#preemptively here is my blanket sorry for da wait lest you get it on literally like every thread we have rn MFKSLFJSDK

[aubins]

Slowly, silently, Yuri lets her work through it on her own. They can almost count the beats of it on her face— here is the confusion, here is the realization, here is the humiliation. But they don't laugh— never, at her. And the mockingbird that always declares themself not to suffer fools simply waits patiently. They would wait forever for her.

Sweet little Bernadetta who mourned at the idea of their death when they thought they would have no mourners at all. Who expresses more joy at their being alive than Yuri ever has for themself. Was there any room left to wonder why they try their best for her? Soften that heart of theirs a little, let down their walls just a smidge. Small steps, but ones they would hardly bother to take for anyone else.

“I'm alive,” they repeat, a faintly amused note to their tone. A joke hovers at the tip of their tongue— much to the goddess' chagrin, I'm sure— but they swallow it. Yuri doubts it would be appreciated. Instead their gaze flicks to the hand that hold their own, smiles gently at the sight of it before turning their eyes back up to hers. “So are you. I'd say that's pretty great, yeah.”

It's a little strange— a little sad, maybe, is what they really mean— how easily Bernadetta rushes to assure them, how difficult it is to get her to accept that reassurance in turn. Still, they'll reassure her as many times as she requires, if it'll put that anxious heart of hers at ease. “I'm sure. We're friends again, aren't we?” they say, then add teasingly, “Besides, weren't you the one who wanted to be friends again? You can't take that back anymore, Bernadetta. It's too late.”

So, of course they're going to check on her. Of course they're going to worry, too, when she's nowhere to be found. When they find her fast asleep in the greenhouse instead of a bed. And, of course, they haven't forgotten.

“...Seems like you're far more honest when you think I'm dead.” How could they forget? The church, their false death, the flowers— all that pales into comparison to the horror of three simple words. He hurt me. Badly enough to scar her?

When beauty is your profession and trade, your body becomes a prize you cannot ruin. Not to say that others hadn't tried— a boy on the streets has little defense against others, and some had enjoyed the blood just as much as the pleasure. To keep themself unmarked had been a challenge of its own, and Yuri has exactly one scar to mar their skin. The person who gave it to them is sitting right there.

Hundreds of people could try to hurt Yuri badly enough to scar and no one would bat an eye. There had been no fancy healers or infirmaries for them. Yet how many could try the same with the heir to House Varley? And, even then, why wouldn't it be wiped away by a healer's careful touch or stitched together at a doctor's careful hand?

They know the answer to that question. Deep down, they know that there are only so many options. Yet the mockingbird only echoes, “He hurt you,” in lieu of saying it.

Maybe, sometimes, Yuri is a coward too.

what is a blossom but a fist,

saying i can't do this anymore ? — ( continuation )