#you choose tentative forgiveness and patience and kindness and hope and you wait and see what he does next

[jamiesfootball]

@thetarttfuldickhead

Jamie just really likes Sam’s shoulders 

[dayseternal-blog]

A Hanahaki AU -

Summary: She knit a red scarf for him.  She never gave it to him.  Days turned into months, months turned into too late.

Naruto starts dating. Hinata decides to move on.

A sickness takes root in the heart.

Inspired by SasuSaku fanfic “Medicine” by @grimmjowkurosakidrake

Rating: Mature

Read Chapter 1: Smoke on her tongue

Read Chapter 2: He’s not a ghost

Read Chapter 3: Weeds

Chapter 4: Leave himself behind

Delicately crimson maples burn against the blue sky.  Pale gold ginkgo leaves fan across the dry grounds.  A fountain warbles up ahead, its bubbling growing clearer to her senses.

It’s quiet.  The area of the park he took her to fairly secluded, far away from the hustle and bustle of Konoha central.

Despite all the muddled things that have happened, the afternoon is too peaceful, too beautiful.

“Please.  Let me make it up to you.”

She hesitated.  She turned her face down.

“...Hinata.”

He had only ever been sincere with her.  

She looked up.

And was surprised.

Hope, a caring smile, gently lit his face.

How she has been wanting to hope, too...

Susumu slows, bringing them to a pause along the path.

She stops beside him, glances up at him, and recognizes the weight across his brow, realizes that...he wants to talk.

But she doesn’t.  

She still doesn’t know what she wants, what would be best, what the right thing to do is.  For him...for herself.  She wishes she could freeze time, just let every day be a tranquil autumn mid-morning, the fountain ahead the greatest curiosity to consider.  

Sakura was right that she wasn’t ready to date.

But now that she’s in the thick of it, should she just stop?  No amount of crying, worrying, sleepless nights have helped her figure out her feelings, and she keeps thinking, “time heals,” but how does it do that?  Has she no control or say over this?  Can she not push it along?

“...For the other night, I’m sorry.”

She shakes her head, confused, an apology completely unnecessary from him.  “N-no, I was the one..”  She lets that thought trail out.  The memory hurts more than she knows she has any right to feel.  It’s embarrassing, it’s regretful.  “I’m the one who’s sorry,” she finishes quietly.

He lets out a long breath.  “I wanted it to be special for us.”

She wanted her first to be “special,” too.  She had a lot of romantic notions--the most important facet, the man she wished to share it with, an impossibility.  It’s too late now.  And she’ll get nothing by thinking of it.

“I thought, well, away from others...when the mood was right.  I wanted it to be something you would remember.  In a good way.”

She keeps her eyes averted to the forest floor.  An ache settles in her chest.  “It was my own fault.”

He quiets, perhaps processing her words.  “...Why did you...?” he asks softly.  

Why did she kiss him last night?  Why…well, out of anything, this she knows quite clearly now.  “I...I don’t know if I can find anyone else.”  She keeps her eyes firmly on the ground, feels her own words itch across her skin.

She realizes belatedly that she shouldn’t have told him that.  Those words of self-doubt weren’t meant for him to know.  They were meant to be bottled up inside, they were meant for being whispered in Sakura’s strict confidence.  

More silence follows her admission, broken only as he tentatively laces his fingers into hers.  “What do you want from me?”

The question sucks the air out of her, leaving only a sour sensation of her own inadequacy.  She doesn’t even know what she wants from herself.  Speechless, she quickly glances up at him to gauge his expression, his emotions.

He’s watching her.  He gives no further guidance, no options for her to pick from…

She needs to decide.

She searches him, for any kind of clue or sign.  Her mind feels like radio silence.

She waits.  Waits for the right words to come, waits for a feeling to push her to do or say something.  Anything.

Nothing.

An emptiness that stretches into more and more nothing until the silence itself is louder than the rustle of the wind in the trees, the confusion on his face, the unknowns of his thoughts, overwhelming, she feels too suddenly like the girl of ten years younger.  Indecisive, hesitant, weak-willed, cowering in the face of something greater than herself.  

Love never chooses cowards like her.

He sighs, an aggravated, hard breath, one that tells her she’s pushed his patience too far.

“I’m sorry,” she murmurs, gathering any bit of strength she has to hold back tears--that shame would be excessively too much, but even she can hear the slight thickness in her voice.

He lets go of her hand, his fingers curling into a fist.

“I…”  She takes a deep breath, effort upon effort to control herself.  “I don’t want to be a waste of your time, but I just...  I don’t know.”  She can’t look at him.  She’s staring at the ground, blinking away the burn behind her eyes, calming herself until she can face him.

He steps closer, she can feel his heat, his arms coming around her in a hug that doesn’t ask for her to return it.  His cheek at the top of her head.  His chest rising and falling slowly, in deep breaths, against her own cheek.  “Hinata,” he starts.

She squeezes her eyes shut, the unexpected comfort making her shudder, freeze, stop breathing, until she’s sure she won’t cry.  She releases her breath slowly, carefully.

His hand rubs her back, the other gently around her.

It’s comforting.  But it also feels wrong.  The juxtaposition of her feelings plaguing her fully, and she wishes, she wishes she could just enjoy his affection, wishes she could just force herself to return it, her thoughts considering for a second hugging him back, make herself just act it until she feels it in her heart, but, but,

Her heart breaks.

Pathetic.  The sharpness of her disappointment in herself sickening, scarring longer against her self-confidence, a self-hatred she hasn’t felt in a long time.

“Is it my face?” he asks, a bit of humor in his tone that makes her take pause.

She shakes her head, still hiding her own, pinched face in his easy hug.

“Theeen, is it my personality?” he guesses.

She shakes her head, and decides she owes him a very certain, “No.”

“Did you miss me?” he asks lowly.

Her eyes pinch closed only tighter.  She nods.  But she knows it’s not for the right reasons.  She missed him because she was and is pathetic.  Pathetically lonely.

“...Do you think you can come to like me?”

“I like you…” she softly murmurs.

“But you don’t...not really...”

She stills, unconsciously holding her breath.

He exhales slowly, heavily.  He carefully backs away, his hands coming to rest on her shoulders, before dropping to his sides.  His tone quiet, careful, “Just to be transparent with you, I think it’s best if I start seeing other girls.”

She can feel his gaze searching hers, almost asking for her permission, or agreement.  She finally nods, a knot stuck in her throat.  Her chance with him is really over.

He nods, too, his face turning away.  “Um, yeah.”  His eyes shift to hers.  “You’re beautiful, so you shouldn’t worry about finding someone else.”

She holds in her discomfort.  No one has ever complimented her appearance so easily as much as he has, and she never got used to it.

“The man you love will be one lucky bastard.”

She scrunches her nose at the swear word, shaking her head slightly in disbelief.

He almost smiles.

She knows she was the lucky one.  That he gave her a second chance was more than she deserved.  And she really needs to tell him so.  He only did his best to build her up.  She never really did anything for him.  Never told him exactly what she thought of him.  “You’re kind..really patient..and...handsome…”  She’s never said that to anyone before, but he also deserves to know it.  As easily as he ever told her that she’s beautiful.  “I was the lucky one, that you gave me a second chance…thank you.  And the girl who receives you will be even luckier.”

He runs his hand through his hair, then sighs again.  His brows furrow together.  “Don’t kiss me again, okay?  I might not let you off so easily next time.”  Despite the reprimand, his tone sounds joking.

And she nods seriously, apologetically, sincerely.  “I’m sorry.”

“And don’t apologize to me again,” he adds, softer.  “It’s okay.”

It certainly wasn’t okay.  She knows that much.  She sent him mixed signals until the end, making him suffer from her own mixed-up head, and it just wasn’t okay.  But his forgiveness is a miracle.  It’s a miracle that he doesn’t seem to hate her.

“Can I walk you home?”

She doesn’t know how he can seem so at peace in this moment.  She’s sure that the disappointment tugging at her own consciousness must be so much heavier in his, but she accepts his offer.

They walk silently back, no more words to say to each other that would seem right, and she fears that that’s just how it is.  Perhaps that’s just how break-ups should be.  

At her gate, he nods in lieu of a farewell.

Then she bows, an action to convey all of her indebtedness to him, then watches him turn around and head off, and as she enters her home, she realizes she feels a little more at peace, too.

*

She feels a lightness of air, a brighter atmosphere, a kind of clarity about her.

There’s no rush.

Rushing herself will only make her feel worse.  Forcing herself will only put her under unnecessary pressure.

It’s okay.

If Susumu can be okay, then she can be okay, too.

It’s okay.

Even if it’s not okay, it can be.  She can be okay.

She can do other things.

Maybe not see other guys.

And definitely not see Naruto.

But she can just keep busy.

Spend more time with Hanabi.

Train more.  Improve herself.

Just let time happen.

*

It’s after a mission on their return to the village, and all that they have left to worry about is their report, that she informs Kiba and Shino that they broke up.

They stare at her, their simple dinner temporarily forgotten.

Kiba finally blinks at her, coming out of his stupor.  “Who broke up with who?”

“I guess…”  She considers saying that they simply broke up with each other, but that wasn’t really the case.  “He broke up with me.”

Shino sits a little taller, but his silent reaction is eclipsed by Kiba’s, “What?”

She opens her mouth to repeat herself, but Kiba shakes his head, catching himself.

“I mean, sorry.  Are you okay?”

She nods.  There were probably a lot more reasons, like, if looked at as negatively as possible, she was “playing” with him.  Using him to figure herself out, and that’s about the lowest she’s ever gone, the worst she’s ever been, the worst anyone can ever be.  And now, only now can she see how miserable she was, how awful she was.  She’s not okay okay now, but she’s..okay.  Getting there, maybe.  Probably a whole world better than before.

“You two seemed fine...can I ask why?” Kiba asks, his considerate hesitation an effort he rarely exerts.

She smiles in appreciation and shakes her head.  “He broke up with me..because I didn’t have the confidence to do it myself,” she admits.  

“He broke up with you because he could tell that you wanted to break up with him,” Shino rephrases.

Hinata considers Shino’s words, deciding that it’s not quite right.  “Actually, I wasn’t sure if I wanted to break up with him.  I think he just thought it would be best if we broke up.”

“And has it been for the better?” Shino asks evenly.

“Yes.”  It really has been, so she repeats it to solidify it.  “Yes, it’s been better.”  The sureness of her own tone is comforting.  Rather than holding everything in, she’s found that talking about this, with Sakura, with Kurenai, Shino, Kiba, even Hanabi, has been helping her feel less heavy.  Less lonely.

