boundless sky

Send me a:◇ for my muse to to play with your muse’s hair● to hold my muse’s hand☆ to go on a mundane adventure with my muse, such as to get groceries or coffee etc

〖 ⎯✫⎯ 〗

        Nean was really not a morning person, and this she knew. Knew so well, in fact, that at first she wasn’t really sure if she wanted Ietsuna to spend the night. How would take to the absent-mindedness grogginess that overtook her usual personality whenever she woke up? Her unwillingness to talk? Her tendency to groan and mumble things instead? Bringing up her bad tendencies in conversation was always difficult for her to begin with, and the worst part was that it didn’t occur to her until she had already retired to her room that she realized she’d forgotten to mention it to Ietsuna at all.

        And so came morning, when the sun was already above the horizon and shining brightly through the line of empty rooms. Nean is shuffling through the hall in a stupor, attempting to find her guest. Most of the swords were occupied today, from horsekeeping to training—something she usually made a habit to do whenever anyone besides G. came to stay. Only her secretary had the day off, though it was likely he was still sleeping at this hour.

        This room was empty. Empty as well. A bedroom. Ietsuna. Empty. A bedroom. Emp-

        Her feet slow to a stop from her light shuffling, and Nean automatically turns around to walk back towards the occupied room. Immediately she comes face to face with the back of Ietsuna’s golden head of hair on the other side of open doors, glistening brighter than usual in the light. Still drowsy eyes squint in instinctive response as she stands there watching the other’s silent back; he is still and his head lowered, likely reading some kind of book as he sat there in the morning sunshine with a cup of tea atop the table.

        The female saniwa makes no attempt to announce her presence, being completely enchanted by the sight of the other’s golden hair. It looked as messy spiky as ever—did the other perhaps wake up like this? Did that mean his normal hairstyle was his bedhead? How did it even manage to stick up like that? Was it pointy like a hedgehog’s? The questions fuel her genuine curiosity, and without a single forethought she does what would normally be unthinkable for her.

        She reaches out to gently touch the spikes of his hair with her palm.

        The small jolt Ietsuna responds with is noticed by Nean, who only makes a soft groan in apology, still too drowsy to adequately talk. His hair is actually quite soft—much softer than her own, she thinks to herself, absentmindedly looking down at the hand she had just reached out with. Maybe one day she’ll be able to run her hands through it and not feel weird about it.

        So instead she plops down right next to the male saniwa at the table and leans her head right on his shoulder as if it were perfectly normal to be using him as a makeshift pillow. She is not expecting his shoulder to be this comfortable, however, and her mind immediately begins to fall back into slumber. She is so comfortable, in fact, that she fails to realize that her hand is resting in the other’s book-free hand.

        “Market.” she mumbles, so softly that she can barely understand herself. She is essentially requesting they go to the market now, as she remembers making plans with him the night before to buy some fruit for him, since there were none in her citadel right now. The walk there would definitely wake her up, she tells herself, as her eyelids become heavier in the warmth of the morning sun.

       Even now—especially now— Giotto can’t help but to lean into her touch, eyes closing involuntarily. What happens next shouldn’t be a surprise, but he can’t stop his sharp inhale when she pulls him into her arms. The curve of their bodies fitting together is achingly familiar, and he could cry from the sheer joy of it. Elena is warm and vibrant and alive, and he never thought he could have this again.

                ( even if this was only just a dream, even if he were to wake up to cold reality right this moment, he would be content. how could he not, when given one more chance to hold her in his arms? to hear the clear affection in her voice? time has blunted both grief and longing, but for the days when it turns sharp like the strike of a knife. )

       “What would I do without you?” He mutters beneath his breath. It’s a silly question— he knows full well what he’s done. What they’ve all done. With effort, he brings a smile to his face. It becomes easier when he sees Elena watching him, lets the joy she inspires bubble up and finally relaxes, shoulders dropping as he sinks further into the plush couch. Exhaustion hits him all at once— he is getting too old for this kind of excitement. Elena fusses over him, the look in her eyes brooking no refusal. “You are a treasure, cara mia,” he says, wearily fond. “Do you… do you still have that tea Daemon likes? The one only he drinks? I…” miss him too, he won’t say. Not to her, not yet.

Giotto is not going to cry. He misses her so much, but he doesn’t want to worry her more than he already has. Elena was—is— stronger than people may think, but Giotto never wants to be another burden for her to shoulder.

How much time has he spent longing for the easy affection between them? How many days has he spent looking over at the table, expecting tea and snacks to be laid out and only one empty chair instead of two? What would he have given to have even just one more day with her?

Well. He has his one day now, doesn’t he? He doesn’t know what sent him here or for how long, but there’s nothing he can do about it now. Catching Elena’s hand in his, he presses his forehead against the back for a long moment, eyes closed. He wants to protest like a petulant child, doesn’t want to waste a single minute of time with her with sleep, but then she’ll give him a look, concerned and disappointed at the same time, and he hates disappointing her, they all do.

“Please,” he says quietly, “I’d like that.”

And then he looks up and gives her a smile, a little wan, too tired to be anything but truthful, but he’ll always have a smile for her.