[by comparison wrath is someone who reacts, first, before anything else, and maybe that's why she works so well with fire. it's easy to burn. it's easy to lose your mind to emotion, even if you try to bury it with jokes and deflection, and she's had such a hard time with even that, lately. she's forgetting how to stay calm. and she'd forgotten, a little, what it was like to be trapped in that fucking umbrella, and so relieving it makes her furious, makes her want to set the room alight, makes her want to scream and feel, just because she can.
but he holds her hand, and he speaks, clear and bright, and it knocks her out of it.
she's here. not there, with her brother, her twin, her heart.]
Y - yeah. [she manages, opening her eyes. she shudders, horribly, feeling sick.]
feeling like he’s going to pass out from thinking too hard is at least keeping him from pondering those deeper questions, at least for now. it maybe keeps his usual panic response to someone feeling too much in his general vicinity muted, keeps him from saying something more immeasurably stupid to make it worse. there’s a brief moment where he’s reminded of the screaming nightmare he’d awoken chang geng from, the night before he left for the western frontier, and ...
he keeps her hand, and uses his other arm to reach out and catch the back of her neck. His fingers are cold as ever, especially like this - but he gives a gentle tug, to pull her closer into his chest. even like this, a part of him will always be the protector, the strong one, marquis with a spine made of steel.
they can just lay there, for a minute. that’s fine, too. ]
she curls close, when he pulls, and wraps her arms around him. focuses. the way his body feels, the way he smells, the way he is present keeps her grounded. she can touch, she can see, she can hear - she can match him. she can warm him up. and she will, she tangles their legs and just lays with him for a while, letting him soak in her body heat, intensified by the flame inside her.
just for a little bit, she thinks, they can have this. this peach blossom spring.]
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but he holds her hand, and he speaks, clear and bright, and it knocks her out of it.
she's here. not there, with her brother, her twin, her heart.]
Y - yeah. [she manages, opening her eyes. she shudders, horribly, feeling sick.]
... I'm here. I'm here.
no subject
feeling like he’s going to pass out from thinking too hard is at least keeping him from pondering those deeper questions, at least for now. it maybe keeps his usual panic response to someone feeling too much in his general vicinity muted, keeps him from saying something more immeasurably stupid to make it worse. there’s a brief moment where he’s reminded of the screaming nightmare he’d awoken chang geng from, the night before he left for the western frontier, and ...
he keeps her hand, and uses his other arm to reach out and catch the back of her neck. His fingers are cold as ever, especially like this - but he gives a gentle tug, to pull her closer into his chest. even like this, a part of him will always be the protector, the strong one, marquis with a spine made of steel.
they can just lay there, for a minute. that’s fine, too. ]
no subject
she curls close, when he pulls, and wraps her arms around him. focuses. the way his body feels, the way he smells, the way he is present keeps her grounded. she can touch, she can see, she can hear - she can match him. she can warm him up. and she will, she tangles their legs and just lays with him for a while, letting him soak in her body heat, intensified by the flame inside her.
just for a little bit, she thinks, they can have this. this peach blossom spring.]