[FTB] to make every moment holy

[Marisol]

I will follow you down
until the sound of my voice will haunt you

Marisol cannot know what, exactly, Orestes is thinking. They have missed too much of each other’s lives (and, despite feeling otherwise, known each other too short a time) to know what fragments of the past tend to surface the most. Besides, Marisol thinks, he might always been an enigma; it seems unavoidable when one considers the fact that his life is not his own anymore, but written and reported as if part of a history textbook.

But if she did—oh, if she did, she would know they are feeling so many of the same things.

Guilt, heavy as a boulder in her chest, at the thought of being happy; especially at the thought of being this happy, and for this long. A sense of long-held, nerve-tingling apprehension at the thought—knowledge?—it might all fall away as fast as it came, and she will be left closer to drowning than ever before. A gnawing feeling that she should be preparing for disaster rather than enjoying the sigh of the breeze; the warmth of Orestes’ mouth against her; the feeling that she is not Commander or Sovereign or even Marisol now; but a girl who is in love and nothing else.

And yet all that falls away under the burn of his eyes, and Mari’s breath catches in her throat like it’s threatening to choke her out of thinking and straight into raw feeling.

The trees close in, and all that is not really Marisol—the fear, the stress, the pain—falls away, away, away.

Her. Him. Cherry trees.

“Speaking.”

credits