“That’s good, then.”  And Kiba smiles at her nod.

Shino leans forward, makes sure that she can feel his attention even through his dark glasses.  “We’re always here if you need us, Hinata.”

There are so many, many supportive people around her.  Teammates, friends, family.

She doesn’t need him.

She knows she’s never needed him.

She supposes it was never about need, though.

There was a time in her life when he was everything to her, if not a need, it was that-

I loved him.

...Loved?

It’s an endless ache to realize she’s grasping at that swollen sore in her heart, doing her best to pull him out, as if leaving him somewhere behind in her present will help the space in her heart (that was molded just for him, by him) close up in her future, or maybe maybe maybe, maybe one day, hold another.

(After all, not possible.)

(If he’s not there, then what’s supposed to be?)

(Nothing?)

It’s okay if she still cries.

Cries to mourn a one-sided joy. 

Only ever infinite to her, never to him. 

The feelings she’s harbored, collected drops of memories, hopes, visions of him in a bag fit to burst with all the affection she ever had only dreamed to reveal to him, splashes of it leaking out in her words and actions to and for him, momentous to her, colossal in effort and courage to rein in or show in measured, limitless beats of her heart.

But landing ultimately, colorlessly flat.

Whether at his feet, in his eyes, ears, mind, if not reaching his heart, she never landed anywhere.

(It’s okay.)

*

For avoiding anything to do with him, she’s been hearing a lot about him.

That he and his girlfriend are fighting, he’s been angry.

That he’s been taken off missions until further notice.

That he’s been really sick, he has a chakra illness.

That he hasn’t been leaving his apartment at all.

Despite her best, her very best efforts to not think about him, the rumors worry her.  Well, they worry everyone in the village.

How sick is he?  Why is he sick?  Will he get better?  Why is he angry?  From being sick?

What’s true and what’s not?

The rumors must have started with some bits of truth from the girlfriend.

Misplaced, ugly temper spikes at Rumi.

How can she be fighting with him if he’s so sick?  Isn’t she taking care of him?

...She must be.

If Rumi loves him, she must be.

If it were her...she would…

It doesn’t matter.

It’s not her place to worry about him.

It’s okay.

And Naruto will be okay, too.  He always pulls himself up.

*

She actively does her best to not think about him, worry about him, wonder about his health as the rumors are...rumored...to run with truth.  But time gives her no reprieve.

October 10.

The anniversary of the end of the war.

It’s been their tradition over the last two years to arrive at the cemetery early on occasions like this, around 6:00 in the morning.  To place white lilies at her cousin’s grave.  To stay together in quiet conversation or silent prayer until the sun kisses the war monument and other early-goers begin breaking the morning chill.

She’s not sure if she should go.

She knows she should go.

But she’s not sure if...she should go.  Because maybe she shouldn’t go.

The anticipation that used to fill her for this early morning moment, the fondness that warmed her despite the dry autumn cool, are gone, lost, replaced with racing anxiety.

He might not even come.  With how sick he’s been, if the rumor is true, he shouldn’t overexert himself.

She’ll go with her family later in the day, as she always does.

But, she’s awake now.  She has flowers in a vase in the washing sink, ready to go.

And what if he goes?

It’s his birthday.

And that would be really, really awful of her if she didn’t show up, and he did.  Even if she couldn’t bring herself to get him anything this time...not after her failed confession last winter, or her almost-actually-not-really-at-all-a-confession on his birthday last year…

She wasn’t sure what possessed her to bake chocolate for him.  She could’ve chosen anything, anything, and she chose a mini chocolate cake.  As if to announce her love to him.  Maybe that’s just what she wanted to do.  Tell him the truth of her feelings.

No, no.  She couldn’t do that.  Not when they were finally getting along so easily.  Not when it seemed like maybe, just maybe, he was starting to notice her.  She wanted to be sure before she did anything.

She was so nervous, her heart fluttering like the tiny, red maple leaves twirling from the trees, crinkling through her arms and legs, when she saw him leaning against one of the posts of the large gates to the cemetery.  He was effortlessly beautiful.

He smiled, waved with his free hand, his grin banishing the crisp cold and the early morning dusty blue dark, her pulse resetting to an exuberant race.

He never knew how happy he made her.  And it pleased her, warmed her all over, to know she could communicate a little of that today.

She quickly went to him, uncaring if she appeared too eager, because...well, because.  He made her forget herself.

He didn’t seem to notice the bag she carefully toted along with the bouquet of lilies, he seemed to think nothing of it, and the handles burned in her tightened grip.  She’d give it to him when they were leaving.  A part of her wanted to relieve herself of the stress right now, but she reasoned that she didn’t want to inconvenience him. 

They walked straight to Neji’s grave.  By now, this being his...fourth time?...Naruto seemed to know exactly where it was, and he confidently led the way.  For all she knew, maybe he had visited on his own, too.  For herself, it was far, far over her hundredth time.  She had long ago lost count of her visits.

He greeted the headstone as if Neji stood there, instead.  “‘Morning, Neji!”

She scrunched a small smile, dazzled by his wide, self-satisfied grin, and she followed suit, copying his cheery attitude.  “Good morning, Neji-niisan.”

“We’re back!”  He nodded, leaving an opening for her to add on, and she just smiled, enjoying it.  But he toned down, his voice lower when he said, “We brought these for you.”  He lifted his lilies in gesture, bent down and placed them near the grave, and flipped the cup over.  He reached into his utility pocket, pulling out shears for her.  “I’ll go get the water.”

“Thank you,” she managed to murmur to him before he left.  She settled in front of the grave and began to unwrap the bouquets.

By the time he returned, she was almost through clipping the stems.  

He began taking the shortened ones, arranging them neatly into the cup.  “This cup is too small.  We should start bringing our own cups.  Are we allowed to bring our own cups?  What would they do with it?  Would they just throw it away?” he chatted quietly.

“Mm, I think they throw everything away after about a week.”

“Ahh that’s such a waste.”

She hummed her agreement.  “But that’s a good idea, Naruto-kun.  Maybe next time I’ll bring a taller container.  Then we wouldn’t have to clip the stems and leaves so much.”

“It would look nicer than just laying the flowers all over him.”  He suddenly started to snicker.

She glanced at him, his shoulders shaking with quiet, gleeful laughter.  An image of Neji lying on the ground, steadily getting surrounded and covered in bouquets of flowers, a deepening grimace of annoyance marring his usually serious features, rose to her mind’s eye.  She couldn’t help but laugh with him, the thought too ridiculous to not react to.

He bumped shoulders with her playfully, the careless action sending heat up her neck, making her bite her lips, making her remember herself.

“Naruto-kun,” she quietly scolded.  He always made her laugh when they came here.  Laughing in a cemetery was not at all appropriate.  Especially for today.

He side-eyed her, his chin pulling down in a comically judgmental expression.  “What, you laughed, too!”

“Shhh...No, I didn’t.”  A blatant lie.  But he always made her feel silly.

“Psh, yeah, sure, right…”

“Mhm.”  She finished clipping all of the flowers and pushed a few into the cup.  She gathered the leftover ones and tied them back together, laying them beside his grave.

He was watching her, squinting at her, she could feel it, and it took everything in her to not violently blush.

When he didn’t look away, she turned to him, a smile of embarrassment edging up on her.  “What is it?”

He blinked, his brows lifted, he looked away as if he hadn’t been staring at her.  “Nothing.”  But he was grinning.

She glanced away, a little confused, only to feel him obviously watching her again.  Quickly turning to him, she asked, “What?”

He turned back.  “Nothing,” he insisted.

She studied him, his silent, smug laughter bunching in his cheeks.  It was too late, she was blushing, and she was already at new levels of silliness.  “What nothing?”

“Nothing means nothing, y’know?  I was just watching ya!”  His admission was too easy, too shameless.

Her nerves were no match for that.  Her embarrassed confusion and badly hidden happiness must have been all over her face because he laughed harder.  Unable to take it, she buried her face in her hands, patted her cheeks multiple times as if to beat back the warmth of her blush, wondered if it was possible to go insane with happiness.

His laughter calmed to quiet chuckles, and she eventually lifted her face.

She hugged her knees together protectively to hide the frenetic beating of her heart.  She laid her head on her knees, pouted at him beside her.  Found his gaze.

Blue, blue eyes shined with something warm.

She blinked, surprised.

He grinned, the previous expression lost in his teasing smile, and he turned to look at the headstone.

They stayed quiet like that for longer, the lifting haze over the grounds calling the approach of dawn.

She gave her prayers, the ones she had repeated a million times to his grave in the stillness of early mornings and late afternoons.  Never with any less sincerity.  They held her deeper feelings she didn’t often have time to sift through, of regret, of appreciation, of love.  She thanked him, a number never to be counted, for his sacrifice, for the change he brought to their clan, for the numerous lives he saved besides her own and the precious one beside her.

She hoped Neji knew.  She hoped he knew without a doubt what a hero he was.  How he would always be her hero, would always be her inspiration, her older brother.  No amount of visits and flowers would ever equate to everything she owes him, but she hoped it would make up at least a fraction of her feelings.

Naruto sat silently beside her.  His own expression was solemn.

When the shadows began to lift, gold glinting off the monument, and more voices filled the spaces between, he shifted and looked at her in a question.

But she wasn’t quite ready to go, she still had one thing to do.  Her fingers twisted into the bag.  Her chest tightened, heat filled her palms.  “Um…”

“Hm?”

“...Um…”

“What is it?”

She looked away, suddenly unsure of what she was about to do.  What if he didn’t even like cake?

Naruto drew closer, his tone suddenly concerned.  “What’s wrong?”

Surprised, she replied, “Oh, nothing’s wrong!”  Only to realize she now needed to come up with something to explain her behavior.  And the truth came out.  “I brought something for you...for your birthday.”

“Oh.”  His worried expression morphed, she could see realization lighting his features.  It was beautiful, like joy blooming in slow motion.  “Really?”  It sounded almost like he didn’t dare to believe it.

It gave her confidence.  She brought the box out of the bag to show it to him.

He took it, looked at it, looked at her, as if incredulous to even be holding a box.  “I’m gonna open it now.”

She nodded.

He peeled off the sticker sealing the lid, lifted it, his smile widened.  “Cake!”

“Mhm.”

“You...didn’t make it yourself, did you?”

“Mhm.”

“You did?”

“Mhm.”

“..Wow!...”  He admired it longer.

