5 times loved ; only if you want!
five times my muse fell in love with your muse | not accepting
IHe looks at her.
He lifts his face, and blue eyes, clear as crystal balls, gaze in fear. If the shadows used their hatred to look through her, this is just the opposite. Minako knows the twitch of an eyelid and concentrated tug at corners of lips and the flare of nostrils of attention from fellow empaths. They can tick off her tells, can read between the lines of her speech - look at her that way, too, but this is different.
Those eyes don’t see through her existence or read her body, they flick around, they widen to encompass her entire being. She knows because the piercing sensation of his pointed stare strikes deep enough for even Orpheus to tilt his head, and something in her ribcage also lurches at the thought of being recognized.
There’s already some draw in understanding she won’t have to hide a single thing, because from him, she can’t. Especially because his spine sighs in resignation as he backs away, where tension should spring him off of her. She doesn’t know why, but he’s not afraid of her; he’s afraid for her. When he finally collects himself at least enough to say, “I’m Gabriel,”
he really looks at her.
IISweat covers Gabe’s bangs, and his respiration is heavy. He’ll be okay, though. It’s not the worst attack she’s seen. Somehow since that first day, her lap has become something of a comfort. This time he lays face-up on it while she fusses over him, crouched in the aisle of the convenience store.
“Breathe,” Minako reminds him, dobbing a damp cloth to his forehead. It’s a mantra she knows well, and her own deep breaths extend her belly to touch and pull back from the top of his head - gives him something to match.
The dedicated time she spends on self-control (when successful) is not something she likes to share. But he needs it, too, to calm voices in his head and find himself again and make it through the day. He’s sensitive.
Like she is.
IIIHe’s too good at knowing, and she’s too good at knowing he knows. They share her earphones with a round of soothing music, in the comfort of his home. Within the solace, she finally eeks a whispered admittance from him about his supernatural state. To which she says, “Don’t worry, I’m willing to believe just about anything since I walk through doors with portals and live an extra hour of the day.”
They’d laugh, when they share their ties to the occult, if there could be anything funny in the truth of what they do. He tells her about all the death she’s surrounded by, and she keeps a smile on her face, reassuring him as she always does, and this time with promises that it must just be people she’s lost and friends who have lost too, and battles she fights.
The expression is so obviously forced, and she’s holding fists tight, and he watches a particularly dark thread squeeze around her chest. There’s a red one nearby, looped around her wrist like a watch; it’s been growing thicker lately, but still thin enough to snap. He thinks it will help her with the rest, but she doesn’t fully understand or accept it. She’s not ready to, yet.
All she knows from the way he drops the subject is that even though it appears to pain him, he’s kind enough not to push her.
IVIt’s awhile before they see each other again, and once they do, Gabriel can do nothing but stare. Her colored threads are far more vibrant; they extend from her like a decorative tapestry, and each and every dark one drapes elegant, organized, collected around her form as if she wears all that death like an evening gown.
“I’m sorry I avoided you for a bit there, Gabe. I had some things I had to work out for myself.”
“I know. I see that…” he says his usual line, still blinking.
“I told you, didn’t I?” Minako gives a little twirl; if only she knew the intricacies of the kaleidoscope she creates, “I’m the master of strings.”
He smiles. So this is what it looks like when a person chooses their own fate.
For once, she hopes he feels like he doesn’t have to feel so responsible. She’s made herself stronger for him, too. She carries this weight so that others don’t have to, and the look of relief on his usually so-strained face fuels the force of all the love she uses to keep doing so.
VShe was so strong, but now they sit together, shoulder to shoulder, head against head. They’re both warm, but they’re both weak.
“I’m tired,” Minako sighs.
I know, says the hand that wraps around her shoulders to stroke her cheek. He can’t bring himself to speak the words, to offer platitudes at all. He thought it might have a happier end this time. Taught himself not to worry quite so much. But, though the strands of their own bond entwine as sweetly as blonde and auburn do now, they’re coming undone.
This shall be the last chance he has to say anything to her again. She doesn’t know. She doesn’t even remember. He’ll make her feel it, though - the peace in determining her place (back where she started, right in the center of the web, fighting off things opposite of life) - if just this once he can make a difference.
He pulls her close and kisses between her brows, willing himself to find a phrase. So he tells her what she would tell him when taking care, though wishing it didn’t reek of futile hope, “… Just keep breathing, Mina-chan.”
She does feel it, in the warmth of someone who once looked at her so cold. He reminds her in the moment of the whole universe surrounding her, and she lets out a contented coo.
He sends her off happy.
