summoners-path:

[ 大召喚士 ]

He laughed at her question, shaking his head playfully at her observation that such an action on her part had been “anti-climactic”. When he had recovered from this, he raised an eyebrow at her, one that said: Hardly.  And without any further reply, he patiently waited, watching her pull herself into position and nodding to her when she met his gaze through the numerous, free strands of hair that she hid behind.

He really couldn’t agree with her observation, though. After all, it was exactly such a drunk and accidental event that caused them to have this conversation, here and now. And, in his eyes, it was a conversation that now felt long overdue, even though so much of it, he thought, didn’t even need to be said.

He exhaled, laughing slightly, as she called out her own nervousness. His hands, instinctively, holding tighter to her own. And, with the gentlest of motions, he pulled her forward, his small way of nudging her onward with her words when she hesitated. He had wanted to reach up and brush aside the hair that had fallen into her face, but the grin she had worn when she finally looked back to him had left him satisfied just the same.

His eyes never left hers. His hands never let go. And as he listened to each and every word she said, the soft smile on his face grew and grew, near ten-times over, he felt. He looked her over, all of her, noting how she sat, how she breathed, how she hesitated at certain words. He wanted to remember all of it, as best he could. After all, he’d never thought he’d have another moment like this in his life.

He’d never thought he’d ever care for someone like he once had cared for her. He’d closed his eyes, for only a moment, at the thought and, when he opened them, he caught her sighing and his hands gently pulled at her once more. He wanted to be sure he had her eyes when she finally said it… and he did. She looked surprised with herself and, in turn, he looked surprised with her. Then, as she began to laugh, he laughed with her, all the while inching her ever closer and leaning in.

          “That is a start.”, he finally said, a hint of teasing in his voice.

As he finished speaking, he finally let go of one of her hands in order to brush the hair from her face. The other still laced with hers, his free hand lingered on her skin. He traced a finger along her cheek, downward, until it rested under her chin. Then, closing the remaining distance between them, he kissed her, gently and only once, before he moved away ever so slightly, hovering only barely an inch away as he spoke again.

          “Hardly disgusting.”, he teased in a whisper, laughing to himself. Then, more serious,
               “It’s exactly what I’d hoped you would say, you know.
               I… I never thought I could feel like this again. Yet I do.”

It was true, though he doubted she really knew just how important it was to him. That, of course, was of no fault of her own. They had not often discussed his life before, his wife. His story was well known and she had never asked about much of it. They had spent so much of their time focused on the fact that they could simply be. Yet, as he looked at her now, he found that he wanted her to know, to know everything. Not all at once, of course. There was no rush; they had lots of time. But, eventually, even as difficult as much of it was to say, he wanted to share that with her. He wanted her to understand, to share that with him.

Really, he wanted to share everything with her. To think it had started with a simple piece of furniture and a blanket or two… The thought made him smile.

          “Thank you.”, he told her, finally putting some distance between them once more.

He paused then for a moment. The hand that had guided her face to his moved back to her free one and, once more, his fingers laced with hers. They pulled tighter on her than they had previously. There was an need in them now, in the way his held them, a possessiveness that he did not often allow himself to portray. She was her own person, after all. That was why he loved her. But also, she was his and he wanted her to know. He glanced away at the thought, a hint of color in his cheeks as he laughed at himself, thinking once more like the foolish teenager he thought he had lost so long ago. Then, looking back to her, he found her eyes, bright and alive and more beautiful with each passing day. And with more quiet confidence in his voice than she had likely ever heard, he added,

          “I love you, too.”

   Were they sitting in
the same place now, as he leaned forward to kiss her, as they had been when
he’d first done that? She thought so. There was no similarity, though, between
then and now. The first time had been nervous, sudden and neither of them had known
quite whether they ought to regret it. Enough time had passed since then that
he was able to take his time with her and she turned her face towards his hand
as it traced over her cheek.
 
    There were tears burning her eyes, but
she didn’t realise it until she heard him say it, until she heard the words – I
love you, too – and then she let out a laugh that was so strongly coloured by
relief it was almost a sob. She looked down at their linked hands, trying not
to let him see her being this emotional, and pressed her eyes closed to stop
them from overflowing.

    She was used to hearing, “this means
nothing”; “I don’t want anything serious”; “you know we aren’t exclusive,
right?”.  Her instinct was to reject his
words and replace them with some other explanation. Maybe Auron was right,
maybe Braska only tolerated her so well because that was what he did; maybe he
was humouring her, maybe he thought she needed to hear it. But for her to
believe any of these theories, she would have to call him a liar, and that was
not something she felt able to do; at all. In all the time they had known each
other, he had never lied to her, had never given her reason to doubt him.

    As she looked up, she understood that
she had made the right decision. By now, she thought she knew his face as well
as she knew her own, and she was sure she hadn’t seen this exact expression on
him before, pink-cheeked, laughing and mildly bewildered. She had told him she
loved him, and there was nothing more
than that she could say – was there? Even though, right now, the words
seemed far too small and insignificant to carry nearly as much meaning as she
needed them to. Instead of saying anything at all, she wrenched her hands free,
threw her arms around him and held him as tightly as she could, laughing at herself,
at her nerves and her foolishness, as she hid her face against his shoulder and
her fingertips  curled into the fabric of
his shirt. The scent of his skin mixed with that of his clothes and the ever-present
tea was the deepest comfort, and for a moment, Chuami felt a sense of complete
contentment. After all the evenings spent curled up at his side, all the casual
kisses exchanged for no reason other than their possibility, all the nights she’d
slept in his arms – somehow this was
the closest she’d ever felt to him.

   But as soon as she acknowledged
it, something began to feel wrong. This was too easy. He was too open with her,
too kind to her, he felt too real in her arms. It was all too familiar.

 I don’t deserve this.

 I don’t deserve him.

  There was a pause – a fraction of a
second in which she fought this idea and lost – then the tears she had been
holding back spilled over and began to dampen his shoulder. Chuami had the
strangest feeling that when she let go of him, she might never hold him this
close again; but at the same time, she feared that her presence might be
damaging him somehow even now, like she might be poisonous.

 “You can’t say that.”

    It came out as a whisper, her face
still hidden against him. She drew back, her hands on his shoulders, her eyes
downcast and her cheeks wet.

 “You can’t say that.” she repeated,
loud enough to be heard this time, though her voice caught in her throat.

 “I have to tell you… I didn’t mean to
keep it secret, I never meant to hide anything, I…”

    It sounded weak, even to her own ears.
There had been times she could have brought it up, but she didn’t, because she
was scared. Hadn’t she deliberately avoided the subject only a few minutes ago?
The truth was, she had lied.

    She looked up but was unable to speak
for a few seconds. Her voice trailed off, her hands withdrew. She pulled her
knees up to her chin and sat, staring at the floor.

  “There’s
a reason I never told you before. I… really didn’t want to love you. I’ve only
ever felt like this once before.

 “Her name was

(I can’t say it I can’t talk about it I can’t think about this–)

(I can and I will)

 Anjali. She… she died. And it was my fault.”