It wasn’t much.  She tried hard to not go overboard.  She made it small enough for one person to eat.  The most effort was in the birthday wish and his name, piped as neatly as she could on a flat, white chocolate piece placed on the top of the cake.  She decorated it with little swirls to symbolize his Uzumaki name.  She wasn’t worried about the taste because she made a second cake, just so that she could taste-test one...maybe she went overboard.  Hopefully he couldn’t tell.

“Wow, Hinata!” he exclaimed again.  “Wow!”  He looked at her, looked at it again.  Smile unfading.  “Wow…”  He stared at it for so long, she wondered what he was looking at.  “...wow…”

He liked it, and that obvious fact made her heart soar.  “..You can have this bag, too, to carry it in.”

He nodded, looked up, eyes cerulean soft.  “Gee, Hinata.  Thank you.”

She smiled, feeling shy with how sincere his reaction was.  “Happy birthday, Naruto-kun.”

His smile grew, he seemed shy, too.  He looked at it a little longer before closing it, then put it back in the bag.  “Thanks, Hinata.”

“It was no problem.  I..hope you like it.”

“I will,” he said, his voice as sure as always.

They left the cemetery, she was tingling, her smile an un-receding blush on her cheeks.

He sighed, a happy sound.

She glanced at him, he was smiling, eyes bright.

It was after that she decided to try to confess to him.  A doomed, misguided decision she couldn’t get herself to commit to in the end.  Perhaps for the best.  His affection already belonged to another.  His first girlfriend probably knit him that scarf, the green stripes an effort her own, solid red scarf didn’t show.  He probably wouldn’t have even remembered his old red scarf.  The meaning would have been lost on him anyway.

She has nothing to give to him this time.  He might not show up after all.

So she steps out of her house.

Heads to the cemetery.

Steels her resolve with each step, readies herself to face him, wonders if she’s managed to move on at all.

Has it been long enough?

No..., she considers bitterly.

She pauses, unwilling to subject herself to any more pain.

But he might not even be there.

He has a girlfriend, after all.

He shouldn’t spend time alone with another girl anyway.

Maybe he and Rumi will come together later on.

She takes a step back, unsure.  She doesn’t need to go.

But what if he’s there?

And just as suddenly, a memory: “What if Naruto and Rumi-chan break up.  What would you do?”

She stands there, two blocks from the cemetery, doubt confusing her.

Minutes pass as she calms herself into blankness.

This isn’t about romantic love.

This isn’t about her relationship with Naruto.

Today is about Neji.

No, every day is about her cousin, her only older brother.  She owes him her very life, every second, every breath.  He was one of the few people in her life who really believed in her and showed it, who took the time to improve her, who was always there for her.

By acting like this, isn’t she stepping on his memory?  Neji would never let her be so pathetic.  Even when he hated her, once upon a time, it was because she wasn’t stronger, wasn’t living up to her name and place.  

He gave her so much of his time and knowledge to help her, develop her.  Amazingly, he was more patient with her than her father ever was.  He pushed her past her limits, reminded her of her goals when she thought she was too tired to keep going, never once called her a failure or a disappointment during their trainings.

“Again.”  Neji stood ready, poised in his battle stance.  Hours of practice seemed to do nothing to him.  He was an immovable wall, straight and proud.

How often she wondered if she could ever be like him.

“Hinata-sama, up.”  His demand was calm, never frustrated.

She stood, her legs shaking, her joints aching, her very skin burning at the chakra points.  But she was up.  And that’s what mattered.  

Neji proved to her that as long as she could stand, she could keep going.  He trained her into a tenacious spirit.

Or so she thought.

Just last year, she felt she was everything he wished her to be.  She felt like she had grown into a kunoichi he would be proud of.

What about now?

Letting her indecision and hesitation ruin herself, ruin others.  Letting herself wither in self-pity.  Letting herself rely on others for comfort, when he always told her to dig deeper within herself.

If she can’t face her weaknesses, her fears, then she really is useless.

And Neji didn’t save her so that she could waver uselessly about like this.

She needs to go.

For Neji.

For herself.

She steps toward the gates of the cemetery.  Empty.  And it’s okay.  She passes rows and rows of headstones, finds Neji’s, empty, no visitors.  It’s her alone at his grave.

And that’s okay.

That’s better than okay.

This is what she needs right now.  If he comes later, then he comes.

And that’s okay, too.

Today is for Neji.

And she’s okay.

She’s okay.

She’s glad she came.

****

He isn’t prepared for something like this.

He’s never been like this with anyone.

Why is everything like this now?

Naruto stays in bed, there’s no reason to get up.  No place to go.  No one to see.

His girlfriend hasn’t come to check on him.

And he’s not going to do a single thing about that.

He shouldn’t be the one to apologize first.  Not this time.

So…

She has to apologize first.

And he’s just going to wait.

It feels stupid.

Those books about dating didn’t say anything about this.  Stupid girlfriends and stupid fights and stupid feelings…Something’s wrong with him.

This heavy, gut-deep feeling twisting his insides, filling him with a restlessness, something close to, similar to, when Sasuke left the village.  But he could do something about that.  He could chase after him, find him, punch the stupid out of him, and that was that.

He’s disgusted to think that this time, the stupid is in himself.  Sakura always told him he was stupid, but he never let himself take her words to heart.

Kanae couldn’t deal with him.  She dumped him within two months.  

He thought he was doing well with Rumi, but now…

He’s the common factor, after all, Even Hinata doesn’t-

The weight in his chest hardens in his throat.

He doesn’t fight it this time.  The empty plastic bag is ready by his bed, he just turns over and lets it go.

It burns, sharper than before, in his throat, behind his eyes, in his nose.

The flower plops out, wet petals splaying out.

But relief eludes him, his chest tightening painfully, he’s choking, hacking out labored coughs.

Slender green leaves, stiffer than the flower petals, slide out in his spit.

He grimaces at the sight, catching his breath, hating it, hating himself.

Obviously it’s worse, he realizes pretty soon he’ll be coughing out entire stalks.  Yet somehow, he can’t find it in himself to care enough to do something about it.

*

When he realizes he’s hungry, he returns to instant ramen, his version of comfort food.  Rumi tried to convince him to make okayu, that bland rice goop that takes a forever and a half on the stove to soften.  As if that would heal his chakra illness.  It’s not like he has a fever or a cold.  If it’s a sickness of his chakra, shouldn’t he just eat what he wants?

Well, what he really wants isn’t instant ramen.

He heads to Ichiraku when everyone else is in bed.  Ever since they turned 24 hours a few months ago, he had been making it a habit to go when no one else is out and about.  It lets him eat peacefully after or before missions, something he didn’t realize he’d ever want.  His younger self would never believe him if he said he was actively avoiding people’s attention.  

But tonight he just wants to enjoy ramen!  Ramen is his greatest companion!

When he arrives, only one older man is sitting at the bar.  They nod to each other in a silent hello.

Teuchi and Ayame aren’t manning the restaurant.  It’s their new-ish hire, Jun, who he’s gotten to know over the last few months.

“Naruto!” Jun greets.  “I haven’t seen you in awhile!”

“Yeah, it’s been...awhile.”  He can’t reason that he’s been busy.  Because he hasn’t been.  He can’t say that he’s been sick.  He doesn’t want to talk about that.

The cook gestures to a flyer on the wall near the menu.  His name, NARUTO, is printed in bubble lettering over a picture of a steaming bowl of ramen covered in sliced narutomaki and pork.  “Do you want to try your special item?”

It’s already that time…  The end of the war.  His birthday, too, in just a few days.  He had it once last year when Ichiraku first started commemorating the anniversary in his honor.  It is miso ramen, his favorite.  He shrugs.  “Sure.”

“One Naruto Special coming right up!”  Jun begins portioning out the noodles for him.  “What brings you out so late tonight?  You have a mission?”

Nothing goes his way these days, like Jun running straight to the heart of everything that’s annoying him right now.  His utter uselessness.  “Uh yeah, no…”

Jun raises a brow.

He can go a few ways with this, like lying, giving vague answers, or going all in with the truth.  Jun is someone with little stake in his personal life.  And he’s barely talked to anyone in the past week.  It’s only the rich scent of ramen keeping him from going berserk at this point.  “I’m sick, so I’ve been relieved from duty for awhile.”  The truth comes out.

“You have a cold or something?”

“No,” he sighs.  “A chakra illness.”

“...That sounds bad,” Jun states uncertainly.

“A chakra illness?”  The stranger nearby jumps into their conversation.  A fellow shinobi, by the looks of it.

Naruto shrugs to show he doesn’t know much more about it.

“That’s serious!” the stranger continues.

“Ahh, no…”  Lies and vague answers.  “It’s not that serious.”

The man settles back.  “Hope you get better soon.”

“Me, too.”  Naruto knows he should go talk to Sakura.  He knows he should, but…

“So you haven’t been coming around because of your illness?” Jun continues.  “Last I heard, your girlfriend didn’t like it that you came here so often,” he laughs teasingly.

Every single topic he wants to avoid.  “Yeah…” he huffs out.  “It’s both.”  He doesn’t realize how aggravated he sounded until he sees Jun’s skeptical expression.

The shinobi a few stools down sounds out a knowing “Hmm!”

“Things aren’t going well with her?” Jun asks cautiously.

The question makes him stop.  And think.  Because it seems obvious that...things aren’t going well.  It’s too obvious. ��But verbalizing that would make it too real.  More real than it already is.  So he answers with silence.

Jun nods sympathetically.  “It’s normal for people who are close to get into arguments sometimes.”

“Huh.”  He supposes that’s true.  He’s really close to Sasuke and Sakura.  So it makes sense that he’s constantly arguing with them.  But things were sorta always that way with them.  And the fights never seemed to last.  Minus when Sasuke defected.  With Rumi, it’s just...different.  Worse.  “I just feel like I can’t say what I want to say to her, like I’m always holding back.”

“Hmm!” the stranger sounds out again.

Naruto stares at the man, but he just nods and eats his ramen, now keeping his thoughts to himself.

Naruto doesn’t know what to make of it.

Jun’s mouth pinches together thoughtfully.  “I guess I do hold back on some things with my girlfriend.  I don’t talk to her the same way I talk to my friends.”  Jun sets the completed bowl of ramen down in front of him, steam wafting over his face, the salty scent waking him up.

Naruto starts eating immediately, the creamy broth a taste of heaven.  He wishes Rumi could just enjoy ramen with him, even better if she would order multiple servings, like how Hi--------.

“If you think it’s a real problem, though, you should talk about it with your girlfriend.”

He swallows a mouthful of noodles, viciously veering all of his thoughts and senses on his food.  “...I did...she just got mad at me.”

A contemplative silence follows.

