she sits next to them, shoulder to shoulder. taking their hand in her’s she traced over the red string bracelet with the charm attached. she was falling asleep her journal open. it slid over to their lap as she readjusted. there were the paintings they had slid in previously before her trip. with new words on the back. /i cannot help that my heart is drawn towards your’s. is it enough to remain by your side? am i selfish to want more?/ she shifted beside them to slumber closer unconsciously.
weiss hadn’t said anything about those pages in the weeks since that emotional endeavour, so to know she’d found them had been daunting. ren had had second thoughts about it, as they did with everything, the lingering doubt of “ what if ” flitting about their head like a manic bird. they hadn’t even known what prompted them to execute the gift like that. they could have just given the pages to her like a normal person, declare utmost pride that they’d painted them for her whenever they saw a butterfly on the way to mistral. no, even before that. ren had no interest in drawing butterflies until weiss had explained their grandeur. what had they been sketching before weiss had touched the empty nights their psyche lay idle ? fish, plants, valleys — never had their subconscious realm rose into the skies for even one taste of freedom. ren was someone grounded, one with the earth and the roots they laid claim to, even if their homeland was burnt and sullied by fear and loss. but now, in the background of their written word were different phenomena painstakingly learned with each new brushstroke, and new perspective ; there was night, there were snowflakes, stars, clouds, and most prominent of all, there were butterflies.
did weiss know what she was doing ? ren knew she understood their meticulously guarded sense of personal space, primarily because she seemed to think it applied to her. of course, it did, but weiss always seemed to operate under the assumptions their friendship hadn’t lessened those degrees at all. because of that it had been up to ren to bridge some of the gaps, and they’d done a spectacular job of that, hadn’t they ? not really. all of their instances of closeness had been misunderstandings, misgivings, initial mistakes. weiss had hugged them once during a storm of their own flurry, ren had lain their head in her lap a few times out of reluctance to move. so, they wondered whether the intention made a difference, or had they been moments of temporary, unfettered want ? they weren’t sure it was appropriate to answer either way. acknowledging it was to drag out a plethora of feelings that made no sense yet. that was until the slipping parchment fell from the confines of her tome. recognition was immediate for ren had drawn those familiar strokes themselves. so much care and dedication put forth throughout their travels, even if they weren’t sure they would ever see weiss again.
words scrawled quickly upon the back of the papers had been her own lyrics, ren had only copied them down so there was no doubt these small watercolour etchings were for her. they hadn’t suspected she’d add onto them, or wouldn’t berate them for placing them into her journal in the first place. it seemed easier than giving them to her face to face, for some unexplained reason. even now, despite the fact that ren had painted those images, they felt they weren’t allowed to be looking at them. weiss was asleep, and the words in plain sight, despite low - lit room and evening dark, most likely weren’t meant for their eyes. or, they were, just not like this. it was a confusing set of sentences, enough so that the undertone brought mild flush to the apples of cheeks, the bridge of their nose. ren cast their gaze from the pages to their own book, marking it and putting it down before sliding the falling pages back into the journal, placing it back in weiss’ lap once more. their hand turned in her grasp, briefly lacing their fingers together, thumb soothing over one of the scars unintentionally before their eyes landed on her charm hanging from their beloved bracelet.
an idea struck them then. ren tilted their head away from weiss, using their now free hand to tug one of the bracelet’s she’d gifted them off. ren still remembered how reluctant they’d been to take these initially, not only because they looked expensive but because they weren’t in the habit of keeping excess material on them. it was the sentiment that made them change their mind. it was a present to make them feel better about their horns, the subject of so much personal dysmorphia. they couldn’t say no to that. it wasn’t the kind of jewellery ren was familiar with anymore, high quality despite her wanting to be rid of them. they untangled their hand from hers and started undoing clasp of metal, the beads of this piece falling off chorded metal and into their palm. without moving too much, they fished into one of their pockets and pulled out the red thread bracelet they’d started construction on, looping two of the beads onto the string and holding it up to eye level, smiling. cradling the makeshift bracelet in one hand, ren tentatively raised the other hand to her face, pulling aside a piece of starlit hair and tucking it behind her ear.
let me make a good luck charm for you this time.
