@venomoushelianthus
Euphoriaâs crowd and din threatens to overwhelm at once; this isnât exactly the sort of venue heâd typically find himself in, and itâs surely apparent to anyone who catches a glimpse of him, of his downward-turned face, the sunglasses despite the hour. He doesnât mind braving this discomfort. V had heard rumors - no, not quite so intentional, just passing mentions - of someone that he could hardly ignore.
And how quickly he manages to find her, even with his vision being what it is - the beatific smile, the pools of golden hair. She may as well be a celestial body (a sun, a sun) with all others helplessly being pulled into her orbit. V exhales, and wills away the shake.
His hand dashes out, a primal thing, as if it might glance across her shoulder, or else grab hold - but it falls just as quickly back to his side. He knows - he should know - better than to run off of assumptions.
He should know better than to think anything has changed.
âRika,â V says in a kind of clammer, that familiar monosyllable making him trip tonight. He steadies himself.
âRika.â (Again, smoother, like she might remember.) âCould we - talk?â
If he could still see the minute way her features would twist - nothing more than a blip in the radar, sometimes - maybe he could gauge her reaction at seeing him. He would be a fool, wouldnât he, to hope for some modicum of relief - of happiness?
Of course.
Heâd come here under the assumption that he was confronting something, that he had the element of surprise - how childish - on his side. But in the resident warmth of Rikaâs presence (even the ghost of it, even the brittle shell of it) Vâs immediately certain heâs wholly out of his element. Hasnât he always been, where she was concerned?
