āI didnāt know how dark my world really was until you lit it up.ā
He could feel her hesitation in that too-brief moment she kissed him, and so, much as he wanted to, he didnāt try to push or deepen it. He was sensing that the answer he would receive had much more weight to it than heād expected when he asked, and if so, she had every right to take a moment to give it. The arms that caged her to the tree dropped gently to the lines of her shoulders, delicate but strongālike she was. He kept his forehead bowed to touch hers, their noses scarce centimeters apart. Heād never voluntarily been this close to another person before, but he didnāt mind it. For once, he found it hard to concentrate on all the things the environment around him was telling him through his senses, because they were all so filled with her that he didnāt care about anything else. Not in this moment.
At the hitch in her breath, his own stilled, his entire body freezing into a perfectly motionless render of what he was, the knowledge of what he was about to hear clicking into place a split second before he heard it. And when he did, everything else suddenly made so much sense. He hadnāt wanted to think that it could be the answer, because he didnāt truly know what it was. And yetā¦ wasnāt that just another kind of cowardice? A fear of confronting the unknown only because it was unknown? Sora was many things, but he had never been a coward. Now, when things seemed more important than anything else heād done in his life, seemed hardly the time to start being one.
He was suspended in animation for another three seconds after that, closing his eyes and processing the effect that three short syllables, such miniscule words, could have on someone like him. Nobody in his entire life had ever told him that they loved him. Not the people who called him their child, not his only friends, not his cousin, not his ward. No one, in more than a hundred years of life.
If he could call it a life.
The first word had tensed him, like a drawn bowstring, taut and immobile. The second had been a cracking blow to a barrier he had not known existed in him, and the third, with its subtle emphasis, had broken through it altogether, and whatever it was that had held him back, stopped him from feeling as other men felt, living as he desired, hearing the things his heart was so desperately yelling at him, shattered utterly. He released the breath heād been holding, a palpable note of relief in it, and wrapped his arms around her, melding them together so that there was no space, not even a tiny pocket of air, between them. He held her like she was the most precious thing in all the world, breakable and fragile and his, and he shuddered, a tremor wracking his spine. āAsuka,ā he said, and the word was uttered so tenderly, so choked with emotion that it almost didnāt sound like his own voice. āI canātā¦ thereās no way I can tell you how much that means to me, no way I can repay you for what youāve given me. All I can do is love you, as much as youāll let me. I donāt know how, and Iāll probably get it wrong, a lot, but I can promise that Iāll never stop.ā
It wasnāt enough. Nothing would be enough. But she was generous and forgiving, and he supposed that there was a chance that sheād take it, and forgive him for lacking the rest.
The butterfly from earlier landed on his nose again, and she laughed. It was a light sound, and rather quiet, but her delight was obvious all the same. It was such a funny picture, and it lent him some kind ofā¦ almost human quality. Whereas before heād seemed to be something from another world, somehow, the humor of the little butterfly on his face made him look like he really belonged in this one. It was a good look for him, she thought.
āI wouldnāt be surprised if it did think you were a flower,ā she noted, for a moment forgetting that the thought heād had on the matter had never been voiced aloud. She wasnāt trying to read his mind, but like so many things, her powers werenāt always exactly under her control. Of course, the realization happened with his question-statementā¦ thing. It was kind of a question, but his way of putting things was such that it sounded more like a statement. It was just something else about him that was different from most people, she supposed.
Her smile wilted a bit, until it was something almost melancholy. āItās not a matter of believing,ā she said quietly, taking a deep breath. The scent of the flowers and fresh water and life was so strong here. Was she imagining that she still smelled roses, too? āI know it, in here.ā she tapped her temple with her first two fingers. And I can feel it, in here. The hand moved down to her heart, and she laid her palm over it gently. Rather than being spoken aloud, the words were given directly to his mind, because that way, there would be no doubt about what she meant. She was careful with it, and gentle, and she knew from experience that it caused no pain. But most people disliked it anyway.
This was the point where they left, usually. If not, they tended to get mad at her, which she supposed was a little understandable. She always had enough respect to weather either response, but that was not to deny that it hurt a little, when it happened. From new acquaintances to old friends, sheād broken a lot of ties this way, and perhaps sheād grown used to it, to some extent. There was no controlling what other people did, after all, and she could understand not wanting someone else to know what you were thinking, even if that person tried not to know. Even if they would never use it against you or tell anyone else. It was hard to believe that, after all. Especially when you were used to being used or hurt or sad, or some combination of the three.
āPlease donāt think too poorly of me,ā she said, switching back to using her actual voice. āI didnāt intend to know. It justā¦ happens.ā She said it, but honestly, she wasnāt holding out a whole lot of hope for that. What she did was unnatural, and there was no reason to expect anyone to be fine with it.