heaven is here.

besides, unless Morgan herself commanded it, Millie harmed nothing.

" Has your time here dulled your reflexes? I'd expect more from a Beast." or former, in this case.

if this was the price he had to pay for living, the mastiff knocking him over was welcomed.

"Do you know what happened to him?" she asked, a tad meek considering how accusatory her tone had been just a moment prior. "There has always been a hole in Chaldea since he took action. As best as they try to put on a smile, anyone can see how it always hurts Master and Mashu".

oblivion. his throat tightens painfully, but the pressure is a welcomed distraction. he doesn’t want to say what he should, what he refuses to express aloud, about the foolishness, because it has never done anything. and still, his eyes are tired from seeing too much and being aware that nothing has changed. delayed, certainly, but nothing else. perhaps all that remains is the struggle until no more choices are left, it was what had brought Chaldea far.

insults fly quietly within her mind, all born from what she's come to call endeared annoyance. he smiles. through it all, he smiles, and she knows it isn't meant to mock her. he keeps most hidden behind a careful facade constructed out of necessity. and yet, around her, there was hardly a need for it. she remembers glimpses of it: a lingering curiosity in his gaze, the ghost of a smile before he was aware of it, the lasting tenderness of his hand wrapped around hers. they weren't just fragments of a long forgotten dream but reality. moments engraved into her skin, her very soul.

that is what it made it all the more difficult.

days turned into weeks and she had no choice but to figure out a life after him. those months where he was gone when she was still human was different– he was still there, present. the small glimpses she saw of him in the crowd were enough. and now? no matter where she had looked, she saw him. his mark was everywhere every second of the day. it was as if that assassin had tore her heart out all over again, leaving her to die without a second thought. in truth.....she would have preferred that. ( anything you want can ever only be a dream.)

and then he had the audacity to show up. just when she had finally learned how to breathe without him, to be able to feel as if jagged glass wasn't being forced down her throat, he looks at her as if nothing had happened.

it's infuriating. it's insulting. it isn't his fault and for the first time in this new existence, she wishes she was human once more. because then, at the very least, she would know how to feel.

her grip is unrelenting, a force in its own right. hands cling to his shoulder tight enough to leave marks in delicate flesh and later she would apologize, but right now, words are impossible. she lets him console her and bites her tongue, swallowing the taste of copper because it is a reminder that this was real.

his mouth had opened before that swordswoman had finished: no. we will not meet again. he thinks of the laughter that followed, a promise he was not obligated to see fulfilled but did, and the ocean as the only witness for that separation. he rarely speaks of his grief, his nature is pessimistic, but his tired eyes and bloodied hands are enough to say more than he will.

all of it still comes undone at the sight of her pain.

how cruel. how human in her inhumanity. the marks on his flesh will not leave — even if her grip fades, even if the smell of flesh blood fills the air, even if she apologizes with bitterly mustered tears. he will simply ask her to leave them again. and again. as many times necessary if she needs proof that he has never been able to deny her anything, the few things he possessed were always for hers to keep.

this is the price for his selfishness. if he were a kinder creature, he would turn away and refuse. he would not utter excuses. he would say in an even voice that it is impossible for him to offer what is falsehoods, especially when it will bring her nothing but more pain. he is not that creature. even after everything has been said and done, he wonders if he could have ever made that man proud with his choices. perhaps not the king, but the man that smiled like a fool would have.

he sighs softly against her hair, calloused hands passing through her curls and then, his mouth opens. the hebrew is more than enough for him to say what he does not know how to express. he asks softly how much she has endured, and then commends her for it. he talks about the details he has noticed about her crying face. he muses aloud about her eyes, the color and the shape. and then, he stays quiet, pondering but never letting her go, before his voice is calm when he speaks. “I promise.”

" Hey, yo! Fancy runnin' into you here. I take it Miss Olga convinced you to come? Hahahaha! Gotta say, bro; you're lookin' sharp as hell tonight. Might give the ol' count a run for his money. "

⠀⠀⠀The thought intrudes before she can stop it, when Dorothy's only just made her way inside. Of course, it was to be expected; that was the whole reason she sought out Re:Core. It didn't seem possible for her to yearn for 'home' the way it was, and yet it took little time at all for Dorothy to grow melancholy. Especially with how she left things... It's only natural she'd seek closeness with what's been left behind. She's sure she can find alcohol here that would make Scarlet flushed just to look at; she's positive the churches of Archimedes would give Rapunzel solace. Snow White is here in the flesh, and she'll continue doing what she's been doing for decades regardless of location. But she wanted to start here... She wanted to start somewhere Red Hood would've put out of business.

