everybody knows i'm a king without a crown

better get to diggin' while my body's getting cold.
i keep tryna fight it so just promise when i go, you'll bury me low

Immediately, he shakes his head. “Perhaps we can share it. I get yours for a bit and you get mine in return.” Trading it back and forth, unknowingly admitting his own thoughts on the matter that he wishes for something that smelled like her, too, that lemongrass and cedar scent, ozone and fresh snow.

It is relieving, however, to have these idle conversations, ones that don’t make his heart drop into his stomach, ones that don’t make him want to shy away from having to mention any memories for fear of the pain they’ll cause. It’s easier still when it shifts completely to Melita and Sunjata’s internally horrified at the thought of ever attempting such a thing. Though, if it were anyone but him they’d likely stand a chance. Not that he wants to steal anything from Melita – more prone to giving her trinkets than taking them. “You’d better hope she doesn’t find out.” Comes the softer chuckle until silence overtakes him.

He doesn’t expect her confusion, and her admission only brings some kind of uncertain awkwardness suddenly flooding through him, face to face as he watches her with those bright steel eyes of his, the shadows at bay for a little while longer even as his smile shifts more lopsided, gentle, soft, even when she leans in to get a good whiff from his wet, suntanned skin. “Oh.” He says unhelpfully, and he’s sure she could probably feel the way he wars at himself internally from telling her.

It would be a better kept secret, he supposes, but he’s shown his hand now. He shifts a little in the water, arms loosening around her despite still being looped and connected, falling around her hips now as he looks over her shoulder, unable to start the conversation looking at her face (once again for fear of the rejection that the admission might cause). “Frey changed that.” He starts, finding some courage within him to try and see how the information would reflect on her. “I smell different to everyone. It’s just… Whatever they prefer or desire the scent to be, that’s what it is.” Not unlike their deity’s shapeshifting ability, Sunjata’s was in his scent.

“It is relieving to know that I still smell like me to someone.” He tries to alleviate the awkwardness of the admission, his smile still soft and tender.

SUNJATA

you are such a soft and messy thing, nobody knows how to take care of you

The purr the offer elicits was meant to be something internal, but it vibrates through her chest in a way that is plainly audible and can be felt in his own sternum where they relax against one another. Clearly, he has said exactly the right thing. "Deal. Just tell me what type of garment you think best fits in your hoard, okay?" The impishness in the corners of her mouth makes it clear she finds an article of clothing to be quite out of place amongst books and baubles.

Jabbing him in the chest with her finger lightly, narrowing her eyes at him, she tries not to let her mouth twitch to betray her amusement. "You're the only one who knows now, so if she finds out I'm coming after you." Or maybe just his books, that might be a better threat.

Sunjata's reaction is further disorienting, only confusing her further as she tries to parse both his face and their open bond to determine the reasoning for his question and response alike. Had she misstepped? Things are still so tentative between them sometimes that it's likely she might have, and her stomach chills with trepidation at the prospect. Especially when his arms loosen and drop to her hips. Hotaru can't help the way she moves both her hands to cling to his shoulders the moment he does, trying to keep that physical connection on her behalf. Only to go rather still as his explanation slowly unwinds, and realization sets in.

It's the hardest thing she's ever done to keep the bond open for the sake of their friendship and goal of honesty when she wants to slam it closed and physically distance herself from this realization. Instead he will feel panic, then deep shame and regret as she stares past his shoulder in the same way he does to her. "Shit, I - I'm sorry, I didn't know," she whispers, hands feeling clammy even with the gratuitous steam and heat around them. "I mean, I'm sorry if that feels like I'm pressuring you or forcing feelings in your face." None of the words feel right, only further betraying her and making it seem so much worse than she feels it has a right to be. But she has to be responsible about this, an adult or whatever. Things she has never been good at. "It won't intrude on this. On our friendship. I promise - it's something I'm accustomed to." She has lived with his ghost and these old feelings for years now. Unlike Isla, Hotaru knows this is a weight she can continue to bear. Hopefully he can tell her honesty through the bond, because she worries these are familiar, false phrases to him given recent events.