The memory of Rumi storming out of his apartment makes him frown.  He stuffs his mouth with more hot ramen, his loud slurping meant to drown out all else.

“...You want to make up with her, right?” Jun asks.

Does he want to make up with her?  Of course.  Right?  That’s just what he does.  What he always does.  He treasures the people around him.  He’s put so much effort into making this relationship work.  He can’t just give up on it...right?

“It’ll work out as long as both of you want it to.”

Does Rumi want it to?  He can’t imagine apologizing first this time.  And if she apologizes first, then that would show she wants things to work out, too.

The older shinobi stands and sets his payment down on the counter.  “My wife and I divorced.  Just as it takes two to repair a relationship, it takes two for it to fall apart in the first place.  One person can be more at fault, but-”  He looks pointedly at Naruto.  “Just remember it takes two.”  The man leaves.

Naruto frowns at his retreating back, disappearing into the night.  I know that.  He didn’t need those parting words.  He knows that not everything is Rumi’s fault, he knows that something is wrong with him, he knows that-

I’m more at fault than anyone…  

His chest feels like stones are steadily piling within, hard knots that make it hard to breathe.  But he forces the rest of his ramen down, gulping it as if it’s his first meal in ages.  He came here to enjoy his ramen, the simplest task in the world.  He can at least finish it.

*

He’s been throwing up, hardly able to keep food down with it.

He can’t stop thinking about last year’s annual memorial.  He doesn’t want to think about her, he doesn’t mean to think about her, he knows he shouldn’t think about her, he knows, knows, knows…

And he can’t deny it any longer.

Just the thought of last year makes his gut turn, his chest tighten painfully, his neck seize hot with strain.  Before he can stop it, he’s throwing up the flowers he usually purchases, the burning, soppy, bulky mess conflicting awfully against a faint memory of sweet chocolate cream.  He doesn’t even need to go to the florist.  He has an entire field in his body.

But between worrying about whether he’s going to go tomorrow to the cemetery and whether he should go and get this stupid fight with his girlfriend done and over with after long over a week of not speaking, he can’t get himself to do anything.

He knows what he should do.  He knows what he’s supposed to do.  A good boyfriend would-

He doesn’t want to.

He doesn’t want to do anything.

He can hardly think, can’t get his priorities straight.  Can barely consider the idea of confronting Rumi without thinking of tomorrow morning, honoring Neji, can barely wonder if Hinata will even--

He finds himself hovering over his trashcan or the toilet every few minutes, sour saliva filling his mouth, gasping for air, trying to keep himself from vomiting again.  Only after several minutes of careful breathing, when he’s calmed enough, he moves away to the couch.

Rumi was right about him.

Rumi was right.

It’s obvious that Rumi was right.

Rumi, that night, when all of this started…

“You don’t...you don’t get it…you have me, Naruto-kun...you shouldn’t...why would you…”

She was right.

What he’s feeling, what he’s thought, it was, it is, strange.  Weird.  No, fucking worse than that.  And he didn’t want to admit it, didn’t catch it until every wrong, stray thought betrayed his duplicity with hard, painful evidence.

He needs to do something or say something to fix everything.  He needs to make it up to Rumi somehow.  Somehow make things right again.  With her.  With himself.

He lays on his couch, listlessly staring at the ceiling.

It’s easier to just not think at all.

Naruto.

Yeah?

You’re losing chakra.  Your body’s not properly replenishing its natural supply.

Yeah, okay.

Kurama’s more awake these days, restless at the back of his conscience.  When he notices something, he verbally observes it.  Then goes back into silence.

I can’t help you with that.

I know.

I’ve been healing your throat.

That explains...a lot.  ...Thanks.

Ungrateful brat!  Go see your medic-nin friend.

He groans, trying to shut off their mental connection.

A hard, authoritative rap against his door, ten consecutive knocks too long, echoes through his apartment.

Sakura.

Damn it.

Heh.

As much as he doesn’t want to, he drags himself to his door.  He knows what would happen if he doesn’t.

She has her hands on her hips, head tilted with eyes that take in every wrinkle on his shirt and skin.  She gives the most exasperated sigh.  “I told you to tell me if your condition worsened!” she scolds.  “You want to die?”

A rhetorical question, but he still feels compelled to self-righteously say, “No!”

She rolls her eyes.  “Then come on!” she snaps impatiently.  “Get your shoes on!”

He does as he is told, coming to the annoying conclusion that he’s very likely going to have to stay in the hospital until he gets better.  “Are you going to order me to hospital bed rest?”

“And if I do, what?  You’re going to run away?  Don’t you dare try, or else.”

He frowns, sulking.  But for the first time in a long time, he doesn’t feel like he’s about to be sick.  He really should have gone to see her sooner.  Sakura’s one of his closest comrades, he trusts her more than almost anyone.

As they’re heading to the hospital, he wonders if he really looks that bad.  Sakura could tell as soon as he opened the door.  Maybe he smells of vomit?...  “You could tell just by looking at me, huh…”

She glances at him and shakes her head.  “No.  Rumi came to see me today.  She asked about you.”  She says this all matter-of-factly.

It makes him blink hard, guilt slamming into him ten-fold.  The disgust in himself, steadily building over the past few days, now sluggishly oozing all over himself.

Rumi hasn’t come to apologize, but she’s still thinking about him.  She’s still worried about him.  And Sakura probably knows that their relationship is rocky…

But Sakura doesn’t say anything more, and Naruto doesn’t know what to say.

*

“So?”  Sakura is in her professional medic-mode, green eyes boring into him.

He feels vaguely like he’s in an interrogation.

“Rumi told me that you were coughing out entire flowers.  I want to hear it directly from you.  How bad has it gotten?”

He should have told her a long time ago.  He should tell her now.  But once again, he feels the need to evade this entire topic.  He shifts in his chair, almost daring to act like he didn’t hear her.

“Naruto.  This is serious.  I need you to tell me.”

He works his jaw, feels the weight of her serious stare, and finally lets out a breath.  “...It’s whole flowers.”  The words fall out heavily, a burden he had kept for too long.  “And leaves.”

Her brows furrow.  She notes it down.

“Sakura-chan...what should I do?  Tell me you found something.”

“I looked through our archives.  I researched similar chakra illnesses, but that’s the thing.  They can be similar, but the root causes can be drastically different from person to person.  Naruto..”  She takes a deep breath.  “We haven’t found anything specific to your condition, but!  Shishou and I discussed a theory yesterday.”

He can’t help frowning, showing how absolutely unnerving it is to hear that he has an unrecorded sickness, never experienced by anyone else.  He waits for her to continue.

“The lilies are obviously a chakra transformation.  The question we needed to answer is, why?  Why would your body be suddenly evicting your own chakra?  In the form of flowers?  Well…”  A familiar glint of determination sparks in her eyes.  Her penchant for academics was always beyond his understanding.  “We think it’s not your own chakra.  After all, you don’t have the Floral Release kekkei genkai.  This transformation is not congenital.”

He looks away, trying to understand.  Failing to understand.  He frowns.  “Kurama’s chakra is doing this?”

“No.  At least we don’t have reason to believe so.  We’ve seen Kurama’s chakra manifest before.”

That’s true.  Kurama’s chakra is the opposite of elegant white lilies, more of a threatening, boiling red or a poisonously thick, crackling black.

He stares at her.  Just waits for her to tell him.

When she sees that he’s not coming to the answer on his own, she finally continues.  “We posit that it’s nature energy residue.  Very few shinobi undergo Sage training.  Even fewer shinobi successfully complete such difficult training.  Based on mostly Jiraiya-sama’s accounts, we believe your body contains a very small--minuscule really--amount of nature energy at all times, a kind of left-over residue from repeated collections.  You build up a resistance or defense over time to nature energy’s power in this way, which allows you to activate Sage Mode more and more easily.”

He nods.  That makes more sense to him than he thought it would.

“However, that theory doesn’t really tell us why this is happening.”

Stress tingles at his limbs.  He swallows inaudibly.  He doesn’t want to discuss this at all.

“Why now?”  Her eyes narrow at him skeptically.  “Something must be so disturbed, that it’s disrupting your body’s regular functions.”  Her voice has quieted some, her words seeming more like thoughts for herself than for him.  A conversation she’s probably been having with herself or with Tsunade for awhile now.  “Your body is seeking an equilibrium, trying to rebalance itself, and the nature energy residue that’s riding along your own chakra system is the first thing kicked out...As lilies.”

He stares at her, unwilling to interrupt.  Sakura’s so smart, he’s afraid to know if she’s already figured him out, but he can’t just stop her from talking.  It’s like reading a terribly predictable story all the way through, only to find out if it ends the way he thinks it will.

“These lilies are the key.  The body tries to heal itself on its own.  It’s our body’s natural instinct.  And for some reason, your chakra is manifesting as lilies to help you to restore your equilibrium.  Your body is trying to provide you with what you need.  It’s telling you what you need.”

His chest is heavy with the weight of a shame he doesn’t want to address.

“It could’ve been anything else,” Sakura reasons in his silence.  “Any kind of plant or other nature release.  Or your body could have just leaked your chakra out gradually.  It would end the same way.  Chakra exhaustion.”  She stares at him, willing him to look her in the eyes, but he can’t.  “Naruto, if this keeps up, you will either die of chakra exhaustion or from strain on your respiratory system.”

It sounds surreal to him.  He’s faced death on multiple occasions, but never like this.  His body’s never failed him before.

“Naruto?”  Sakura’s tone is gentler now.  “You already know why this is happening, don’t you?  I need to know so that I can create an antidote or a plan for a solution…  Can you tell me?”

He shrugs again, but it’s getting harder to breathe, and he’s desperately trying not to think, to keep his mind as blank as absolutely possible, because the last thing he wants to do is think of..think of…

He gets out of his chair, dropping his face into the nearest trashcan.

“It’s telling you what you need.”

Hinata.

His chest clenches, tightening, tightening.  An ache shooting up his neck.  A painful burn at the bottom of his throat.  

I’m sick because I-

A flower blooms out of him, tearing along his esophagus.

Two.

Three.

Vaguely he knows that Sakura’s right behind him, her chakra seeping through his back, into his chest, attempting to soothe him.

He coughs out stiff leaves, slick with saliva.

He spits out extra congestion.  Blood.

His eyes widen at the sight.  Kurama!

Tell her now or your throat is going to start hurting a lot more from now on.

He squeezes his eyes shut, tears pricking beneath his eyelids.  Hell no!

“Naruto,” Sakura calls, tone concerned.  “You need to tell me what’s going on now.”