⠀⠀⠀Of course, if Red Hood were here, Dorothy wouldn't be so overwhelmed looking at all of this lost media at her fingertips. She would find what she wanted with scary precision, and then waste more time listening to the rest anyway. She realizes very quickly that she's somewhat out of her depth, and seeing only one other person in the vicinity, edges to a polite distance with a soft clear of the throat.

⠀⠀⠀❛ ⠀Excuse me... If I were to ask you to name a few classics, what would come to mind ? The older the better.⠀❜ ⠀

his first reaction is intrigue, and then his eyes narrow in contemplation. the answers are not any difficult to ponder, but he has not thought in these terms for so long. he has grown more used to what is shared with him— whether it is a cooking show, or a movie night, and it is peaceful. so he muses, tapping the disk he had picked up with his fingers, before giving a noncommittal hum.

her body is what reacts first, immediately melting into the embrace. every ounce of stress and tension that's plagued her for far too long evaporates. her hands remain unsure as her mind struggles to catch up, hovering in place, unsure whether to touch or merely hang by her sides. and through the fog that remains, the pieces start to fall into place.

his arms around her, his hands cradling her face, lips touching every place they could were warm. every action sent a chill down her spin and it burns like heat touching frostbitten skin for the first time. his voice surrounded her not as a memory, but something that was there and real. she could feel his heartbeat in his chest against her own, hear it pounding away as he left no space between them. the tears that flowed started to slow as the anguish she's felt for far too long begins to vanish. small hiccups punctuate her breathing as it steadies and eyes widen when she realizes—

this is real.

her mind finally catches up. hands that knew not what to do raise to hastily rub away at the remains of the offending tears, ignoring how her eyes burn from the mere action of crying. she blinks once, twice, a third time as she pulls back only enough to clearly see his face, gaze scanning over every inch, searching. everything was still the same. no new scars. eyes that reminded her of warm honey. her name falling familiarly from his lips and emotions conveyed she knew like the back of her hand.

he looks no different than the last time and there is something comforting about that, for that was another worry for her. being left alone, though terrifying, was something she could handle in the end if it meant he was still living. perhaps that is selfish on her part, maybe even hypocritical, but she didn't care. she already had her time to be human, to learn and experience, to just be the ordinary Olga Marie before waking up for the last time. he was only just afforded that chance and even if the world was against such a thing, it still needed to be known.

but that didn't matter anymore. the haze clears from her eyes and even as tears threaten to flow fresh once more, she keeps them at bay. she tries, oh how she tries to put on a strong front but it is weak, easily seen through by how her voice still trembles, how she refuses to pull away from him. " You idiot." there is no bite to her words, nothing that could cut and wound. even her hand that tries to shove his shoulder only connects to slide down and cling feebly to his shirt as eyebrows furrow.

maybe it would've been easier if he had never loved that foolishness so much. maybe it was the contradiction that had caused his gaze to still for insignificant seconds. maybe it had been the apprehension that allowed the curiosity, or the pitiful mercy of sparing her from his own idiocy. or, maybe it was his own reflection — being looked at with the same judgement, followed by the genuine, vulnerable need to be seen.

but perhaps that had never mattered.

his eyes have never followed any conventional rules — when it came to his gaze, it expressed everything or merely remained blank. but he had never been able to deny her anything, not when she brought up the heart that he had believed he had discarded a long time ago. not when she rightfully shares her pain, because he had always loved how strong she could be when the world had spared no kindness for her. not when he can see her face and it brings nothing but the most genuine smile.

“If I listened to everything you said, you would grow suspicious.” a hand moves to hold her cheek, thumbs wiping away the tear stains. then, carefully, he comes closer as if to not startle her before placing a kiss to her forehead. there is a silence that he refuses to let go, giving her the opportunity to cry as he holds her with the same tenderness that she always brings from him. “I am sorry.”

She'd not gotten the chance to question the root of the look before taking in his words. "—eh?"

“Not an impostor,” he pauses, deliberately ignoring the utter mess that involved his creator. the more sentimental part, however, disagrees. it wins in the end, because he has never been able to turn away from how much that man matters. still matters, even if Goetia will never express that aloud. “This form is the only one that I can take.”