#ruinedheart / albedo & lumine — you find a heart & catch your breath‚ let the universe go red.

[ahlite]

@ruinedheart : [WONDER] + albedo / accepting!

"Watch," she says, voice not light, but closer than it often is. It's easier right now, the moon scarcely a sliver — shining its faint light on the two not - quite - humans. It's easier right now, beside the only person alive who understands. Who loves her — who chooses her for more than what she is capable of offering. Who has not abandoned or betrayed her, like all the rest.

Who is looking at her, curious — but not the way he's curious about his experiments. Who is looking at her, expression fond in the dark.

The sky is inky and endless, dotted with stars — Lumine takes a step nearer to the edge of Starsnatch Cliff. For a moment, they imagine walking off, imagine what he'd do to save them. They don't. Instead, their hands lift, scarred palms open and offering towards the sky.

It's been a long time, since they've done this. They've been practicing, on a smaller scale — first just to test the limits of their own bound divinity, then to show. To give. To earn. ( earn what? affection? lack of betrayal? she wants to believe she doesn't need to earn that from him. but she's been wrong before. ) She feels her eyes and freckles glow, feels the bound godhood within them strain and twist and ache. Feels it push, fight. Feels it — bloom.

He's watched her create light in her palms, small constellations that flicker out as quick as they sparked to life. But now he watches new stars spill into the inky sky — new and twinkling and brighter than the others. His eyes widen as hers flicker out, no - longer glowing, merely staring up at what she's made. Her hands fall to her side. No new constellations — that takes more control than they can manage — but she's done it. New stars. She's only ever made new stars for Aether before.

Lumine doesn't smile anymore. But they come close, when they look to Albedo and watch his eyes draw from the sky to their, when they see the amazement there. The adoration. For once, the light in them feels warm instead of razing, like sunlight through the trees. They can still make stars. They can still make stars.

It feels — the pain doesn't go away. But it feels nice. New stars, for her love.

The silence stretches, warm. "Do you like them?" Lumine asks, soft, a little selfish. He can tell his lover likes them, but it will be nice to hear it. But Albedo doesn't reply — he moves closer instead, hands raising, and presses those hands to their cheeks. Cupping their face, eyes more tender and more amazed than Lumine has ever seen them. Albedo smiles, sloping an affectionate and awed, breathing out a faint, breathless laugh.

New stars, for her love. And his old star's heart cracks, light and at ease for the first time in months. She smiles, finally, faint. She smiles for the first time in months. Her hands raise, perching gently on his wrists, and her head tilts, leaning into the safety of his palm.

She wants to tell him that she hasn't felt this loved in years, probably. She wants to tell him she hasn't felt this human in longer. That he makes her so human. But it seems a shame to stain the silence. They shift closer as the new stars shine above them.