‘ we weren’t just pretend . ’ louis im booboo fool
happiness begins. / accepting. / @deviliscr
Louis is so good. Soma knows. So did Cruz. He is warm and loving and good, good, good, full - to - bursting with love and gentleness and unfathomable selfishness. The selfless kind of selfishness that leads a boy to refuse a girl’s desperate wish to die. The sick kind of selfishness that leads a man to allow a lover to reconstruct themselves in a dead god’s image. Both rooted in love, and goodness, and yet neither loving or good.
Soma wonders if that is their fault. They wonder if it was Cruz’s. To allow a good man to be so loving that he became less - than - good. Was it selfish, to ask him to kill her? Was it selfish, to remake themselves so that he could love them?
Maybe. Soma’s sorry. For him. For themselves, too.
Soma loves Cruz, because they can do nothing but love and love and try to be loved. They wish it was her, here, instead of them. Louis would be happier, and Cruz would deserve it more. But Soma is here, and they are selfish and loving and good, just like Louis is and just like Cruz was, and they are in love, and Soma is good at not thinking much beyond that.
“I know you weren’t,” Soma says, misunderstanding, or perhaps understanding too well. “You and Cruz were real. She loved you with all of her.” Soma knows, because she loves him with all of her, too, and it feels almost the same for them as it had for Cruz. Cruz’s love was different because Cruz is different ( a comfort, if nothing else, that there IS A SOMA AT ALL ) but it is the same pitch, the same intensity. A different hue. Two hearts loving him inside this body. Cacophonous, but right. Loving him will always be right.
“I love you with all of me.” Their hands are still around his waist, their cheek pressed to chest. They are not sad, but they are not happy. “I’m sorry that I’m not real like she was.”