she’s always here. always, always, always. he stands at the entrance, the scent of ash and soot and smoke and death lingering on the body of a feeble boy, his hands marred with bits of black, with callouses and cuts that hadn’t been there before. it’s easy to read in his expression, the way his chin tucks away, how he flinches at the slightest show of company, that the mission is far from over. explosions and screams play terrifying symphonies in his ears, like cymbals crashing again and again and again; the light is a little too bright for eyes more accustomed to the dark, to the shady, smoky depths of carnage, and he shies beneath the overhang, reaching for the wooden pillar for a bit of support. there’s nothing to remember and he doesn’t remember a thing about nameless faces and disembodied dog tags——but the dead have always clung to him, their only voice in this world that casts them aside.
his hand, once gentle, hovers and shakes in a failed wave before he clenches it into a fist and pulls it away. lithe frame leans into the safety of the support beam, the exhaustion draining the color from him as the adrenaline leaves his form——he sighs, he huffs.
this sort of thing is too much. it’s too hard. it hurts, Mother, it hurts.
but she speaks. it’s not much. it’s two words. two words anybody else would hear all the time, but they’re magic to him, they’re a treasure. two words that break him from his reverie, that briefly give succor to his wearied limbs and see the sun emerge from the clouds in those sky blue hues, life itself twinkling in their depths. he pries himself away from the structural crutch, rubs his sleeve against his teary eyes ‘fore she gets the chance to notice the bubbles that had formed——she doesn’t need to worry anymore about him; she didn’t need to see him at his limits——and walks. one foot in front of the other, kicking pebbles and flattening blades of grass, all until he finally comes to a stop, dress shoes not even a foot away from her own pair.
“I’m home.” the hesitance is still there, it taking a full second for him to actually take her hands with that gentle, careful grasp. his cheeks burned red, his smile hurt, and there were still tears threatening to spill, but he doesn’t mind it. this wasn’t pain, after all; not with the way it warmed him to the brim with giddy euphoria. no, no, no——not a pain, but a blessing. “I’m home, Lina.” and he was never one to take blessings for granted.
“I’m sorry that I’m late again. Do you think that bakery in town is still open? We can still go if we hurry, I think.”
