the stars lined our heartbeats

Deimos

we are all b r o k e n
that's how the l i g h t gets in

For all the value and apace he’d always put into silence, it seemed to bite and claw at him now – at the variables, at the way he’d plunged and jumped and launched, even in commitment, even in doubt, steadfast ardor. For a being who calculated, who honed sharp, keen edges, who practiced precision, who emphasized machinations, this had been a threshold to cross, a divide to wander within, straight into the specious vestiges, breath held, uncertain if he’d erred, if he’d betrayed too much or gave too little or simply wasn’t enough for her. So he stood there, with his love and ring and the hushed pinnacles staring back at him. He grew taut and rigid in the expanse, height drawn upwards, towards the sky, towards the clouds, where he might not drown in the wake of something he’d fumbled or blundered within. But the beast didn’t look away, not afraid to look into constellations or galaxies, striving to render a sign of acceptance or rejection before he could pen a reaction, before he funneled something indiscrete in his bones and fell apart in another sanction.

Deimos had always afforded himself few chances in relationships, offering, granting, convictions that were never idle, that were never half-hearted, but once torn at the seams, he hurt and burned too much, too far; more than once scraping himself back into shadows when faced with loss – quietly perishing and drifting into nothingness. Where it didn’t hurt. Where it didn’t bleed. Where it didn’t bend. Where it didn’t falter or flicker. Where he could be an absolute menace, an intimidating faction, a conflagration of soulless depravity.

Did she have any idea her effect on him? How her acceptance, her tolerance, had fueled him onward? Had brought him out of the annals of darkness? How he’d learned to be better, far, far better, than the Reaper could’ve ever been?

And still, the quietude remained, chiseled into his skin while he waited, while he thought about trying to grant something else she might sink her teeth into and he wouldn’t be left alone again –

Except then she was in his arms once more, and he lifted, held tight, brought the hand not encompassing gifts and confessions to wrap along her back, the answer simple but not plain. A wave of relief tore through his lungs and chest, a crackle of laughter before her lips descended on his, something welling up in the corner of his eyes that he’d give no name to. Yes bounded along his ears, far more than a whisper, like an outcry, like a promise, like serenity, like things he didn’t deserve and still took; leaning and gliding through their bond, swords naught without shields. He didn’t know what else to say, didn’t know what else to do, but hold her there, in the beacon of their light and connections, in the reverence they’d carved for themselves. What was yours? he devised on a chuckle, on a deep, fervent reverberation, on the balance of things that were right and exact and true.

keep the ones who
h e a r d y o u
when you never said a word