But he tries to make it lighter, and Ru will always try to meet him halfway. So she meets his eyes and smiles slightly. "Just know you'll always smell like sandalwood and vanilla, no matter what the magic makes people smell. Clove and leather sometimes - and a spice I can't always place." Tobacco, though she rarely smells it and it's too high quality for common cigarettes and cigars to help her make the connection. "Now you can write it down and always remember." Even if he can't smell it himself.

better get to diggin' while my body's getting cold.
i keep tryna fight it so just promise when i go, you'll bury me low

“I’ll think on it.” He assures her with a soft laugh over what might fit best into his hoard — settling into the water with that same ease and playfulness before the conversation and it shift toward something far more serious — and not even the seriousness of the topic of his scent but the fact that if Melita ever found out. His brows raise and he rumbles another deeper chuckle, an innocent look overtaking him. “My lips are sealed, Ru.” Gods knew he didn’t need anything else to catch Melita’s ire.

But then his explanation comes, arms looped around her hips while her hands find his shoulders and she goes incredibly still. The Flood watching now as his explanation takes hold, as he feels the struggle she has with keeping the attuned bond open enough for him to feel the war she has. His head immediately tilts though, arms tightening again around her at her apology, confusion streaking through him. “No, don’t be sorry, that’s not how I took it.” He says quickly, even if there were a part of him that did think that because of it they stood a chance again. That wasn’t the point of this, the entire point is to get to know each other again, to start that friendship, then go from there.

Whatever happens, happens. But he isn’t going to try and force it one way or another. And as she continues, her words mirroring his current lived through events, his hands lift — water dripping from them as he pushes back her blonde locks, rough and calloused hands moving to cup each side of her face. “It’s similar for me, it’s okay.” He murmurs, of having those feelings and thoughts with the potential to ruin the friendship they build, but they both are on the same page. “You are still that cunning, beautiful, hurricane of a woman that I am enamored with.” He flashes her a soft smile, not quite emotional enough to share the same that he had in that room in the Inn, but enough that the open bond between them suggests it. He loves her, but he’s not going to let it ruin what they’re trying so hard to do, so hard to fix.

But he makes it lighter and she meets him halfway as always, and he leans forward to press his forehead against hers, humming a soft laugh. “I’ll write it down and keep it on hand just in case anyone asks.” He teases her with a soft laugh. Nobody will ask, and that’s part of the fun of it.

SUNJATA

you are such a soft and messy thing, nobody knows how to take care of you

The panic she feels is a horrible, gut-twisting thing that makes her feel sick and clammy, and she didn't even know it was something she could feel until this very moment. Hotaru has burned so many bridges in her life, rebuilt a few, and given and received a few second chances. But she's never been so scared to fuck this up. They'd lost each other once - both of them, because neither was innocent in that mess - but she can't stand to do it again. And that's exactly why he smells the same to her, because she's been looking for his ghost in every shadow since he left.

The haze in her brain only stills and quiets when his hands push her wet hair back to cup her face, jolting her out of her panic as if being plucked straight out of the water she was drowning in. Meeting his eyes, she stares unblinking as her heart slows from a rabbitting pace she hadn't noticed it climbing to, hands rising to hold onto his forearms and tilt her head into his touch. "Sorry," she whispers reflexively; though he'd just told her she didn't have to, it's an apology better suited for having freaked out so readily.

A little calmer now, his frankness makes her cheeks go hot, prompting a flustered chuckle as she closes her eyes under the premise of comfort - when really she just can't look into his own. "I should've known you'd understand." They're in the same position, even if Hotaru still can't conceive of him holding any fondness for her to that level. "You are still that ridiculous, reckless, overwhelming force of a man that I fell in love with." Opening her eyes, she lifts one hand to touch his own cheek. "Even after everything." Whether she means their breakup or the war is unclear. But she can still see it all in him even now.

