THERE'S NO GLORY IN LOVE.

❛ Your ship is being deconstructed. I can take you there tomorrow to extract any material you may want to keepsake. ❜

For its decay cannot survive the upcoming days with her. For anything on it that won't be metabolized here, will be cubed up and sent to some other planet. Likely the one Willow and her people will be sent to when Ekien decides which ones of his places will suit them better.

The dress Hara wears is a shade of pink made for her. It makes her body tell a blush unique towards her hereditary material. It winks at her knee to peak it. That is where a little blue bird sits as she pets its fluffy headtop. It coos a sleepy little song. If birds could smile like people do, it would.

❛ Maybe I suggest you make a necklace or bracelet out of something. ❜

Their survival might depend on a match he orchestrates for her, or perhaps the atomics that Hugo still possesses the key for. Willow had been excited to land, to meet new people and learn their customs; she has done a fair amount of people-watching since they got here. What she has learned is that they are nothing. They are homeless. With the destruction of her home raft, she has nothing but what Hugo has planned for her -- if anyone will even take her.

Hugo says someone will. She's pretty, after all, and has an enchanted air to her. She still bleeds blue, which will help.

Willow takes a shaky breath inward.

IN  THE  BATHROOM  HE  TAKES  A  MOMENT  TO  SPLASH  COOL  WATER  ON  HIS  FACE,      the  nape  of  his  neck,  careful  to  wipe  clean  any  stray  water  that  falls  onto  the  counter.  his  bangs  stick  together,  stick  to  his  forehead,  his  cheeks  still  burning  red  as  he  gazes  at  himself  in  the  mirror.  peers  at  the  split  in  his  lip  that  still  occasionally  leaves  a  metallic  taste  in  his  mouth.  he’s  no  stranger  to  this,  to  the  blood  caught  between  his  teeth,  to  the  weird  anger  fueled  desire.

he’s  not  even  here  and  he’s  a  looming  shadow  over  everything  jongwoo  does.  jongwoo  signs  and  exits  the  bathroom.

back  in  the  kitchen,  jongwoo  takes  the  water  that  was  poured  for  him  and  takes  a  nice,  long  and  cool  drink  of  it.  this  is  a  hangover  he  knows  he’s  going  to  feel  in  the  morning  —  he’s  already  dreading  it.

“  it’s  a  nice  house  —  ”        he  lifts  one  finger  from  the  glass  to  gesture  about.  he  feels  a  little  guilty  being  so  mean,  but  he’s  not  going  to  apologize.  he  feels  guilty,  but  not  sorry.        “  —  anyways.  you  need  to  be  more  careful  walking  around  busy  roads.  you  could  have  really  gotten  hurt.  ”

he  wonders  what  she  would  have  looked  like,  splayed  out  like  a  pinned  butterfly  under  the  car.  he  shutters  at  the  thought.

“  go  get  ready  for  bed.  ”       his  head  still  swims.  he’s  a  lot  more  drunk  than  he  wanted  to  be  tonight.  jongwoo  presses  the  cold  of  the  glass  to  his  temple.

If there is one, of course. The way he's acting right now makes her think she might not see him again after this. He might be to ashamed tomorrow... Which he seems eager to get to. Willow isn't tired in the least. She purses her lips, planning some sort of protest, but feels pretty childish when it comes to opening her mouth and saying something.

Willow gets up, disappears for a few minutes and returns bare-faced, wearing an oversized shirt and shorts for pyjamas. She smells like roses and mint mouthwash. She's happy he didn't leave while she was gone.

“  RIGHT.  THEN  YOU  LEAD  THE  WAY.  ”

it  was  a  bit  silly  for  him  to  try  and  lead  her  home  like  he  knew  where  he  was  going  at  all.  she’s  put  in  front,  her  wrist-leash  loosened  only  as  little  so  that  she  can  lead  him  where  they  need  to  go.  still,  even  despite  her  earlier  proddings,  he  looks  behind  him.  beside  them.  up  and  around  at  balconies  and  office  building  windows.  no  sign  of  his  shadow  anywhere.  was  he  really  being  that  paranoid?

he  doesn’t  stop  at  the  door  when  they  finally  make  it  to  her  place.  it  would  have  been  a  better  idea,  maybe,  to  leave  her  be  after  making  sure  she  got  to  her  driveway  safe  —  instead,  once  the  door  is  opened,  he  gives  her  a  gentle  shove  further  inside  the  door,  sliding  inside  right  behind  her.

he  gives  their  surroundings  one  final  look  before  he  shuts  the  door  behind  them,  locking  it  every  way  available.

“  drink  some  water,  you’re  going  to  get  a  headache  in  the  morning  if  you  don’t.  and  eat  something  too.  where  is  your  bathroom?  ”        bossing  her  around  like  he  owns  the  place.  like  he  didn’t  just  invite  himself  in  as  a  guest. 

Willow stumbles into her own home with a little squeak. She wasn't prepared for the shove! Doesn't mind it much either, though. Especially when he steps in behind her and locks the door. Rationally, Willow knows he probably wont kiss her again, but she can't help but feel giddy that he's here.

"You're so bossy." She laughs airily, already making her way over there. Willow pours him a glass, too, because she's a good host. "Bathroom's down that way. Last door on the left."

