I need some angst that leads to cuddling!
The villain looked horrible.
Admittedly, the hero feared they’d be thrown out of the lair. It was a little sheepish of the henchman to call them out of all people, but the hero understood the necessity quickly. Although the villain didn’t seem to be injured, it was pretty clear that something was wrong.
They’re barely eating anything. They’re not sleeping. The hero supposed it was their duty as a protector of the people to help whenever they’d been asked to help. And, hell, something in the henchman’s voice had really punched them in the throat this time.
Of course, they had noticed the villain’s decreasing activities. But they had never thought it was this bad.
“Hey,” the hero tried softly. The villain was still sitting there on the couch, staring at nothing. They didn’t acknowledge the hero in the slightest.
The hero looked around. The lair was relatively clean, but they supposed the villain wasn’t the one behind maintaining it.
Usually, their nemesis was rather playful and chaotic. Flirting, taunting, smirking - it was almost part of their strategy and now that there was nothing, the hero wasn’t quite sure if their nemesis was even sitting in front of them.
“I am starting to miss you,” the hero said. Still nothing.
Eventually, the hero decided to let themselves drop next to the villain and they leaned back, resting against the designer furniture.
“What are you doing?” the villain asked. Their voice was raspy.
“I think you need someone next to you right now,” the hero said.
“Because someone else told you so?” They still didn’t look at the hero, but the hero stared at them.
“You know I make my own decisions,” the hero said. They looked down at their own hands. Why were they feeling anxious? The villain was by no means a threat right now.
They closed their eyes, concentrating on the villain instead of their own conflicting feelings.
This was definitely serious. People didn’t stop eating for no reason.
“I’m fine,” the villain said, as if they had read the hero’s mind.
“I-” The villain turned towards them and the hero truly saw how terribly lifeless their eyes looked.
“If your guys start calling me, it’s pretty bad,” the hero said. “And I want to be honest…it looks pretty bad. If talking is not an option, that’s fine. But I don’t think you should be alone right now.”
They stared at each other. And the hero couldn’t help but stare at those red eyes, those dark circles under them. Where was that annoying smirk? Those stupid comments?
Why was the hero’s heart sinking so rapidly?
A month ago, everything had been fine. Then, the hero had left for a mission and when they’d come back, they hadn’t seen the villain anymore. Up until now.
The villain reached for the hero and gently pushed a loose stray out of their sight.
“I didn’t think you’d care.”
“I…” the hero stared at the ground, suddenly embarrassed. They supposed they had felt lonely without fighting the villain. They had thought they’d come back eventually. But the villain looked like they needed weeks to recover, maybe even months. Their voice was quiet. “…you know I care. You know that.”
“I don’t really get a say in that, I suppose,” the hero said. Sometimes they wished they didn’t care. It would make their job certainly easier.
Both of them were quiet now and the hero folded their hands in their lap.
Why was it, that the hero had instantly reached for their jacket when the henchman had called? Why was it that they had sprinted to the door?
Was it truly because of the henchman’s broken voice? Or was it because of what they had said. They’re barely eating anything. They’re not sleeping.
Why did the hero care that much?
The hero was so worried they felt like throwing up. They took in a deep breath, ready to say something, but the villain was quicker.
“My mother died two weeks ago,” they said.
“The funeral was a few days ago and, I…yeah, I don’t think I’m taking it that well.” They looked at the hero again. “I just don’t know what to do.”
“I’m sorry,” the hero whispered. “I know what that feels like.”
“Does it ever get better?” the villain asked. “Or is it just this continuous cycle of pain and sorrow?”
The hero bit the inside of their cheek, thinking briefly.
“…you know, grief isn’t really an emotion. There’s a lot in there. Anger. Frustration. Guilt. Anxiety. That’s like 50% of it, I’d say,” the hero said.
“And the other half?” the villain asked.
“Unfortunately, the other half is love. So, technically, you never really stop grieving when someone you love dies.” They paused, digging fingernails into their own skin. “With time grief will start to look different, though. It’ll get easier because those 50% of all the other emotions will be slowly replaced by the love part.”
The hero looked at their nemesis.
“Being loved is the closest thing we have to immortality. As long as someone loves you, you’re never really gone. So, I think you should let all those emotions happen to you. You should talk about her, remember her. But I don’t think you should be alone, I don’t think you should allow yourself to decay.”
The villain’s eyes were still on them. The hero couldn’t read their mood, but they felt like their words had some weight.
“Absolutely.” The hero hadn’t hesitated.
And they didn’t let go for a very long time.
