* ❛ .ashes to ashes

They — likely — shouldn’t be surprised that he worries for them; that the hand pressed against the center of the scar between and across their breasts is buffeted not just with care for a tool to use but for care for Lumine.  It shouldn’t surprise them that he looks and sees her, or that he looks at all.  They’re partners.  But ——— nobody else looks, let alone worries.  Nobody can bare to consider that Lumine is breakable, lest they need to feel guilty for asking her to sacrifice herself again and again and again and again.  His head rests against her shoulder and hers tilts to rest atop his, like that’s natural, and she ———

Realizes that she’s crying.  “Oh.”  A hands raises, presses carefully to her cheeks as though not believing it.  Tears.  When did they…last cry?  Not when Teppei died.  Not with Rue.  “You worry for me?”  There’s a ragged edge to her voice, sharp, almost - frantic, someone worries someone worries someone sees.  The earth worries for the stars.  Only the sky has ever done that, and he doesn’t, not any longer.  Lumine’s hands are back in her lap / she wishes they were around him / she doesn’t remember how to make her limbs move.  Albedo worries?  She loves him and he loves her and he — worries — ??

“I…didn’t know.”  Would it have changed anything, if they did?  Would they not still have tried to die for Inazuma, as if they know how to do anything else?  AT LEAST THEY WOULD HAVE KNOWN THAT IF THEY DIED SOMEONE WOULD MOURN, AND NOT SIMPLY THE LOSS OF A USEFUL OBJECT.  Voice small, voice breaking despite how flat it still is, “Thank you.”

     he hears the collapse of the stars in the way their voice breaks and it’s enough to move him / head raises from where he rests to witness firsthand the supernova’s fatigue; he sees her all alone, painted up against the empty sky and earth can only reach out in quiet yearning ( in jealousy of the sky, who had her always within their arms. ) gloved hand escapes lightnings grasp to take hold of lumine’s face — a frame for the work of art that they were, gentle yet perfect in the way he supports. thumbs brush the tears from their downward path and there is but just a moment to note how incredibly human they appeared / identical to the tears that klee cries / or perhaps lumine’s were drowned in a sadness more profound than any albedo has ever seen.

✧ ˚ · .  @devolusion​​  ✦  Klee should be happy, she knows, holding the story — the two stories. Her mother's and hers, all bound together. Klee and her mother, all bound together. But not really, of course. "Um...big brother," she ventures as they walk through the streets of Inazuma, holding the book tight to her chest. "Do you think Mamae will be...angry with Klee? That my story is with hers now?"It's been an old fear; what if Mamae hasn't come back because Mamae doesn't like her? Doesn't want anything to do with her? What if she's angry when she hears that Klee intruded?

there is little that could compare to the sting of abandonment. turbulent mind struggles to find justification for the action / desperate to reason with the act that was the knife shoved into the tender skin where a bleeding heart lies. klee was just a little girl of six years old and already had to find an explanation as to why her mother has deemed raising her to be unreasonable / has to wander with the doubts and insecurities that haunt the mind — which was to say, albedo did not particularly like miss alice much, in the same vein he did not particularly like his master much.

such sad line of thought had no place in joyous festivities, nor did her downcasted expression. that simply wouldn't do. ❛  i can't be sure how alice might react to seeing you have written your own novel.  ❜ there was no amount of research and field study that would ever be able to properly classify alice in any kind of way. ❛  but what i do know is that i'm very proud of the your book, klee. and it wasn't just me, did you see the way the traveler light up at seeing your novel? your story has already made people very happy.  ❜ he's down to her level now, free hand out to rest against her cheek.

“Oh, Mis — Albedo.”  Her surprise fades away; she even manages a smile, tinged with embarrassment as it may be.  He’s found her at an inopportune time; well, no.  It’s nothing extreme.  But rather than being neatly tied into the ponytail it usually is, her long hair cascades down her back in loose waves.  “I didn’t expect you to be in so early…good morning.”

Her hands have been…cramped lately; likely just a result of overuse.  It’s nothing bad, and not enough to keep her from her work, but she hadn’t realized until she’d gotten into the lab and tried to get her hair put back how irritating the minor loss of dexterity would be.  “I’m having some trouble tying my hair back…oh!  Um — if y - you don’t mind, could you…help?”

to see her already there brought something warm to the forefront of his chest; there was no morning light that could beat the glow that stirred within winter’s sky at the sight of her. smile spreads as naturally as the wind blows and the flowers bloom ( the sweet flowers specifically, the kind that grow near stormbearer mountain / the flowers deemed reachable only for those willing to traverse the climb towards the heaven ) and albedo does as he always does — the door closes behind him and he moves to place down the research notes in hand. 

