ahlite.
They — likely — shouldn’t be surprised that he worries for them; that the hand pressed against the center of the scar between and across their breasts is buffeted not just with care for a tool to use but for care for Lumine. It shouldn’t surprise them that he looks and sees her, or that he looks at all. They’re partners. But ——— nobody else looks, let alone worries. Nobody can bare to consider that Lumine is breakable, lest they need to feel guilty for asking her to sacrifice herself again and again and again and again. His head rests against her shoulder and hers tilts to rest atop his, like that’s natural, and she ———
Realizes that she’s crying.  “Oh.” A hands raises, presses carefully to her cheeks as though not believing it. Tears. When did they…last cry? Not when Teppei died. Not with Rue. “You worry for me?” There’s a ragged edge to her voice, sharp, almost - frantic, someone worries someone worries someone sees. The earth worries for the stars. Only the sky has ever done that, and he doesn’t, not any longer. Lumine’s hands are back in her lap / she wishes they were around him / she doesn’t remember how to make her limbs move. Albedo worries? She loves him and he loves her and he — worries — ??
“I…didn’t know.” Would it have changed anything, if they did? Would they not still have tried to die for Inazuma, as if they know how to do anything else? AT LEAST THEY WOULD HAVE KNOWN THAT IF THEY DIED SOMEONE WOULD MOURN, AND NOT SIMPLY THE LOSS OF A USEFUL OBJECT. Voice small, voice breaking despite how flat it still is, “Thank you.”
   he hears the collapse of the stars in the way their voice breaks and it’s enough to move him / head raises from where he rests to witness firsthand the supernova’s fatigue; he sees her all alone, painted up against the empty sky and earth can only reach out in quiet yearning ( in jealousy of the sky, who had her always within their arms. ) gloved hand escapes lightnings grasp to take hold of lumine’s face — a frame for the work of art that they were, gentle yet perfect in the way he supports. thumbs brush the tears from their downward path and there is but just a moment to note how incredibly human they appeared / identical to the tears that klee cries / or perhaps lumine’s were drowned in a sadness more profound than any albedo has ever seen.
   ❛ i will always worry for you, dear traveler.  ❜ there were no research papers on the topic of love and sympathy, no rubric for the experiment to gauge reaction and response, no master to guide his hand and lead his tongue — there was no way to know what would be the right to say. there was nothing but the insistent tuggings of the calcified heart, and perhaps that was the most human aspect of it all. maybe it was something as simple like instinct; the instinct to bring lumine closer, to press chalk and gold against the wet of their eyes, to offer a moment of repose against an unending winter storm. ❛ and that’s not anything you have to thank me for. consider it the —— stirrings of the heart.  ❜
