maybe who we were then is shattered, but who we are in the end is what matters
The way he hovers close makes sense to her, a chord struck against more primal measures. There is no desire to chase him away - not yet, at least. Had she been in a proper den then perhaps the reaction would be different.
It’s not patience so much as exhaustion that keeps her quiet and semi-coherent in her attentiveness. The names roll on his tongue better than they ever will on hers she’s sure, but some pluck strings of familiarity, and Hotaru’s eyes fall to her children. First to the girl, older by minutes, and already groping with one tiny hand at the skin of her breast in instinctual search for nourishment. “Flora, Flora Vai,” she names with certainty, and presses her cheek to the top of the infant’s head, breathing in the scent of her. Even tainted by blood and afterbirth, the animal inside her finds and memorizes those individual notes that make Flora who she is.
The boy is harder in many ways. She had only ever named Ru’in, and lost him far too early. It feels like a curse out of a fairytale. One she still fears. Only strengthened by the complicated circumstances he has now been born into. She hopes Remi providing the name will somehow make it less binding, if it exists beyond the paranoia and trauma of her own mind. “And Enzo. Enzo Ignatius,” she murmurs, pressing her lips to the thin dark hair on his crown, inhaling his own scent.
It takes some rearranging to let them both feed, sheet bunched around them but otherwise doing little to nothing by way of covering her. Each long moment makes her eyes droop further, but Hotaru soldiers on until both infants are fed. Only then does she shift to angle Enzo out towards Remi, tired eyes beseeching despite the reluctance to part from her children. “Will you lay them in the bassinet to sleep?” Something they’ll all need now, and which will be sparse in the coming months.
It’s not patience so much as exhaustion that keeps her quiet and semi-coherent in her attentiveness. The names roll on his tongue better than they ever will on hers she’s sure, but some pluck strings of familiarity, and Hotaru’s eyes fall to her children. First to the girl, older by minutes, and already groping with one tiny hand at the skin of her breast in instinctual search for nourishment. “Flora, Flora Vai,” she names with certainty, and presses her cheek to the top of the infant’s head, breathing in the scent of her. Even tainted by blood and afterbirth, the animal inside her finds and memorizes those individual notes that make Flora who she is.
The boy is harder in many ways. She had only ever named Ru’in, and lost him far too early. It feels like a curse out of a fairytale. One she still fears. Only strengthened by the complicated circumstances he has now been born into. She hopes Remi providing the name will somehow make it less binding, if it exists beyond the paranoia and trauma of her own mind. “And Enzo. Enzo Ignatius,” she murmurs, pressing her lips to the thin dark hair on his crown, inhaling his own scent.
It takes some rearranging to let them both feed, sheet bunched around them but otherwise doing little to nothing by way of covering her. Each long moment makes her eyes droop further, but Hotaru soldiers on until both infants are fed. Only then does she shift to angle Enzo out towards Remi, tired eyes beseeching despite the reluctance to part from her children. “Will you lay them in the bassinet to sleep?” Something they’ll all need now, and which will be sparse in the coming months.
