how they armor themselves for you

DEIMOS And in your darkest hour, I hold secrets flame He had no mask for the surprise clinging to his features. It wasn’t a common look on him: mouth agape, jaw slackened, eyes widening, rounding, inherently boyish and juvenile when the reticence spilled, clattered, pieced away. Stunned, much like he’d been with the Mathair, though not because of any deity rising from mud or threatening to devour him, but because of the opportunity, the gesture bestowed upon him. Because something in the back of his mind yawned and yearned to stretch into the void and reiterate that he wasn’t worth it. Except, maybe…maybe he was. And the assertion somewhere in his soul clung and whispered in his mind, where he’d once craved to be a part of anything and everything. “I would be honored to be considered one of yours.” As he'd been; loyal, steadfast. And love? What he’d grasped for and lost so often, like fleeting little barbs? Promises that were abandoned, chased away in the wind, in the rain, in the stars? Family and friends and those held near and dear to his heart, slashed and broken, etched and lined in the abyss? “You must know I do not love easily.” His eyes glanced down, at hers, at the hand on his cloak, jaw lined by her fingers. Always guarded, always walled, a crumbling, manifested thing, trying hard to peel away those layers for her to see. “I cherish my friends and family, and those that manage to slip in the cracks.” A smile, crinkling along the edges of his mouth followed suit. “I have never done so for a deity – but I can for you.” A different proportion; motions and emotions he was capable of giving and granting to the being who’d given him multitudes of chances and aspirations over and over and over again. “For your graciousness, patience, power, and compassion. I will give mine in return.” But likely - it wasn't enough. Not in the way she meant. master of nothing place; of recoil and grace