[ They've gotten better at crying, after a few good chances to practice. They don't panic and choke, just hold tightly to his coat as they let the waves of their grief crash around and through them. ]
If you know your brother will be taken care of -- then let yourself chase your own happiness. Even if it takes time, or you don't know what that looks like yet. Don't forget that you deserve it too.
[ they chew on their reply a long moment. It had been part of their calculus, in finding the necessity of this wish: untangle their life from Nemo’s. Untangle their future from their past, their goodness from their transgression. It would be easy to tell Minuet that this had already been their plan.
But instead they reach up and put a hand on each of his cheeks, knowing that their skin is once more mammalian-warm because of what he has given them. ]
[ Their smile is a watery echo of his. How long has it been since they sat together on this same roof, and they saw that cracked-open smile of his and couldn’t begin to parse what it meant? They know now. They know.
Brown feather sprout from the backs of their hands: not a request, just another reflexive mimicry. (As if it is either of their abominable forms could take credit for what is between them, and not the lovely shape of their hearts.) They just want him to understand how much they love him. How much he has changed them. That these short days have been the happiest of their life. ]
[ and then, without waiting for an invitation— or rather, knowing the invitation will never be rescinded— they curl up against him to rest for a while and imagine two frogs in a tiny blue dog house. ]
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featherduster) wrote2023-06-15 02:30 pm
Re: Night 85, late
Re: Night 85, late
Bluebell . . . Bluebell . . . Minuet . . .!
Re: Night 85, late
It's okay.
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But instead they reach up and put a hand on each of his cheeks, knowing that their skin is once more mammalian-warm because of what he has given them. ]
Will you?
[ mutually assured self-actualization ]
Re: Night 85, late
He huffs out a watery chuckle ]
Brat.
[ But isn't it the same for him? Sitting out here with blonde hair and no scars ]
. . . I will.
Re: Night 85, late
Brown feather sprout from the backs of their hands: not a request, just another reflexive mimicry. (As if it is either of their abominable forms could take credit for what is between them, and not the lovely shape of their hearts.) They just want him to understand how much they love him. How much he has changed them. That these short days have been the happiest of their life. ]
Then . . . me too. I promise too.
Re: Night 85, late
I love you. Remember that too.
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[ and then, without waiting for an invitation— or rather, knowing the invitation will never be rescinded— they curl up against him to rest for a while and imagine two frogs in a tiny blue dog house. ]
I love you too.
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It will feel different, without them. This place. ]