ALCOHOL  ALWAYS  MAKES  IT  WORSE  —        the  anger  is  fed  and  flourishes,  burning  red  hot  in  his  chest  and  in  his  belly  and  his  cheeks.  his  lips  are  red  and  swollen  far  before  he  kisses  her.  he’s  not  really  sure  why  he  kisses  her.  perhaps  he’s  relieved  he  didn’t  have  to  witness  her  paint  the  sidewalk  red.  her  eyes  are  hazy  and  glazed  over,  she’s  not  listening  to  a  word  he  says  —  maybe  it’s  his  way  of  waking  her  up  from  her  trance.

either  way,  now  that  they  are  both  here,  connected  so  intimately  for  near  perfect  strangers,  they  might  as  well  make  the  most  of  it.

with  his  newfound  control  over  the  situation,  he  takes  the  reins  —  his  hands,  once  on  her  shoulders,  now  grip  and  grapple  their  way  down  to  her  waist,  pulling  her  body  flush  to  his  own.  he  doesn’t  care  for  the  looks  other  cast  at  them,  he  doesn’t  pay  any  attention  at  all  to  the  gaze  he  knows  bores  hateful  holes  into  them.  if  anything,  it  makes  him  want  to  put  on  more  of  a  show.  it's  less  of  a  kiss  now  and  more  a  desperate  bid  for  control.  it’s  violent,  even  a  touch  needy.

and  then  it's  over.  just  as  suddenly  as  the  kiss  happened,  jongwoo  pulls  back.  takes  a  step  back.  remembers  himself.  remembers  the  dangerous  animal  that  lurks  in  the  shadows.  he  takes  a  firm  hold  of  her  wrist  —  she  can’t  walk  into  traffic  if  he  leashes  her.

“  i’m  walking  you  home.  ”        not  an  invitation  for  argument,  no  room  for  misinterpretation.  he’s  going  to  make  sure  she  gets  home  without  getting  killed.  he  can’t  guarantee  what  will  happen  when  he  leaves,  though.

She responds to Jongwoo in a way that surprises her. Her hands grip him, as greedy and aggressive as he grips her. She finds herself giggling, giddy and pleased to have gotten such a reaction out of him. When he stops kissing her, she's still riding the high of it -- even if she is a little disappointed with the fact that he stopped at all.

I'm walking you home. She giggles some more.

"Yes sir." As she's being wrenched along. Willow glances behind them, wondering why he's so convinced somebody is going to kill her tonight. "My house is that way."

None of it matters. Not now, when they have locked out the rest of the world and opened another door, one that activates every dead cell in his body, his mind alight with all the wants he has smothered since he told her, a year ago, I am a patient man.

It was a lie. Of course it was. And yet Willow made it truth. He caged his desire for her. He exercised a greater restraint than he has known in centuries, and allowed her to drive him willingly towards madness. Now there is more than merely his initial hunger; a fervour of feeling has grown within him. It burns as their bodies press together, his hands descending from her face, needing the proximity they have denied themselves for so long.

He kisses her with this torment in mind, the days and weeks and months they have to make up for. The awareness of where they are—Willow's bedroom—flares within him. Again, he kicks the door shut behind them, blocking out everything else, because all that exists is—

Willow, her pounding heart, pumping blood, pouring thoughts through the open doors of their minds. It is an intimacy Sebastian has never known: this melting of minds, erasing the lines between them, her thoughts becoming his, the bleeding of her heart awakening his.

His hands distract her, but Willow's mind is on his mouth. Where it lingers, the blood seems to beat harder against the boundary of her skin. She's hot all over, face red and flushed with need of him. Willow finds her arms have drawn him closer. Her legs, too, seem to be holding fast at his sides. Desperate for contact --

Will he bite me? Sebastian has always appeared very controlled, but here he is, undone. He seems hungry for her. The thought crosses her mind, the idea of him losing himself so entirely in desire that he bites and she bleeds, and she finds her own eyes blacking out to onyx. Her teeth catch on her lower lip, blooming perfect droplets of blood before healing over.

but there's an unbearable resemblance there in the way willow responds: the throb of her heart so big, so close to the skin you can see it pacing inside. thudding along like a protest sign.

"yes." she answers impassively, the collection of dishes paused, her face carefully devoid of sentiment. it isn't cool, that expression, but simply placid. absent of temperature. in the halo of the table's candlelight there is something aerial about it, the soft glow rendering her immaterial. angelic, in the way that angels are creatures of war, of eternal guardianship. removed forever from humanity. "not that i like you. i do." her head shakes. it doesn't feel like a conscious choice. rather that every part of her body wishes this could be different. "and that doesn't mean a thing."

the remaining dishware makes almost no noise in her return to the kitchen, not as she moves nor as she places them on the counter. it's hard to tell where that strange grace comes from — years in a star-making studio or her ability to move independent from the ground.

near the sink, dove finds herself staring a drop of wine on the marble. a perfect scarlet drop, still wet. her eyes close. she inhales before situating herself in the entry, leaning against the doorframe as she watches wraith with concern.

She's sure that Vought had Dove do plenty she's ashamed of. The same way Saults seems to have sucked the marrow from her joy, Willow can see herself following in her hero's footsteps - albeit under the thumb of a different company. Being just like White Diamond was always the plan, ever since she was a kid. She just didn't know how awful it would be.

It's this thought that takes the wind out of her. She looks down at the table, for a good few seconds of silence before looking back up at Dove. The tears are there now, glittering but never spilling.

"I'm sorry. People don't usually treat me well. I can usually tell when they're pretending, too. But maybe I got too -- maybe because it was you, I-- I--"