Laughing quietly as he tilts his forehead to hers, Hotaru's hand slides past his cheek to gently cup the nape of his neck, luxuriating in the increased closeness. She has nothing to say to that lighthearted statement, but she can't let go of one last thing she wants to say. "I know we're still figuring this out. But I can't stand the idea of losing you again. Please be patient with me." A quiet plea that promises she'll do the same if he can weather these moments where she messes up.

better get to diggin' while my body's getting cold.
i keep tryna fight it so just promise when i go, you'll bury me low

Despite the next apology, Sunjata doesn’t remind her that she doesn’t need to apologize. He knows she’s heard him the first time — and he’s learning a new key to this new version of himself. Patience. So it’s with a soft hum that’s close to a breathy chuckle that the Flood smiles to her. “Of course I understand.” Who else would?

His head tilts into her hand just as hers does to his calloused ones and he truly can’t help the playful scoff, even if the smile under her hand betrays his feigned upset. “I am learning to be more mature.” He rattles off, despite both of them knowing that. It was his mantra as of late. But their eyes meet, the after everything softening even further after her repeated admission of being the man she fell in love with; even if they had grown up.

Their foreheads meet and she laughs quietly and Sunjata relishes in the touch of her hand at his tattooed neck, eyes shut as she makes her quiet plea — one that she’ll find has his side of the bond wide open,  glimmer of understanding deep within the veins and complexities of Sunjata’s mind, inner turmoil, grief, and hope. “You won’t.” He quietly vows, before he lifts his head to press his lips against her crown. “I’m not going anywhere, do you know why?” He asks, keeping his lips against her skin while he speaks. “Because I don’t want to lose you again either. I’m here and will be here, Hotaru, whenever you need me.” An additional vow, punctuated with an actual kiss to her warm, wet forehead.

SUNJATA

you are such a soft and messy thing, nobody knows how to take care of you

Patience is exactly what the Valkyrie needs. Patience and soft hands - things she has been given aplenty since the war, but which never carried the same weight as his do now. And though his rebuttal is teasing and refuting, Hotaru's own answer is sincere. "You are. I can see it in you - and I'm proud of you." Words that come easier now because of her children, because of Flora. Honest admissions she'd had to learn to open up to for the sake of being a better woman, a better mother. They've both changed. Hotaru thinks it has been for the better.

She is still unused to the open weight of his emotions, making every nerve light up and every hair rise to be able to know in a way she has always so direly needed to. Her hand clings harder to his nape, fingertips sliding up into the edges of his hair almost desperately as he gives her every word she needs to hear, punctuated by little kisses that tie her into knots. And then, completely unexpectedly, she realizes she's crying. Hot, slow tears that accompany an almost painful smile - because she's happy. It's like cauterizing a wound that has been bleeding slowly since the day she left, and it hurts but it's finally, finally over. "Gods I'm a mess," she chokes on a laugh, though she can't bear to take her hands off him to wipe the tears away. "I've wanted to hear -" but she can't say it, can't admit to how pathetic she's been these past years. Instead, she tilts her head to kiss the high point of his cheek, the closest part she can reach. "I don't want to be so uncreative as to steal your words. But you have me. I'll be here as long as you want me, I promise." Because she can't think to word it any other way than to have it rely upon his own desires. If he leaves her again it will merely be a return to those early days; loving him in silence, and carrying onward despite it.

better get to diggin' while my body's getting cold.
i keep tryna fight it so just promise when i go, you'll bury me low

Her admission of pride is one that does surprise him — because while he’s heard it aplenty from Isla, there’s something about hearing it from Hotaru that cements it. That proves to him that he’s succeeding in the places he’s trying. And it’s a balm he had no idea he desperately needed. “Thank you.” He says softly, every ounce of honesty within it to prove that he’s taken it to heart, a beacon for him to stick with to ensure he’s following the path he wants to be.

He doesn’t realize she’s crying, either, until the drop of warm water meets his chest and it’s different already from the hot springs they’re in, and he almost pulls away if not for the way he reaches up with both hands again around her cheeks, thumbs swiping away the tears there, feeling her kiss to his cheek before his head lowers again to press them together, lips parting to speak before she takes his own words and sends them back, lips quirking into a small lopsided smile when he pulls back to continue letting his thumbs swipe along her cheeks.