He pulls himself up.  His head feels heavy.  His chest feels heavier.  He wants to lie down and curl up into the fetal position just to relieve the pressure.  “I’m just stupid, Sakura-chan.  I’m a complete asshole.”

“...What do you mean?”  She leads him back to his chair and helps him to sit down again.

“I mean what I said.  Even I know it’s wrong.”  He sighs.  Groans.  Covers his face in his hands.  “I don’t know what to do.”

Sakura waits several seconds for him to continue.

He doesn’t want to explain, the last thing he wants to do is voice it aloud.

She leans forward in her chair, gaze intent on him.  “Naruto, you really need to tell me.  This illness you have can kill you if we don’t resolve it.”

He drops his hands, stares at Sakura.  Wishes for a forgiveness before he’s even confessed to anything.  How will she react?  With anger?  Because he’s so stupid?  “I know I’m with Rumi,” he tries.  Is it any justification?

Sakura just gives him a look of confusion.

“But I…”  His voice dies in his throat.  He feels like he’s going to retch.  

“...Naruto, if you can’t tell me, our only other option is a memory evaluation.”

He swallows it back.  “Sakura-chan, I’m a bastard.”

“What are you saying?  Why are you saying that?  What did you do?”  Her patience is obviously wearing thin.  “Did you...cheat on her?”

“No...yes...I don’t know.  I don’t know, Sakura-chan.”  He buries his head in his hands again.  Fuck, am I cheating on her?

“Try to tell me what you do know.”

“I don’t deserve anyone.”

“...Why would you say that?”

“Because I’m shit.”

“Stop talking down on yourself and talk to me.”

He finally looks up.  He knows he’s the absolute worst.  If he confesses everything, all the ugly and disgusting parts, Sakura will beat him up, like he deserves.  “It wasn’t intentional.  I didn’t mean to.  I don’t even know why…”  Has he been cheating on Rumi?  His feelings are so foul, his own body couldn’t reconcile them?

Sakura silently waits for him to continue, her brows furrowed in her concentration.

He takes in another breath, labored with the pressure on his breathing.  “I just...I...just...hate it so much.  That she’s-”  His face scrunches up--a flashing memory of her purposely leading that guy away from him--bile burns his esophagus, and he swallows it back.  He hopes Sakura knocks him out.  “I think about her too much.  I have Rumi, but I was thinking about her.  I am thinking about her.”  He thought about her in all kinds of ways.  Fantasized about her.  Even he knows, after nearly two weeks to himself, after finally facing reality, that it’s wrong.  An awful thing to do.  “Fuck, I haven’t spoken to Rumi in over a week, but all I can think about is...”  He looks at Sakura desperately.

She looks speechless.

“I can’t stand it, I can’t stand that I’m being like this!”  He’s not doing right by Rumi, but he can’t even bring himself to apologize to her.  He still doesn’t want to accept it, that he’s a jerk, a real piece of shit.  He feels itchy and gross beneath his own skin.  He wants to crawl out of his body and leave himself behind.  He’s always been loyal.  He’s always been trustworthy and reliable.  Despite all his faults, he always faced people honestly, so why is it that all of a sudden, he’s acting like this?  He tried blaming it on her for so long, rationalized that it was her fault for choosing that guy.  He never had any patience for two-faced assholes, and he refused to recognize it in himself for so long, but it’s been so obvious, so so obvious.

“Naruto,” Sakura intones quietly, slowly.  “...Who are you talking about?”

“The lilies,” he breathes out.  He can feel the pressure tangling, collecting, expanding heavily in his chest, right there at the bottom of his throat, spit collecting on his tongue.  “What am I supposed to do?”  He could probably walk right up to her, and she would just push right on through-  “I can’t do anything, there’s nothing I can do about this, what am I supposed to do?!  I just, I just want to stop!”  He shouldn’t desire her, it’s wrong of him.  But all he wants, all he really wants, “I just want her to look at me, nothing else”--a labored breath--“I don’t need anything else from her if she would just-” look only at me “-it’s wrong, I know believe me I’ve been trying to stop-”

The twisted knot in his chest lodges up into his throat, choking him.  The bulk shoots up, unending, his mess spilling on the floor.  Through the burning blur in his sight, vague flowers plop into his puddle, traces of blood streaked on white and green.

“Naruto!”  A sound of a chair clattering on the floor, and Sakura’s familiar, warm chakra seeps into his back, into the spaces of his chest, disrupting the spastic surge of his own, until he’s coughing for air that’s not making it past the blockage in his chest.

He blacks out.

*

The first thing he registers is the dark window.  Night.

“Naruto-kun!”  Rumi leans forward from her seat, catching his attention.

He’s lying in a hospital bed, the clean sheets stiff over his body.  “...Rumi…”  His throat feels dry.  He swallows, then grimaces at the sour taste of his own breath.

Her hazel eyes are low with concern.

The last time he saw her, she slammed his apartment door.  What is she doing here now?  Is she not mad anymore?

She watches him silently, maybe waiting for him to say something, but he doesn’t know what to say.  He should apologize or ask her how she’s been...Do something or say something, but nothing feels right.  The hollowness in his gut contrasts with the latent weight of his chest.  He can’t grasp at the excitement he used to feel when he saw her.  All he recognizes is his own guilt.  He’s a disgusting guy.

“Sakura-san told me to inform her if you woke up.”  She hesitates for a moment, shifting in her seat.  But he just watches her slowly stand, walk around his bed, slide the door to his room open, and disappear as she shuts it.

The beeping pulse of the monitor beside him is one of the worst sounds in the world, he’s certain of it.  But for once, he hopes it stretches time for as long as possible.  He’ll only have a few minutes before he has to confront everything.

When the door slides open again, Sakura enters, alone.  “You gave me a scare there, Naruto,” she scolds.  “Not to mention the mess in my office.”

He tries to crack an apologetic smile, but his lips can’t curl properly with his cheeks.  “...Sorry.”  He pushes himself up to sitting.

She shakes her head.  “You’ve been stable for the past few hours.  As soon as you fainted, your chakra began to relax.  All I did was stop any internal bleeding, but Kurama helped that process along.”  She takes a seat where Rumi was before.

“Thanks.”

Sakura faces him, holds his gaze, then flips open a blank page in a notebook.  “Your condition is much more serious than I thought.  Any slight thought seems to trigger an episode, and you obviously can’t bring yourself to say it.  I want you to write it for me.”

“Write what,” he asks warily.

“Who the lilies are.”

Tell-tale spit gathers beneath his tongue.  He hastily grabs the notebook and pen from her, scrawls her name across the page, and pushes it back to her, looking away, unable to settle his sight on those characters.

Sakura sighs.  A long, tired one.

When he glances back at her, he’s never seen her look so sad for him.  Sympathetic maybe.

He waits for her to say something, anything, to beat him or curse at him.  When nothing comes, he baits her.  “So?  What?!”

“Did you know that they broke up?” she asks quietly.

He blinks several times, processing.

“Hinata and Susumu-san broke up recently,” she repeats.

He looks away, trying to comprehend the slightest ease of tension in his chest.  “Really?” he asks, unwilling to believe it just yet.

“Yes, she told me a few days ago, that they’re officially off.”

He feels like he can breathe better, like things are re-righting themselves in the very structure of his body.

“Naruto?”

“..Yeah?”

“Do you understand how you feel about her?”

He looks at Sakura, frowns.  How he feels about her?  He shrugs, gazing at her cautiously.

“Don’t you…”  Sakura bites her lip.  “Don’t you love Hinata?”

Her words feel bitter, they tie up a pit in his chest, a knot sitting at his heart, plugging whatever relief he had just regained.  “...I have Rumi,” he negates.  He said that word to his girlfriend, and he has the gut-churning feeling that he shouldn’t use those words for anyone else.

“You-”  Sakura lowers her voice to a whisper.  “-You don’t have to, Naruto.”

He digs through her meaning, arriving at the conclusion that Sakura’s telling him...to break up with her.  “I, I can’t do that.”  His eyes widen.  “I need to make up with her.  I’ve been such an ass to her, I need to make it up to her somehow.”

She buries her face in her hands.  Then suddenly lets out a muted, frustrated scream.  “You’re such a fool!  Do you really think that’s the right thing to do?!”  She looks up at him, her viridian eyes flaming with impatience.  She doesn’t wait for him to respond.  “You know what.  Normally, normally, I would try to mind my own business.  But this has to do with your health.  And I need to make sure you understand what’s going on here.”  She takes in a big breath, as if she’s about to pick up a boulder.  “You have a disease that’s transforming your chakra into lilies, which are being violently expelled from your body.  The probable root cause is an exceptionally intense emotion toward Hinata that you, or your body, needs to communicate or express, but you have no outlet to do so.  Therefore, from what I can tell, unless you convey your feelings to Hinata, you will continue to lose chakra.”  Sakura stares at him, eyes wide but with the piercingness of a glare.  “Do you get it?!  You need to prioritize your feelings!”

Naruto turns away, looks toward the door where Rumi last was.  It would be wrong of him.  “I can’t just do that to Rumi.  She never did anything wrong.  That would hurt her, right?  There isn’t anything else I can do?”

Sakura tsks, sighs, her head falling back to stare at the ceiling in her obvious frustration.

“There’s no other way?” he presses.

She groans, her eyes closing for a second.  “Surgery.  But I don’t want to do it.  No.  I refuse to do it.”

“Wait, what, why?!  You just take out whatever’s fucked up inside of me, right?  You can do it, that’s easy for you!”  There was such a solution this entire time?  Why didn’t she say so earlier?

She scoffs.  “Of course I can do it.  But like I said, I don’t want to!”

“Why not?”

“Because it’s not that simple!” she snaps.

He shakes his head at her in confusion.  “What do you mean?!”

“You’ll change.  Chakra surgeries are sensitive, it’s a very delicate process, but no matter how careful the medic is, the patient always comes out...different.”

“...What do you mean?” he repeats.

“I told you before that chakra is tied to your very identity.  Operating on it can screw up all sorts of psychological aspects that we can’t begin to predict.  Yes, I can remove the physical problem.  But you would never be the same.”

He waits for her to elaborate.

“You could not only lose abilities, you could lose memories, even entire emotions.  One patient Tsunade told me about lost memories of his brother.  The patient had a stress-related chakra illness that was making his chakra too thick for his system.  Shishou operated to remove the strain, but after, the patient forgot how to connect with his own brother!  He could tell that he was missing something that he used to have, but he couldn’t remember his own feelings.”

He squints at her.

“Considering that this is about Hinata...”  She averts her gaze.  “I predict that there’s a chance you could lose your memories of her...if I operated on your chakra.”

