my held breath fills the room with blood
hurting in ways I can't describe
Whatever differences he may draw between the Reaper and the Sword, he has always been enough for Hotaru. Even the callouses beneath her palm, the silence that falls between her words, the scent of this place that is already familiar to her, it is enough. It gives her a strength she is not able to summon for herself. One that she can lean on when her own legs have failed her. It was something she had never been allowed in their old times, and she is unused to it here and now. Falling, failing, cracking apart like crevices in heat-worn glaciers. She is almost unsure how to do it, what is normal and acceptable. Unused to her tears in this form, having killed them and burned them out in so many years of searching and hunting and grieving. To have them resurface over a man makes her feel ill with self-hatred. It is chased away by the rumble of Deimos' voice, crashing over her like a wave that sweeps her out from the wreckage and into a warm sea that cradles and suspends her away from the chaos.
"His loss," she repeats softly, with a strength that rises slow but sure like the sun over the horizon. "Or perhaps his idiocy is contagious." It's just as hard for her to admit she is a powerful entity on her own as it is for Deimos to admit to being capable and worthy of love. They are quite the pair, and she wouldn't trade it for anything in the world. Not even Sunjata, who had thrown her away within moments. Deimos was the exact opposite, and though he could never fulfill the romantic desires of her weary heart, he would always be there nonetheless. Beloved, cherished.
It is that which reigns her in, even as her free hand sparks against the glass she still lightly holds in her fingertips. "Let him burn on his own pyre," she says, regal and electric. Lifting herself back off her knees with Deimos' hand. "She'll never get a grip on him, and if she does then they'll both be miserable until one of them dies." Heterochromic eyes alight with wicked fires, and she squeezes Deimos' hand lightly as her lips - still salty with tears, but she won't let them fall any longer, not over this, not now - begin to curl. "But if the opportunity presents itself, I can't say I won't take a chunk of his flesh in retribution." Actively destroying his life is off the table, because she surely can't do it any better than marrying him off to Phoebe anyway.
Setting it aside for the moment, her eyes soften and she leans across the table. "It was selfish of me to lay all this on you...I did hear about your beloved. How are you coping?" Because asking if he is okay will surely only award her with an 'I'm fine'. A shrug off of every concern, a redirection to Amalia's feelings and status instead of his own. "If there is anything I can do...what little I can offer, it is always yours. You are my best friend, as close to a brother as I'll ever have." There is no need to say it - I love you - because it is a fact that lays between them as surely as the wood grain that separates their bodies. The earth spins, the seasons change, and Hotaru loves Deimos. It is a certainty he can always rely upon.
"His loss," she repeats softly, with a strength that rises slow but sure like the sun over the horizon. "Or perhaps his idiocy is contagious." It's just as hard for her to admit she is a powerful entity on her own as it is for Deimos to admit to being capable and worthy of love. They are quite the pair, and she wouldn't trade it for anything in the world. Not even Sunjata, who had thrown her away within moments. Deimos was the exact opposite, and though he could never fulfill the romantic desires of her weary heart, he would always be there nonetheless. Beloved, cherished.
It is that which reigns her in, even as her free hand sparks against the glass she still lightly holds in her fingertips. "Let him burn on his own pyre," she says, regal and electric. Lifting herself back off her knees with Deimos' hand. "She'll never get a grip on him, and if she does then they'll both be miserable until one of them dies." Heterochromic eyes alight with wicked fires, and she squeezes Deimos' hand lightly as her lips - still salty with tears, but she won't let them fall any longer, not over this, not now - begin to curl. "But if the opportunity presents itself, I can't say I won't take a chunk of his flesh in retribution." Actively destroying his life is off the table, because she surely can't do it any better than marrying him off to Phoebe anyway.
Setting it aside for the moment, her eyes soften and she leans across the table. "It was selfish of me to lay all this on you...I did hear about your beloved. How are you coping?" Because asking if he is okay will surely only award her with an 'I'm fine'. A shrug off of every concern, a redirection to Amalia's feelings and status instead of his own. "If there is anything I can do...what little I can offer, it is always yours. You are my best friend, as close to a brother as I'll ever have." There is no need to say it - I love you - because it is a fact that lays between them as surely as the wood grain that separates their bodies. The earth spins, the seasons change, and Hotaru loves Deimos. It is a certainty he can always rely upon.
my heart bends and breaks
so many, many times
HOTARU