“I’m sorry that we got so… Off track and astray. You’ve been here for me since the beginning of it all.” And she had been. Before Nate, when she’d kissed him at the altar on his wedding day to Phoebe. And she’d still been there through everything after — even there with Nate, who was the only one that before the war hadn’t seemed to pressure him or manipulate him into staying. She’s seen it all.

“Whenever you need me, I am here for you.” He finally decides to say, letting his hands trail back to run through the wet, gilded locks of hers, focusing on the way it looks beneath his fingers if only so he doesn’t awkwardly stare at her the entire time. “We will be there for each other, as we should have always been.”

SUNJATA

you are such a soft and messy thing, nobody knows how to take care of you

"You're welcome," she murmurs, holding tight to the wash of emotion between them. Pride, hope, gratitude. They are both trying, and for once they are succeeding more often than not. "Like it or not, we were young and stupid. We just thought we weren't." Certain that they were mature and eternally correct when they were unprepared in all ways for what the world had in store. "But we're both growing. That's what matters." And hopefully they will get the chance to continue to.

And maybe her tears are a little for that as well. New beginnings, fresh starts, the chance to live again after so much loss. As his hands gently wipe them away, callouses familiar even in their different locations now, Hotaru holds him close and lingers in her gratitude for this opportunity.

"I'm sorry too," she confides quietly. But as he plays with her hair, looking away, Hotaru only has eyes for him. Tucking that vow into her chest where it will surely warm and comfort her in the future, even when he is beyond her reach. "When did you become so eloquent?" she teases, even with her red eyes and soft expression. Keeping one hand on his neck, she lifts the other to gently enclose the one that slides through her hair. "I think that's a promise worth making." Squeezing his hand, she smiles. "Maybe we lost a little time, but it's nothing we can't make up, right?"

better get to diggin' while my body's getting cold.
i keep tryna fight it so just promise when i go, you'll bury me low

“Gods, if that isn’t the truth.” Sunjata murmurs, huffing another soft laugh before settling, his smile twisting more gentle despite the scar that splits his cheek. “That is what matters.” He agrees, drawing silent aside from his tender words so he can wipe away her tears, offer up his honesty, his side of the attuned bond, letting it soothe him like how the attuned ring that had sat on Nate’s finger had allowed it for a time before he’d changed.

His steel gaze snaps back to her when she apologizes, and for a split moment he thinks that he would do anything for her — let bygones be bygones. They’d hurt each other enough in their younger, stupid days. Now all he has room for is niceties, comfort, too exhausted to want anything else. He’d gladly leave his reputation and fame behind if it granted him some semblance of freedom these days. But he can’t, stuck with it as he is — as she is, in a way too.

The hand in her hair clasps with her on, smiling softer toward her. “I have my moments.” They’re few and far between, never quite getting out what he wants to say, but is pleased to know this has hit the mark. “Maybe I was inspired from the books in my hoard.” His scarred eyebrow lifts toward her as he angles his head, the feathered dangling earrings there that Nate had gifted him drags along her forearm.

He squeezes her hand back and presses his cheek to her arm, nodding. “Better late than never, right?” He murmurs, his freehand snaking around her waist again to keep her close. “Nevermind the fact I am so tired of all the dramatics.” He jests again, though there’s honesty that lingers under his joke.

SUNJATA

you are such a soft and messy thing, nobody knows how to take care of you

It would be easier to just forget. But what else would they be sacrificing amidst all those bad memories? The depths of their connection, the growth they'd so badly needed to struggle through. As much as she might selfishly desire the ease of forgetting, it had shaped them too thoroughly into who they were now.

But the day is not done, nor is it ruined by the lengthy change in tone. Hotaru considers it a good sign that they can move forward and not be daunted or retreat from these hard conversations - and it comforts something raw and long-hurting in her chest that is not yet convinced he won't abandon her.

Laughing and feeling a little lighter, Hotaru returns his tightened grip and grins from her slightly elevated perch. "But I thought you loved our dramatics!" she theatrically wails, and uses her arm around his shoulders to drag him with her backwards into the water, sacrificing herself for the sake of dunking him. The bubbles of the spring wash over her face, and she goes down smiling.

- Fin <33