i know, i've got a lot to learn

i was raised as a scorpion
being pulled by the moon in a high tide

He does cast sidelong glances toward her while he works on the dishes, trying to gauge how she takes the information of the additional companion and the like. And when she allows that little wistful smile to twist the corner of her mouth, more relief spreads through his shoulders, letting a similar one bloom on his face. “I’d like to see it when you’re done, if that’s okay?” Something about the additional memory from someone else might soothe the wounded hole in his chest. Like a reminder that others had also lost alongside him, but could still share their own memories.

The next question takes him a little by surprise, however, and he hums a soft sound of contemplation under his breath, head tilting slightly as he rinses off a pan. “I think so. It seems to be the one Festival I always go to.” And he shakes his head and lets a soft little huff of a sound leave him. “Maybe I’m just hopeful that I’ll get a chance.” He doubts he would, but there’s still that little part of him that thinks what if…

Would it help or would it hurt worse?

the flood

that's why i'm broken, yeah,
am i a villain or a saint?

Melita

yes, yes, I am wild
I am the wind that makes breathing hard

Agreements fostered in the form of nods over soap bubbles and dish towels; wondering if he wanted to inspect it afterwards to see how shitty it would come out, or something else altogether. It could’ve been lifetimes of memories and pieces, portions, lost to the wind and air – but Melita would make sure she would embody them all as best she could. “All right,” she nodded, because she’d be there too.

From there, they could finish out on everything else – with some feet forward to the future. At least, a little less bitter from the Honeybee’s end.

And no one had been stabbed – except for the steak.

{FIN}

I am the ocean and the battered shore
I will be the passion of thunder, a howl of fury