[ wwilder ]:
He remained silent, a rarity for the ‘loudmouth chosen’. Emil was struggling, and Zelos could see it, plain as day, written across the young boy’s face. He sighed quietly, before uttering three little words. Words Sebastian had said to him when he was young and woke, shivering from a nightmare. Words that, despite their general insignificance, meant a lot to him.
“Take your time.”
He caught Emil’s glance, and the chosen’s face spoke volumes. He wasn’t going anywhere, and Emil could speak slowly as he needed. He’d still be there to listen.
After a few moments, the kettle began to whistle, water boiling away inside, and Zelos hopped to his feet to catch it before its noise could disturb anyone. He pulled it off the flame, blowing it out in the process, before turning to the small cupboard beside the stove and drawing two chipped mugs from within. With careful hands, he poured the boiling water, before placing the kettle back on the extinguished stove. Finally, he spoke with more purpose.
“Memories…” He paused to find his footing in his words, what was he trying to say? After a moment, he tried again.
“Memories are scary, yeah,” he popped open the container of tea and dropped a bag into each mug, gently swirling the contents around with a battered teaspoon, “but that’s all they are. Memories. Yours, Ratatosk’s, they’re things that have already happened, so no matter what, memories can’t hurt you.” He sat down once more next to the boy, holding one of the mugs out to him.
“Trust me, I know.”
“ but they do h u r t ... they hu-hurt so badly ... ” the summon spirit was slowly drawn upwards by the scent of steeping tea, settling himself to sit upright, propped awkwardly on the bed frame. Green eyes flicker with a lighted crimson for nigh a second before dispersing again. They lift, looking to him pathetically, tentative fingers going and grasping about the warm mug and pulling it close to his chest.
“ zelos ... “
it’s a quiet plea for him to not argue ... not this time. Even if the memories could not physically hurt him anymore, the emotional weight that flitted and pressed against the back of his conscious was all too real.
Thin fingers cling to the cups sides, thumb running in circles nervously. “ i ... i d-didn’t ... it’s ... ” he’d already said Kharlahn Tree, which would signal just how old that memory was ... and the fact it was a NIGHTMARE ...
“ why do they keep resurfacing? ”