It’s vulnerable but very simple, too; obvious, somehow.  Simple, nothing like the scar, like creeping frost or reaching lightning, and enough to have eaten up most of his chest — devouring.  Devouring.  She lets him touch the scars, still raised, as she sits with him; her skin burns beneath his touch.  It’s so rare, for others to touch them these days.  All except for him.  “Thank you.”  A quiet thing; gratefulness to have her pain acknowledged, like it matters at all that she is suffering.  It has to matter.  They want it to matter.  Then, voice flat, “Yes.”  The shogun’s attack was a pain they’ve not felt in a millenia.  Her hands shift in her lap, nervous, or trying to distract from the pain the memory prompts, phantom, across their chest.  She wants to say — it hurt me so badly i nearly couldn’t endure it, it hurt me worse than anything else, i wish the fact that i’d been hurt mattered to anyone at all.  She doesn’t.  “I thought I’d die.”

She looks up as a gentle hand finds a place atop her hat; the Spark Knight smiles, just a little, though it doesn’t reach her eyes.  Sometimes big brother talks a little bit funny, but Klee usually finds herself feeling better once she tells him what she feels, so she — tries.  As much as she can.  “I…yes.  It makes Klee sad.  If I make people feel bad, then that means I’m bad.  And if I’m bad, then…”  Then, then, then.  That’s bad enough on it’s own, to be bad, to be a reason that people are angry.  To always flinch from her own joy.  But.  “Then maybe…they’ll leave me, like…Mamae did.”

She doesn’t know how to say EVERY TIME I SMILE EVERYONE ACTS LIKE I’VE BEEN BAD.  She’s too young, and she just wants to laugh without anyone flinching, like her every whim is a danger or a bother or bad.  “When I…smile, or get excited, everyone gets…nervous, or angry.  Because I’m  always being bad.”  She must be a bad girl, if everyone always expects her to be.

“You’re a good person, but I’m a bad girl…”

There’s  a  dismissive  shake  of  the  head  as  a  response  to  the  other’s  caring  query  (  he  cannot  quite  remember  the  last  time  he  had  been  injured  by  a  minor  enemy  such  as  this  one,  if  ever  before  );  hues  glancing  towards  the  fallen  monster  once  more  out  of  caution  for  the  alchemist’s  safety,  though  it  lay  at  their  feet  unconscious,  unmoving.   ❛   It  has  become  a  force  of  habit,  so  there  is  no  need  to  thank  me,   ❜   The  point  of  focus  shifts  &  crimsons  change  trajectory,  falling  atop  the  homunculus’  visage.  There  is  no  need,  a  truthful  statement,  yet  incomplete  nonetheless.

He  had  used  to  reply  like  this  back  then  as  well,  under  the  foolish  impression  that  the  people  he  held  dear  would  always  be  there,  that  a  next  time  would  always  exist…  though  the  harsh  reality  had  proved  his  assumptions  as  gravely  incorrect,  and  thus  he  accepts  the  offers  now  -  there  is  no  need,  but  there  is  a  want,  and  he  wishes  to  stay  by  Albedo’s  side  if  a  few  minutes  longer,  to  linger  in  his  life  while  there  still  exists  an  opportunity  to  do  so.   ❛   But…  alright.   ❜   Glossing  over  the  blond’s  frame,  he  discreetly  inquires,  though  there  doesn’t  seem  to  be  any  injury  to  speak  of.   ❛   Should  I  take  it  that  you  aren’t  hurt  either,  then  ?   ❜ 

❛  even a force of habit deserves to be thanked all the same.  ❜ regardless if it had been due to his responsibilities or a simple act of kindness — albedo was indebted. dragonspine’s inhabitants were incessant the same way durin was; hungry / hungry / desperate to tear into the prodigal son and break the master’s most favorite toy ( it makes albedo wonder just how much of this encounter was by true coincidence and how much was the interference of the pyrite hiding among fields of snow. ) perhaps a familial intervention was yet again overdue.

“Will you draw me?” It’s a quiet question, thought not a shy one; straightforward, fathomless, wisp - like but unrelenting, the way all of their speech is.  It’s a quiet night; the festival is winding down and Lumine had, without really thinking of it, sought out his company.  He’d been awake, working at the desk in the room he’d been given for his time in Inazuma, apparently as unable to sleep as the Traveler had been.  It hadn’t seemed strange, to sit and then settle onto his bed half - curled, knees bent.  Comfortable, like the silence that’s stretched between them thus far.  No need for words.

It’s strange.  She used to distrust him, but now, being around Albedo is as close to comfortable as she ever feels.  “I want to know how you see me.”

they find him and albedo can’t bring himself to so much as pretend to be surprised at their arrival. it’s something as surefire as the way the sun rises and sets / as the way the birds learn to fly by the act of falling / lumine seeks out albedo and albedo seeks out lumine. just another truth to this world — another phenomenon that would be properly explained with enough investigation. tonight wasn’t the night for such inquiries though, for there were too many things that required his attention just a smidge more than this. she sits on his bed and though the gaze never leaves the brush strokes on the page, his attention rests purely in lumine’s hands.