created to create
He wonders if Mateo can see the sadness in his smile, the way it doesn’t quite reach his eyes or stretch across his features the way it would any other day. He hopes he doesn’t; Ipomoea would hate for the pegasus to think it was something he had done, or that the Regent did not like him so much. It was only the heaviness weighing on his heart, the admission that was yet to come.
But he pushes it to the side for a moment longer, and his tone is sincere when he turns back to the other man. “I would like that,” he says softly. “Very much, in fact.”
He holds his gaze for a long, wavering minute before looking away. He doesn’t make any promises, doesn’t vow to hunt down the elusive river dolphins with him. It’s impossible to know yet when he’ll get the chance to - if he’ll get the chance to. So he settles for a smile and bites the inside of one cheek, willing the day to stop, willing the hour to turn backwards and repeat itself so that they might have all the time in the world to talk about fables and plan adventures.
But alas, the world didn’t stop for anyone, let alone for Po.
He watches Mateo’s face carefully, witnessing the lines deepen and the confusion etch itself in those grooves. But he doesn’t have any more of an explanation to give - he had kept himself up at night arguing with his own mind, and still he had come to no solid conclusions.
He was certain that he had to go. But he was less certain on why.
Ipomoea had told himself he would find out when he arrived, that if it was some destiny pulling him to the other Court then surely all would be revealed soon enough. But that was hardly a good excuse to give anyone who questioned him, especially when for all means and purposes it appeared as if he were about to abandon his Court. His smile diminishes, until it’s a sorry wisp of a thing hiding on his lips.
“It has to be me.” His words are as soft as his smile, and almost as sad. How could anyone stand in his place when his mission was intrinsic in nature? Denocte didn’t need him, of that he was almost positive; he needed Denocte.
He watches as Mateo clears his throat, and lowers himself into a bow. His heart feels unsettled by the gesture, as if whispering to his veins of how undeserving it is of such regard. But his doubts are his own, and not something he’ll unload on the other pegasus. Not here, not now.
“Thank you,” his voice is warm, but his brows are still furrowed. He forces them to relax, to make his smile softer, his face more welcoming, but it’s hard. Harder than it ought to be. “It makes me glad to know you’ll be here.” And it does - despite the uncertainty he catches in the scribe’s tone, despite his youthful nature. Ipomoea had been young and tentative once. It was his rank that had made him blossom, that had secured him his confidence. He had no doubt that Mateo would rise to the occasion; and besides, the Regent was a man with a forgiving nature.
He clears his own throat now, trying to swallow past the thickness that closes around his chest. “I don’t want to keep you too long,” he says. ”And I’m sure I’ve given you much to think about already.” The library was often a place of solitude; there was an atrium calling his name even now, where the canopy parted to reveal the sky and a small pond played sweet music to fill the quiet room. It was his favorite place to come and reflect, when he made the journey to the library. He wanted to visit it one more time before his departure.
But he doesn’t leave just yet. Hesitation is etched into his soul, knowing that once he leaves this room, he can’t come back. Time won’t ever stop.
@mateo | "speaks" | notes: text
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