to feel that we exist, even though in pain
♠︎ ♕ ♠︎
Her embrace startles him, because in all the years they’ve known each other it has never happened before. Oh, they’ve always been fond enough of each other - at least he has, and he assumes she feels the same, though their language is one of teasing quips and barbed compliments. Never anything earnest, and never has he seen Minya act like she needs anything from anyone.
But the way she folds into him now speaks of nothing but necessity. It grows his worry tenfold, even as he holds her back as best he can, running a soothing touch along her hair. They should be better at comforting one another, these orphans who grew up crooked but strong, a twisted rosebush bursting with blooms and thorns just beneath. They should be, but before he can even murmur wordless sounds of comfort she is stepping away again, composing herself, leaving some of her blood smeared against his golden skin and pale hair. For a moment their eyes meet, silver to silver.
Yes, she answers, but Minya had misheard the question. Are you hurt, he’d asked, not does it, and her affirmative has his pulse fluttering frantic, his gaze hunting again over her slender figure, but her coat is too dark and the light too poor to diagnose her. “Where?” he asks softly, but despite the way he shapes it it’s more demand than request.
When she gasps he starts forward again, ready to catch her, and it takes him a moment to decipher her words through the quaver in her voice. But it is her apology that has him reaching to embrace her again, his chin over the arch of her neck, her chest warm against his own. “Shhh,” he murmurs into her ear. “You have no reason to apologize. Just tell me what you need right now.”
@Minya | <3
