sweet in your memory

it feels rather as though he’s been shot. a slug right to the stomach. not the heart, not the head. those would be too simple, too direct. a sawn-off shotgun pointed right at his belly and fired. once, twice maybe. a spray of pellets. it feels like being torn, ripped open. muggle weapons have a blunt, indelicate way of dealing out pain that magic lacks. there is nothing elegant about the way she appears to him now. nothing mystical or whimsical about the truth she is part of. “so. it’s all just a lie? nothing is true - none of it?” he’s disgusted, and he may be an actor, but there is nothing hidden in his voice now. nothing false. this is, perhaps, the closest he’s ever come to pure hatred. the words feel like rot as they cascade from him, and it’s wrong, but it is true. it is what she has earned from him, after all of this. “fuck you, selene. you are so, so much worse than even you think you are. and i know you hate yourself. i can see it.” he doesn’t know if he’s right, but it feels right. she must hate herself. she has to, if she’s still human. “i can see all of it, now. all of you. and you’re nothing but a sick, pathetic coward. and your hand is in all of it. every single part of that evil - you did it. you let it happen. you disgust me.”

something. the word itself is ominous, and his heart immediately stutters in a sharp, radiating ache. it drifts throughout his chest. his throat closes up, and all he can think to do is to reach out, hand hanging numbly in idair, halfway between them. her family? her parents? there were targets on their backs. on his back, but more so on hers. all because she sought to do good. all because she was the best of them, of anyone. he swallows, and pushes words out through the block. “something?” he asks, and his hand finds home, clasping onto her shoulder. “rosa, are you okay? is everything - is everyone okay?” he asks quietly, guiding them both towards the couch, preparing himself for something terrible, hoping against all hope that he’s only overreacting. “please - tell me.”

he’s not sure what to make of it - not sure, really, what to make of selene at all. she’s always evaded him, his understanding. once, ajax had thought he could read people pretty well. good or bad, interesting or boring, polite or genuine... but the longer the war stretches on, the harder it’s becoming. he looks at her, probably for a few seconds too long, trying to work out a response. slowly, his trademark grin fades, until his face is serious. it’s not an expression he’s used to. “okay,” he says it slowly. like she’s testing him. a small frown crinkles between his brows. concern. for her or for hiself, he’s not sure - the former, probably. he’s never been great at self-preservation. “and if it was meant for me - i mean, if you were going to say something, to me, for me - what would it be? how different would you make it?” he’s not sure even what he’s saying. ajax laughs at his own idiocy, and looks down. “jesus. you’re confusing, you know that? i can’t work you out, not for anything. i feel like - and i know this is rich, coming from me - i feel like you’re always putting on an act. so just be real with me, for a minute. if it wasn’t meant for me, then what was meant for me?”

ajax laughs. “why, ‘cause i’m just too nice to see it?” he knows she’s probably right - he wouldn’t see it. ajax isn’t sure if it’s because he’s incapable of seeing anything as purely evil, or just willfully blind to it. he smiles. “oh, but i am - if i’d have gone to hogwarts, that hat would’ve known it immediately. no gryffindor for me.” he looks down. it’s not that he’s scared of not finding something - there’s a war, going on, after all. the arts might have to wait. it’s simply that he’s not normally one to back out of commitment. “no. but they’ve got their own issues.”

“aw, c’mon, if you were an asshole all the time do you really think i’d hang out with you?” he grins, shaking his head. she’s not right about herself: she’s not an asshole, and she’s normally right. ajax just wishes she didn’t have to be - he’d rather see the world as a place of hope than a boxing ring. “no, no, you’re right. i need to quit. i’m the one being a coward. i’ll find something else to do for the next three months - hell, i could try get myself into the muggle theater. that’d be something.”

he’s not used to real feelings - ajax is accustomed to simplicity and happiness, a stupid joke or a competition. he’s played real problems, he’s faked real tears. but he’s lived a charmed enough life not to know what it’s like, truly, to hurt. “oh,” he says quietly, wrapping an arm around her and squeezing. “rosa.” he knows how to be there, physically, to hug her close and let her cry, or hurt. but he hasn’t a clue what to say. “babe, i’m sorry. it’s okay. you’ve got me. i’m right here.”

“if i could sing, i’d love the part. it’s actually really, really good. better than most of the ones i get, you know. but i’d be an asshole if i didn’t step down.” he knows it should be simple. but he’s always hated disappointing people. “right, ‘cause that’ll do wonders for the whole ‘stop the world from thinking we’re together’ thing.”

he sighs. “but he really, really wanted me for the part! and i can't let him down like that - he’ll think i just don’t want it, or something. what i was thinking, right - i get mysteriously, deeply sick. lose my voice, even. solves the problem!”