'Cause sometimes we don't really notice just how good it can get
so maybe we should start all over
so maybe we should start all over
It makes her smile wryly to hear him echo her. Is she truly so firm in her ideals as to have unwittingly created a catchphrase? It certainly seems like it. Though she is under no illusions that simply repeating it will magically make Sunjata agree with her worldview. He is just as stubborn in his ways even if they are ways she cannot dream of understanding.
As he moves away she breathes again, something deeper than the shallow imitations she'd been filling her lungs with before. Except his scent lingers and billows around her the moment she inhales, and it makes her cramp inside with the intensity of her reaction to it, and then she must breathe through that, too. Ru is left standing there in the open air of the room, feeling small and out of place as he settles onto the bed. Watching from a distance for both of their sakes while she holds herself - whether she's holding herself back or holding herself together is unclear. Sunjata has always had a knack for making her come unglued.
There are plenty of things she might say about purpose and what it means, but she holds her tongue as his thoughts come spooling out like loose thread, piling on the floor and threatening to entangle them with one wrong move. And moments later she feels it, tight around her ankles and winding up her legs the moment he finishes his sentence.
Every bone in her body hurts, because she wants to take the words at face value, but she can't. "Do you mean that, really? Or am I just the closest reminder of him?" It's not accusatory in the least. In fact it's spoken rather softly, almost reservedly. "Because I never measured up to Nate." Not then and certainly not now. He'd been the best of them, and Hotaru had merely been a complementary instrument to the symphony they had between them. Delightful, but unnecessary. "I still see his eyes in Frey's face," she admits, gaze dropping away from his. "And yours, too. But are scraps worth...?" One hand rises off her bicep to wave vaguely, meaning all of this. Because Hotaru is just scraps, and the comfort he thinks he feels from her isn't something she's sure exists. Maybe her grief just feels familiar because they mourn the same man. Is that really healing?
Clearing her throat she finds his eyes again, cursing herself for her continual inability to hold them. "Sorry. I suppose that was presumptuous; assuming what you meant by that." Maybe he really just means he would like to have someone who knew, who had loved Nate the same way, to keep him company. To talk to, confide in. Maybe - like always - it's not about her.
As he moves away she breathes again, something deeper than the shallow imitations she'd been filling her lungs with before. Except his scent lingers and billows around her the moment she inhales, and it makes her cramp inside with the intensity of her reaction to it, and then she must breathe through that, too. Ru is left standing there in the open air of the room, feeling small and out of place as he settles onto the bed. Watching from a distance for both of their sakes while she holds herself - whether she's holding herself back or holding herself together is unclear. Sunjata has always had a knack for making her come unglued.
There are plenty of things she might say about purpose and what it means, but she holds her tongue as his thoughts come spooling out like loose thread, piling on the floor and threatening to entangle them with one wrong move. And moments later she feels it, tight around her ankles and winding up her legs the moment he finishes his sentence.
Every bone in her body hurts, because she wants to take the words at face value, but she can't. "Do you mean that, really? Or am I just the closest reminder of him?" It's not accusatory in the least. In fact it's spoken rather softly, almost reservedly. "Because I never measured up to Nate." Not then and certainly not now. He'd been the best of them, and Hotaru had merely been a complementary instrument to the symphony they had between them. Delightful, but unnecessary. "I still see his eyes in Frey's face," she admits, gaze dropping away from his. "And yours, too. But are scraps worth...?" One hand rises off her bicep to wave vaguely, meaning all of this. Because Hotaru is just scraps, and the comfort he thinks he feels from her isn't something she's sure exists. Maybe her grief just feels familiar because they mourn the same man. Is that really healing?
Clearing her throat she finds his eyes again, cursing herself for her continual inability to hold them. "Sorry. I suppose that was presumptuous; assuming what you meant by that." Maybe he really just means he would like to have someone who knew, who had loved Nate the same way, to keep him company. To talk to, confide in. Maybe - like always - it's not about her.
start all over again
Hotaru