Lose my memories…?  Hinata jumping down between him and Pain, protecting him?  Her blood dripping down her face, her fearlessness then, her assuredness while confronting what he was certain would be her death?  Just forget everything she’s ever done for him?  The weight in his chest spreads, an ache developing all up his sternum, a strain along his collarbones.  “I can’t lose my…” he murmurs.

“...I know.”

He holds his head in his hands.  Tries to imagine what he needs to do.

Find Hinata.

Tell Hinata...tell her what, exactly?  That he needs her?  Wouldn’t she just look at him speechless and confused?

And then what?  He’ll feel better?

Maybe? And then?  What about Rumi?  Isn’t that actually cheating?  Talking to Hinata about his...feelings...when he has a girlfriend?  He can’t do that!

But he needs to if he wants to get better.  Forgetting Hinata is out of the question.  Doing nothing means he’ll be that much closer to dying.

So he needs to tell Hinata.

And then…?

“Naruto.”

“...Yeah?”

“You need to talk things through with Rumi first.  If I was dating a guy who loved someone else...I wouldn’t want to be with him.”

He looks up then.  “But I--!”

Sakura tilts her head in confusion at his rebuttal.  “But what?  You know..I’ve thought about this for myself, and, I would hate it, I would really hate it, it might take me some time...a lot of time...but, I would leave him alone if he..if he told me he loved someone else…”  She sighs.  “Logically, I know that no girl deserves to be with a guy who doesn’t truly love her.  And...a guy deserves to have someone he can honestly love.”  Sakura’s eyes cast down to the floor.

He was about to say that he does love Rumi.  That’s what he said to her before.

But he couldn’t say it.

He can’t.

Because he doesn’t.  Not the way Sakura loves Sasuke.

Selflessly.

Untiring and devotedly.

He blinks, realization cold and clawing across his nerves.

He can’t believe he forgot...forgot what it was like to try to vie for Sakura’s attention.  To see that he would never get her to look his way with that impossible affection.  To come to terms with that for his best friend’s sake because he cared so much more for their happiness than his own.

If he could have ever admitted it to himself back then, he would know that he was lonely.  Frustrated.

But it was just another tally for his losses against the world, and he didn’t need to cut himself any deeper.

And yet here he is, dating Rumi because…

He just wanted a girlfriend.  Maybe to feel better about himself.  Or to feel more like a winner, less like a loser.  More like an adult, less like a lost child.  To feel deserving of affection, to have that for himself, from anyone who was willing to give it.

And...he thinks she could tell.

A spiraling, sinking pit forms in his stomach.  How has he been making her feel?

If it’s anything similar to the loneliness that fueled his games for Sakura’s heart, he’s hardly grown from the child that played pranks for attention.  Hurting others for his own gain.

If it’s any worse than that…

Someone like him…

Selfish, immature, cheating?,

He deserves this chakra illness.  If it’s any atonement, he should be suffering.

He squeezes his eyes shut hard, as if the black dark can make everything else disappear.

He didn’t mean to.

It didn’t seem like a big deal.  Dating seemed fun.  Rumi seemed like a fun, nice girl.  She is exactly that.

Someone good like her can’t possibly care for him the way Sakura cares for Sasuke, right?  That’s just not possible, right?  When she said she loved him, she didn’t mean it that way, right?  How could she?  How could anyone?

Did she mean it?

And he just…

He just?  Said it back?  Because she said it?  Because she wanted to hear it?  Because he thought he owed it to her?  Or no, because it was just-

Three words.  For kisses and boobs.

The nausea this time is different, his disgust at his own obliviousness, his willful incompetence, it’s a shame he can’t bear.

He lies down, his mind jumping between the possibility that she didn’t mean it that way, or that she really, really did mean it.

She didn’t mean it like Sakura says it, right?  She hardly actually knows him!

...And he hardly actually knows her.

“Naruto?”

He almost forgot Sakura was here.

“Naruto?” she calls again.

He rolls over, opens his eyes, meets Sakura’s viridian.

“I can’t force you to do anything you don’t want to, but Rumi is still here.  She’s waiting in my office.”

He closes his eyes again.

“Naruto?”

He keeps his eyes closed.  He doesn’t want to think.

“Naruto?”  She huffs.  “...I’m going to go get her.  After that, it’s up to you, but, for your own life, and for hers, too, talk to her.  I think you need to tell her,” she finishes quietly.

Tell her?  Tell her he never actually Sakura-level-loved her?  Tell her what exactly?  The details of his illness?  He opens his eyes in his trepidation.

“...Things can only get better from here, Naruto.”  She stands, giving him another sympathetic look, before leaving.

Better how, exactly?  Better for who?  For himself, only?  He can just continue on, doing things for himself?

*

“You...”  Rumi breaks the awful silence between them first.  “You’ve gotten worse than before.”

“Yeah…”  He watches her, notes her sad expression.  Notes that they haven’t smiled at each other in a long time.  Wonders what she’ll look like when he tells her--

“What’s wrong?  Can Sakura-san help you?”

He shakes his head.  “She can’t.”

“What?”  Her eyes are wide in alarm.  “What, what does that mean?”

“It’s a problem with me,” he tries, but her shock only turns to confusion.  “I…” he starts.  He loses his train of thought.  He takes in her small face.

She’s a small girl, but she’s small, too, in other ways.  Just that much younger than him, slightly too young to have participated in the war, just at that age below him to be naive to his experiences.  She’s pretty.  A cute girl.  Bright, light eyes.  Even features.

How the hell did he get involved with a nice girl like her?  How had he rationalized they would be a good match?  She deserves someone so much better than him.  Someone she can actually connect and relate with, someone who deserves her affection.

“You’re...not going to die, right?” she asks.

He hopes not.  The idea of death still doesn’t seem real.  “Rumi…”

She freezes, brows furrowing with concern, eyes wide again.

“I’m sorry.”

“...Wha-”

“We…”  He steels himself, everything hardening along feelings of inadequacy, and pushes through.  “...shouldn’t be together anymore.”

She blinks, alarm morphing back to confusion.  “What, Naruto-kun, wha-, what?”

“Because you deserve someone better than me.”

“What?  No, what?  I’m happy with you, I don’t need anyone better, you’re perfect to me!”  Her words rush out.

Perfect?  She’s always described him in a way that he can’t really identify with.

“Are you going to die?, is that why you’re saying this?”

He’s hurt her without even actually telling her anything.  “No, it’s not that…”

Her eyes dart away, her gaze frantic before him.  “Is it because of our fight?”

“No-”

“If it is, you know that I’m sorry!  I didn’t mean any of it, we don’t have to do this-”

“Rumi.”

He watches her features scrunch up, crumpling inward, like she’s holding back from crying, and he knows, in comparison to any time before, he’s never made her look like this.  Never made anyone look this sad before.

“Rumi, I’m sorry, it’s just…”  The tears glossing her eyes are a punch to his face.  His fault.  All his fault.  “I can’t give you what you deserve.”  Every word that he says, does it only make it worse?

“I-I don’t need anything, Naruto-kun.  I really don’t need anything…”  Her voice is thick, heavy, trembling  Her eyes are wide, unblinking, tears balancing at her lashes.

He doesn’t want her to cry.  He doesn’t want to hurt her.  He never wanted to hurt her, so...why?  “You do, Rumi.  You’re a great girl, and I’m just this...this guy.  I’m not who you think I am, and I can’t give you what you...what you deserve.”

“No!, noo!”  A sob shakes her voice.  “I can change, if I was too needy, I don’t have to be, I can be better, too, I’m not, not anything, I don’t need anything…”

Rumi…  He watches in horrid self-loathing as a large tear spills down her cheek, followed by another one, and she blinks, her hands coming up to furiously wipe her eyes.  He turns away, unable to handle it, comprehension failing him.  How...how did he hurt her so much?

“N-Naruto-kun, I don’t want to, I don’t want us to b-break up!”

His own throat feels thick.  A heavy pinching in his gut makes it hard to breathe, and the guilt weighing in his conscience is too heavy for him to lift.  He can’t look up.  He can’t look at her.  “I’m really..sorry, Rumi…”  He is.  But saying it doesn’t feel like enough.  And there’s no way for him to show it.  If he really, really means it, shouldn’t he be able to prove it somehow?  When did he become such a useless bastard?

Her breath hitches, a choked sob that pierces the air awfully.

He bites his lip, the tension in her breaths impossible to listen to, and he knows that one look at her crying this hard would be too devastating, a memory that would damn every waking moment from now.  He shuts his eyes, his hands clench at the sheets in frustration with himself.  Every part of him is useless.

Worse than that.

Harmful.

His inability to comfort her, to make things right with her, only hurting her more.  At this moment, his very existence is an ugly wound on her life that should never have been.  All previous moments together now just shattered, brittle shards that will remind him of his foolish, foolish, stupid, stupid, self-absorbed dishonesty.

He can never ask for her forgiveness.  He can’t explain himself.  He can’t try to give excuses.

That would all just be for his own sake, and he doesn’t deserve any of it.

What’s wrong with him?

Why did any of this happen?

*

When she left, face in her hands, the sound of him breaking her apart still ringing in his ears, he stays where he is, unmoving emptiness throughout, and wonders.

If it’s okay for him to live like this.

If it’s okay for him to just go on.

He hurt Rumi, took her lightly, acted out of self-interest, and the worst part?  He wasn’t even aware of it.

Was he always this selfish?

Will he always be this selfish?

The tugging on his mind tells him he hasn’t learned anything.  He hasn’t grown, not even from tonight.

Because above everything, in the background of his conscience and at the forefront of the ache in his chest, is the itching thought of meeting her in the morning.

He sickens himself.

He doesn’t deserve anyone or anything, affection or otherwise, so how dare he hope to see her, how dare he want her to think of him.

He really is the worst kind of guy.

Just an absolute bastard.

*

When he wakes, he startles, the cold hospital air sore within his dry throat.  He blinks against the bright morning sunlight streaming into his room.

Adrenaline spikes.

He’s late.

No, he already missed it.

He couldn’t sleep after Sakura checked in on him before going off-duty, parting with “It was the right thing to do.”  Right?  Nothing was right about it, he’s only ever made stupid decisions, he’s only ever been entirely stupid.  For his own abilities to finally back-fire on him, well, it was a long-time coming, wasn’t it.  His regrets, every embarrassing, shameful moment building up to this, all the work he ever put in only to fail spectacularly, this is really the final blow.  He thought he left his past failures behind him at the Academy.

When he finally dozed off, he wasn’t even aware of it.

And now it’s too late.

