stupid, insufferable, egotistical, pig-headed–
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.
" Don't–" it's only a whisper she can muster, choking back any sound that tries to escape. gone is the fire of her anger, leaving behind what existed beneath the god so wanted her to be. it is her devotion that cuts her open, letting her bleed in his arms, but it doesn't waver. hands slide down, remembering his shape (just in case, a voice whispers) before coming to settle against his waist as her forehead rests against the center of his chest. " Don't do that again. I wouldn't be able to survive it."