No more pain. There was no more pain bestowed to her, and with that she was left at peace. Within the comfort of Caleb’s arms, it was as if a piece of his soul was speaking out to her. She’s always been good about reaching out to souls, to get this sort of feel for how their soul was. With Caleb, his soul was similar to hers in a lot of ways. The gentleness, kindness that he had, and yet… it was broken somehow. Like he had gone through something similiar to what she was going through right now. Abuse, the feeling of not being strong enough.
It was enough for Willow’s Soul to call out to him.
No longer in pain, she slept peacefully, now assured that she was safe. Her breathing even, and there was no worries about nightmares. The whole ordeal had made sure that her dreams would stay away, at least for the night. Occasionally, she found herself nuzzling to the dark haired man, mumbling in her sleep here and there. But, for the most part, she was silent. Everything seemed at peace.
It was around late morning when the painter woke up, eyes fluttering open as the sun peeked inside of her little studio. With soft movement, she stirred, moving her frame until she got them working and awake. A bit of a sting came from her side, making her wince a bit. Don’t move too sharply.
A soft baritone hum retracted from his lips as her curled his arms around her form, pulling her close to his chest. Keeping her safe and sound in his arms. He didn't want to see her cry -- not anymore. It was too painful to see someone else cry, but he didn't blame her, no. Never would he blame her for those feelings she felt as those heavy salty tears rolled down her cheeks, staining his shirt as she clung to him for dear life.
She was hurt,
and he couldn't save her.
He was useless, well practically useless. Calix wished he could call someone from back home to come help him nurse her back to help, but he knew it was impossible. They were busy with their work and he really didn't even know that many nurses from the Fourth. There was a certain petite blonde he hadn't seen in awhile and a pinkette that would come if he asked but he would feel the wraith of his best friend if he did so.
It was too complicated, but he needed to figure out something.
But all he could do was
press his lips to her head
continuously until she slept,
a g a i n.
As soon as her eyes had closed, he regretted to pull his arms away, but he needed to get up. To pace around and calm his own nerves and to quite that damned Zapakuto of his.
"See tha'? Ya can't save her.
Give up like ya always do, dumbass."
But for once, he ignored the voice as he noticed her wince -- if she tried to silence it, it wasn't too good of an attempt.
❝Willow, don't move, babydoll.❞ He called as he picked up the breakfast he had tried to make her(which he gave up and went out and bought her pancakes, eggs, bacon and coffee from a cafe.) and brought it to her.
Tones were quiet as he placed the food down and left his arms open for her, if she wanted or needed a hug from someone.
