open, easy, handsome face, into those pale yet vivid eyes—and Remi drifted away like a cloud in the breeze, offering a half-formed apology and a smile that only had Rory's eyebrows drawing together in a slight frown. Whatever strange turn their conversation had just taken had left Rory behind in the dirt, not so much bucked off as merely left behind.
Then Remi was placing the child down in the grass, and splashed water from the nearby trough into his face. Rory's frown deepened, concern clouding his eyes, but he stayed where he was; his hands twisted and turned, and beneath him, Ella had raised her head and gave an uncertain whine. She wasn't sure what to do with this child suddenly existing in her world.
Whatever it was that had just happened had left a mark on Remi, and not just in the form of water darkening the front of his shirt. It was like a shadow, or perhaps a weight: water, diluting the brightness and the colors. Rory found his lower lip between his teeth, blue eyes briefly meeting washed-out green. He barely even noticed how the alchemist tripped over his words.
A question formed upon his tongue, but which version of the sentiment to voice? The one that gave him an out, or the one that put him against the wall?
He thought again about that hand, outstretched. Of the lion thawing, supernatural frost coating his tan hide. The sketches. Rory had kept his distance because of how dangerous Remi had been to his principles, but they had all gone out the window anyway; he had broken every single one of his damned rules, and it had put him in a position where he felt inadequate, uncertain of how to comfort his friend.
He felt like a traitor and a coward, but he chose the phrasing that gave Remi an out.
"Are you alright?" he asked, the frown still tugging his eyebrows down.