Who’s to say she even went, right?

She probably didn’t.  Because why would she.  He’s not worth anyone’s time, and Hinata finally realized that.

That well-familiar sickness unfurls in his throat.  He barely makes it, turning over and vomiting in the trashcan beside his bed.  Somehow, it’s not quite as bad as yesterday.  A couple lilies less or something.

How sick is it that he’s relieved that Hinata and that guy broke up?  If it’s anything like what he just went through with Rumi, he wouldn’t wish that on anyone, but...

Who broke up with who?  And why?  It’s an awful, shameful relief to indulge in his thoughts, now free to wander to her without betraying Rumi.  He absolutely disgusts himself.

He can’t stop himself.

He doubts that guy broke up with her.  Why would anyone, right?

He’d never-

He coughs out leaves, the pain pinching and stinging in his chest, lasting longer than he’s used to.

Kurama can’t heal him as quickly as before.  He’s really getting worse.

He huffs out a sigh.

Death.

What even is it?  He doesn’t want to die.  He still has so much he wanted to do.

Become Hokage.

He almost wants to laugh at himself, but he’s too disgusted to truthfully find humor in it.  Anyone so inherently emotionally stupid as him shouldn’t be allowed to lead the village.

Not too long ago, he thought he grew up.  He thought he was responsible.  Saved the world, punched Sasuke really good, completed successful missions like nothing.  He could see people relying on him.  He maintained good relationships.

Who knew dating would reveal what a fool he actually is?

The sound of wood and metal grating jars him from his depression.  He blinks at Sakura, who’s standing in the doorway.

“Oh, you’re actually still here!”  She sounds genuinely surprised.  “Then, I’ll be the first to say ‘Happy Birthday’ to you.”  She smiles warmly, but it’s marred by a tinge of pity.

He glances away.  “Thanks.”

“And I’m not about to let this be the last time you hear me say it.”  She suddenly appears at his bedside.  “Are you ready?”

He stares at her.  Her determination registers as only a terrible blankness within.

“I sent summons for Hinata.  She’ll be here any minute.”

He sits up, blinking hard at his ex-teammate, but he only sees her, creamy skin, peaceful smile.  He’s not fucking ready to see her.  He pulls at the cords monitoring his chest, and Sakura grips his wrists with such bone-bruising strength, he can’t help whining.

She gives him her infamous fake smile that speaks volumes of threats.  “I’m staying here until she arrives.”

*

She rushed over as soon as she was called.  The messenger caught her when she was nearly at home, and she changed directions immediately.

But now she stalls, taking slow steps down the hallway.

She can’t tell if it’s intentional, or if it’s the nervous apprehension numbing her extremities to a careful pace.  She thought she couldn’t be any more emotionally exhausted, not after all the stress she put herself through earlier that morning, but it’s as if her mind and heart just have a thing for endurance.  They won’t give her a break.  She’s alert, everything racing like the adrenaline rush in a battle.

Just beyond this door.  He’s there.

Really sick.  So sick, Sakura must have called her for her Byakugan.  Why her Byakugan, out of all the Hyuuga in the village, she can’t begin to comprehend.  Maybe it’s Sakura’s way of forcing her to get over Naruto, a self-evaluation of some sort.

She swallows her nerves.

She’s still in love with him.

And for whatever she’s worth, she’ll help him if he needs her.  Even if just looking at him makes a new piece of her wither.

She knocks.

“Come in!”  Sakura’s voice sounds out.

And so she does, sliding the door open, her sight immediately aligning with blue.

Her heart plummets straight down to her feet, the vacancy in her chest a sharp pain.

She slides the door closed behind her.

By now she should have said something.  A greeting for Naruto.  For Sakura.

She can’t say a word, but her feet somehow carry her closer to them, her knees locking with each step.

“Thanks for coming, Hinata.”  Sakura looks at her, then at Naruto.

Naruto is staring, eyes too wide, too frozen, and she notices the dark circles beneath, then the slightly pale pallor of his usually tan skin.

He’s really sick.

“I’m going to leave the two of you alone for a moment.  Naruto needs to talk to you.”

She registers that Sakura steps behind her, leaves the room, but she can’t break from Naruto’s stare.

Something’s really wrong with him, deeper than just an illness, and she’s suddenly scared.  Not for herself.  For him.

*

Her lips part.  “Naruto-kun?”  Her quiet voice, a nostalgic waver of trepidation.

It’s what he’s been wanting, needing, what he’s been dying to hear.

[radientwings]

A Chosen Path (Elriel Fluff)

Inspired by a prompt from the lovely @rosehallshadowsinger, who wanted to see elriel as mates. Post-ACOFAS AU with a healthy coating of fluff.

It wasn’t heard of. It wasn’t. No one male or female should have two bonds attached to two other souls. But it was as the Cauldron willed it. Or so Azriel thought. Because when Elain was Made, Lucien wasn’t the only one to feel the sudden call of mate, mate, mate.

It was a painful thing, to have that sudden snap in his soul as it was attached to another, a string, a path between them as strong and undeniable as fate. But Azriel couldn’t even act on it, didn’t have the time, before he heard Lucien Vanserra – a male Azriel cared little for – whisper the very thing that was singing in Azriel’s blood. 

“You’re my mate.”

And just like that, it was over. Everything came crashing down in him, all the hopes, the possibilities. Azriel had never thought that he’d craved something as archaic as a mating bond until the moment it was ripped away from him. It left him bereft, empty. Here he was, his soul singing for its twin, its mate, only to find the other end of the bond already reaching to a different male altogether.

(Azriel hadn’t even considered that his mate might choose him, not at that moment, with an ash bolt through his chest and the pain of loss setting fire in his heart. He’d never believed himself worthy of such a pure, wondrous thing. Perhaps that’s why he’d followed after Mor for so long and with such devotion; how, after all, could you attain the unattainable?)

He managed to tamp down every latent instinct in him that roared at him to tear Lucien’s damned head off, managed to block off every facet of his fledgling bond and focus only on the more serious matter at hand; staying alive. It was humiliating, that he could do nothing but suffer in silence as his friends, his family, fought against the onslaught that was the King of Hybern and his Cauldron-damned allies. But there was that bolt – that blasted bolt – lodged in his chest, and there was poison ready to surge through his blood and end him.

Useless, his mind whispered. Utterly useless. What was the point of all his power, of his shadows, if he could do nothing with it when it was most needed? What was the point of it all? (What was the point of it, if he hadn’t even been able to save his mate from a fate she was likely terrified of? Sweet, human Elain, who had never wanted this life, but still treated him – the most terrifying of his kind – with nothing but kindness and respect. It was more than even his own people had ever afforded him.)

Only after it all, after their miraculous escape thanks to their very clever, very reckless High Lady (and Mother above, Azriel would never forgive himself for letting her take the fall for them), did Azriel let himself examine this new bond in his soul. It was not yet made fully, but also not broken. No, it was lying in wait, dormant until two souls were brought together or torn apart forever.

But Azriel knew, he knew, that this bond would never truly be his, that it would never sing between his and Elain’s minds. Why should she choose him when she had another male already vying for her hand? A male who, by all accounts, seemed more suited to her.

And besides, as the weeks and months passed, he saw just how damaged Elain had become in her new body, how she shied away from all contact with her supposed mate. No, Azriel wouldn’t add to her burden. He couldn’t. 

He had no expectations of her, would never force her into anything she didn’t want. Like his High Lord, he was no traditionalist, who treated the females of their kind like mere commodities, bartered and bought and owned. (He knew that his own mother, a servant too beautiful for her own good, had suffered immensely by the hands of such males. He would never do the same. Never.)

So he kept it a secret. From everyone. He used all the power in him to shut off his bond, though it was agony. Thankfully, lying was as easy as breathing in Azriel’s world – his greatest achievement and greatest flaw. It’s what made him Prythian’s greatest spy… but also left him alone, even among friends. There were very few beings that knew anything about who Azriel was, about his past. Fewer still, who knew any sort of details.

But even with it being a secret, Azriel couldn’t stay away, often drifting into Elain’s orbit. Would it be so bad if they became friends? Wouldn’t that ease his pain?

At least, that’s what Azriel told himself every time he went to see her. Besides, it seemed Elain could use all the friendship she was offered. 

Elain. By the Cauldron, Elain. His thoughts were so constantly filled with her these days, even with thousands of things he had to do, even with a war looming. But he couldn’t stop himself. She was a rare kindness in their world, unfettered even by the traumas she’d been through. Yes, the others seemed to think she was broken by it all. But Azriel… Azriel saw her for what she was.

A seer, learning to use her gifts. A fae, unused to power and immortality and animal instinct. A female, who loved the simplicity and satisfaction of gardening and other household tasks, but who yearned for the complexity of love and family.

A human woman, stuck in a body she did not want and mourning for the life she’d lost.

So Azriel could give her patience and silent companionship. Could give her friendship and understanding. He even found peace in it, sitting by her side in her garden. Enjoyed speaking softly with her when she felt like it, even if it was about the flowers she was planning on adding to her garden, the new recipes she was learning with Nuala and Cerridwen. Especially then. After all, Azriel rarely heard of anything other than bloodshed and death and betrayal. Elain and her flowers were a comfort. A wonderful comfort.

And, Mother above, she was just so beautiful. Everything about her. She practically shone with it. Azriel ached at seeing it. He was used to the dark, had lived his first years in it, so how could he ever think he deserved this? How could he dare consider tainting her by forcing a bond with a monster on her?

He couldn’t. He couldn't. 

It was around this time that he realized the feelings in him were love. A love vastly different from the one he’d harbored for Mor for so long. Real love. He was in love with Elain. Cauldron damn him.

(He knew what a bad idea it was. Knew how horribly this could end and yet still his heart betrayed him.)

Even still, Azriel said nothing, didn’t even dare hint at his true feelings. No, Azriel waited and waited and waited for the day Elain would finally accept Lucien.

Part of him, the worst part of him, couldn’t help but be glad that she seemed to shun Lucien in the months after the war. It gave him longer to enjoy this tentative friendship between them without worry. He was sure that the moment their bond was secure, Azriel would no longer have a place here.

It was only after the Solstice that Azriel started to hope. He was a fool, really, to think that a bottle of tonic was some sort of sign. But no one could claim that the heart was logical.

When winter was finally letting up for the year and he and Elain began to enjoy the sunshine together again, she told him something that changed his entire worldview.

“I’ve told Lucien I wouldn’t be accepting the bond,” Elain said, voice soft and sweet, as she washed her hands in the kitchen sink, covered in dirt from the garden. Azriel dreamt of that voice, of those hands. It was one of the few good things his dreams brought him, the image of this lovely female.

