your hands are scarred from murder

SUNJATA

the flood

with every breath and every intake
tip toe further away

She’s not too discreet with her lingering gaze, but it doesn’t bother Sunjata at all. They’d seen plenty of one another, most of the scars — though a part of him wonders if she’s noticed the scar on his wrists and the ascended bite scars around his neck and thigh, but says nothing of it. Instead, he lets her clean the spaces she wishes to so he doesn’t have to attempt it. But when he begins to run his fingers and the comb through her hair, knocking lose sand and dirt, sweat and blood, her comment surprisingly elicits a quiet chuckle from him.

“I suppose it wouldn’t be fun if it wasn’t?” He hums to her, still focused on her hair but there’s a break in his mood, a small amount of the humor returning to the tones of his accented voice. But her head dips forward to rest along his chest, right over a tattoo as he runs his fingers along the base of her neck, reaching for a bit of soap to begin to lather it into the pale tresses there. Her quiet hello does grant a small pause from his work before he cradles her head gently.

There’s the hint of a smile in his voice, the ghost of one along his face as he goes to hold her close and let the water run over the both of them. “And all in one piece.” He says softly, before his voice drops a small amount, words only for her. “I missed you, liefling.”

further away from this mistake
i'm no savior, i'm no saint