balthazar x reader: au carrefour avec toi
[At long last, a song sprint for The Theif! This was set to Keaton Henson’s composition of La Naissance, featuring Ren Ford on cello. I would also like to credit some inspiration to Joseph Mallord William Turner’s The Angel Standing in the Sun for some artsy inspiration. This wasn’t my favourite of the song sprints thus far, but I still enjoyed it. Thank you for reading!]
*
Each passing footstep echoed, phantasmic remnants of those who had already moved along.
The floor was polished to the point of garishness, reflections dancing within the porcelain tiles, glare from the overheads catching unsuspecting passerby unawares.
There was a low murmur from the other patrons, critiquing pieces they could never truly understand, casting their objections against artists who had lived and breathed and died and been esteemed long before these critics had even drawn their first breaths.
Had this been a casual visit, he would have adopted a slower pace, taken the time to stop and study each piece featured within the collection, and perhaps even engage in a debate with some of the pompous naysayers standing nearest to windows.
But this was far from a normal excursion, and he was frantic that if he took a second longer, that if he did not hasten to the point of recklessness-
You had prayed to him, for the first time in months.
It had been disheartened, lonely, on the cusp of breaking.
A short whisper, barely shaping the weight of his name, but you had spoken it with such yearning as to alter his course entirely, wings straining as he desperately pushed through Time and Space and Reality itself to reach you.
What had brought you to a portrait gallery in Minnesota he would never know, just as he was willing to accept that he would never truly understand all of those little tics that made you so extraordinary.
He passed through several more rooms, silently marvelling at some of the light fixtures utilised in each room. It seemed each had its own theme, one room nautical, another reminding him of the woodlands, yet another almost entirely botanical in every possible way. But these were insignificant to him, as each of them lacked the artistry he was truly interested in.
At long last, he found you, tucked deep into the labyrinth, lapis wallpapers and alabaster ceilings carving an elegant frame around your pensive aura.
Your coat was folded in your arms, single strap of your backpack supporting what seemed to be significant weight.
You were entranced by the portrait before you, not a single indication presenting itself that you had even heard his entrance.
Relief had him resting his frame against the entryway, arms folding as he studied the picture before you, curious as to what could possibly have distracted you enough to so thoroughly lower your defences.
It was a blending of colours- faded golds and blues and greys melding together many of the more intimate details into vague shapes and silhouettes. The most striking, dominant feature was the winged figure presiding over the whole scene, light bending around them to frame each feature, highlight their majesty.
And each breath you exhaled contained a wistful melancholy that made his chest ache.
It had been months since you had last spoken to him, the horrid exchange in the library still plaguing him.
He had known, he had known, that his decisions would upset you, that you would never truly forgive him.
But it was a necessary evil, and no matter the blows that had come to him-He had had no other options.
The hurt had been clear in your voice, fears of betrayal and abandonment haunting your eyes, hovering like a dark shroud all around you, your rage echoing for weeks following his dismissal.
But that was then, and in this moment-
He took a cautious step forward, making certain that the footfall was loud enough to catch your attention. Your head shifted slightly in acknowledgement, focus still predominantly riveted to the Celestial portrait before you.
Closer inspection revealed the Viceroy, sword extended as he proclaimed the end of all things.
He frowned at the pessimistic tone, a sharp, poignant reminder to the possible outcome ahead.
Stopping several feet away from you, he called your name, startling you.
Your posture straightened immediately in your surprise, eyes wide as you slowly turned to face him.
A war raged within you, a thunderous crashing of relief and adoration and anger and hurt roiling just below your calm exterior.
It was your eyes- so full of life and energy- that revealed your thoughts, and it was your soul- so subdued and sharp- that revealed your hesitations.
For a moment, for a millennium, you stared at one another, a whole lifetime passing as you summoned your strength, judging every possible choice you could make, determining which road to take.
He could do nothing but wait, hoping, praying.
Another moment, and his name was once more passing your lips, weighted and emotionless, revealing nothing of your decision.
"Balthazar?"
The weight of Infinity itself fell from his shoulders, all that he ever was and all that he ever hoped to be falling at your feet. Your path may no longer include him, but to hear your voice just once more, to have his name framed one final time by your lips-
A smile, lugubrious and loving and lost in longing, flickered to life on his lips, cradling each syllable with the utmost care.
"Hello, luv."
*