He felt himself still where he stood beside her, washing his own hands; Elain had roped him into helping her with a single pleading look and shy smile. (If only his enemies could see him now, utterly in the thrall of this female with azaleas woven in her hair and stars in her eyes.)

“Well, it’s only understandable that you should want more time to adjust,” Azriel hedged, voice equally soft. He resumed washing his hands, carefully, carefully. He couldn’t let himself hope.

Elain reached over then, put her unblemished hand over his scarred one, stilling him. She tangled their wet fingers together, as if needing the strength. “No, I told him that I would never accept it. It didn’t seen right, to let him hope like that. Not when I already knew my decision.”

Azriel swallowed harshly, forced himself to look up and meet her eyes, found her already staring at back him nervously. “Then I feel I should congratulate you, it’s no easy feat to make a decision like that. Did he take it well?”

“As well as he was able. Although I don’t think he’ll make his way here again for a long time,” she admitted, playing idly with his fingers, still slightly soapy. She reached over to grab a hand towel, drying his hands with all gentleness, tracing his scars.

Azriel’s ancient heart thumped wildly in his chest, but he tried not to look too much into her actions. She’d started doing that lately, taking his hands in hers tentatively whenever a vision suddenly hit her or she craved closeness with another living being. Sometimes she leaned the slightest bit into his side, as much as propriety allowed her. Azriel was downright charmed by it, this need of hers to hold onto her human politeness even when sliding closer to him.

“That’s not your fault, Elain,” Azriel said now, giving her hands a gentle squeeze. “You owed him nothing and yet you still took your time to consider it, consider him. All you can do now is let him have his distance.”

She nodded, before cocking her head slightly, giving him a considering look. For a second Azriel thought maybe a vision was coming on but then her gaze turned nervous again rather than distant.

“There’s another reason I told him now, something I realized.” 

“Oh?”

She hesitated, still staring up at him, brown eyes filled with trepidation. A part of Azriel knew that if she didn’t say whatever was bothering her now, it wouldn’t ever come out. So he gave her an encouraging smile.

“What did you realize?” he asked, voice a mere whisper. He knew how to cajole people into telling him whatever he wanted to hear, but he didn’t resort to that now, with her. He just waited. Patient. Almost light-headed with it.

And then, so suddenly Azriel barely realized it happened, Elain rose to her tiptoes and placed the quickest of pecks to his lips. 

Azriel stood, stunned, as Elain pulled away, her cheeks bright pink. She looked at him for a long time, looked at his stone-still expression, before her own face shuttered, whatever hope that was there fading. It was only when she started to pull away from him completely that Azriel snapped out of his frozen state. He grabbed her wrist, gentle despite its strength, and pulled her back into his chest, crushing his lips to hers. 

Elain made a brief noise of surprise, before she melted into him, her fingers tangling in the fine material of jacket. Azriel cupped the side of her lovely face, encouraged her closer as their lips moved against each other’s. His other arm wrapped around her waist, holding her steady.

Mother, to have this. Azriel couldn’t quite believe it. Maybe this was another dream. Well, if that was the case, Azriel didn’t want to wake, like he had the hundreds of times before that he’d dreamt this very thing.

But this wasn’t his wistful unconscious showing him what he most desired. This was real and that made it all the more beautiful. Perfect in its imperfections, because their teeth clacked together at first, making them both laugh, until Azriel corrected the angle with sure experience and oh, that was it. The kiss was relatively chaste, as kisses went, but it set his entire body on fire in a way he’d never felt before.

(So this is what it could be like to be with someone you love, he thought.) 

After an eternity that was far too short, Azriel pulled his lips away from Elain, only to rest his forehead against hers. Her eyes were shining as they looked up at him, her cheeks a charming pink. He gave into the temptation that had been with him for so long and traced the line of cheekbone. She leaned into it, pressing a quick kiss to his wrist. His heart beat all the faster for it.

“So what was it you realized?” Azriel asked again, teasing.

Elain laughed, shaking her head at him fondly. She reached up to trace his strong jaw. “I realized that I didn’t need a mating bond with Lucien,” she told him, steadfast. “I already have you.”

In any other circumstance, those words would have made him the happiest male alive, but as it was, they stopped him short – they felt like ice-water down his spine. Because she spoke of the mating bond. And she… she didn’t know everything. Didn’t know that there was another bond in play here.

How could her decision ever be true if she didn’t know all the details? Maybe it was this bond between them that pulled her to him unconsciously, and not her true feelings.

(Cauldron, he did it again. Let his heart run away from him.)

So he extricated himself from her… because he had to. He couldn’t allow this to continue under false pretenses.

“Azriel?” Elain asked worriedly, reaching for him.

He let her grab his hand, focusing on the sight of their linked hands. (He was sure he wouldn’t be seeing this again anytime soon.) “I… I’m afraid I haven’t been entirely honest with you Elain.” 

She made a concerned noise. “How do you mean?”

Mother above, this was hard. “You’ve made your decision without all of the information. I’m sorry about that,” Azriel managed to say, forcing the words out of his tight throat. He laughed bitterly. “I suppose it’s in my nature to lie and deceive. I am the Court’s spymaster.”

Elain took his other hand in hers, giving both a gentle squeeze. “Azriel, it’s all right. I know.”

It was rare that anyone took Azriel by surprise. But here he was, well and truly surprised. “You– You do?” 

“Yes. You might be the spymaster, but I’m a seer. It took me a while, but I found the other bond in me, the potential for it, months ago,” she paused, eyes distant as she smiled softly. “There was a vision, just a small one. It was of the two of us, but the bond was there and it sang.” She met his eyes then, and he could see the truth in them, the undeniable truth.

“Why didn’t you say anything?” Azriel found himself saying, even knowing the hypocrisy of it.

But Elain just looked at him knowingly. “For the same reason you didn’t. I was… I was scared. I didn’t know what it all meant. And I kept thinking that I’d wake up one day and this, all of this, this new life of mine, was just a dream.”

“But it wasn’t.”

“No, it wasn’t. I know that now. And I wouldn’t change it, not anymore,” she said, smiling up at him. And, stars, if that wasn’t something – to see her, smiling, as she spoke of her new immortal life. Perhaps her mourning period was finally over. Azriel couldn’t be happier for her; he knew all too well what it was like to hate the very body you lived in.

“Why… why me?” He couldn’t help but ask.

Elain took his face in her hands, her eyes alight with fierce protection. “Why not you? You expected nothing of me, Azriel. You pushed nothing. You were my friend when I most needed one. You never ridiculed me for my simplicity,” he made a noise at that – because she might like the simple things, but she was never herself simple, and Azriel hated that people thought so little of her because she was different from most of her kind – but she shushed gently him with a hand, stopping him in his tracks. “Please, let me finish,” she said, smiling fondly. “You’re also unfailingly kind, yet you don’t seem to realize it. You’re beautiful, Azriel. So beautiful. In and out.” That smile again, this time wider. “How could I not be in love with you?”

“Elain.”

Her fingers were soft against his cheeks. “The Cauldron gave me two possibilities, two fates. I choose this one, with you… That is, if you’ll have me.”

Azriel’s heart beat faster than it ever had in battle. He could hardly believe his luck that Elain – wonderful, irresistible Elain Archeron – was giving him this, was baring her soul to him. His entire body ached with love for her, full to the brim and ready to burst.

Please, let this be real.

He pressed their foreheads together again. “Of course, I will. Of course. There’s nothing I want more.” He turned to kiss her temples, her cheeks, the corner of her mouth, everywhere he could reach. Elain melted against him once more, wrapping her arms tightly around his waist.

“Do you know,” Azriel began, smiling so hard it hurt, “I think I was lost before you came along. I suppose there’s just something about you, Elain Archeron, that makes me want to be worthy. I would have you for all of eternity.”

He finally leaned down to kiss her berry-red lips again, and this time not so chastely, their tongues chasing each other. When they separated, breathless, he ducked his head into the crook of her neck, breathing in her intoxicating scent.

“Mate,” he whispered. Mate, mate, my mate. My Elain.

Elain froze under his hands for the briefest of moments, before she let out a long gasp. She gripped him by the roots of his hair, pulling his head up so she could search for his eyes, almost anxious.

“My mate,” she returned. “My mate. Can we–?”

Azriel knew immediately what she spoke of, that bond that still wasn’t complete. “Yes,” he told her, kissing her once, twice. “Yes.”

He stilled them then, keeping Elain locked in his embrace, faces so close their breath mingled. And he closed his eyes and let go of his iron grip on the string, the path that connected them. Let it roar to life.

And then finally, finally, it snapped in place. Their elusive bond. And by the Mother and the Cauldron and every other holy thing, it was beautiful. Indescribable, this unbreakable link between them. Azriel felt Elain all around, felt her soul, full of brightness even with its dark patches. His own rose to meet it, followed the path to her until every bit of them was intertwined.

Azriel had never felt anything like it, would never feel anything like it, as he dove deeper and deeper until he didn’t know where he ended and she began.

He felt Elain’s happiness as if it was his own, understood her hopes and dreams and fears. Even felt her love for him, and, Cauldron, if that wasn’t enough to nearly knock him of his worldly feet.

Elain’s laughter was like bells, her joy like the sun.

Oh, Azriel, her voice – the voice he’d dreamt of a hundred times – floated to him.

Elain, his mind whispered back, sweet, lovely Elain.

They floated there for a while, in this beautiful space they now shared, full of light and dark, and happiness and sadness, all mingled together. It was strength, this bond, their strength. It was them.

And then Azriel whispered three words to her – words he hadn’t yet told her, despite all that had happened to them in this moment. This moment, that should have been an ordinary one, just another morning spent cleaning up in the kitchen, but had turned out extraordinary.

I love you, he said, letting the words and the truth of them ring out between them.

I know, she replied, and I love you.

And their bond sang. 

As it would for the rest of their eternity.

Tagging @julesherondalex, @xxliekebearxx and @xpotatojesusx

Feel free to message me if you want to be added to my elriel fic (or acotar fic in general) tag list! Also would love to hear some elriel, feysand or maybe nessian prompts if you have them! Until next time ;)

[dfroza]

Today’s reading from the ancient book of Proverbs and book of Psalms

for September 25 of 2021 with Proverbs 25 and Psalm 25, accompanied by Psalm 4 for the 4th day of Astronomical Autumn and Psalm 118 for day 268 of the year (now with the consummate book of 150 Psalms in its 2nd revolution this year)

[Proverbs 25]

Solomon’s proverbs, published by the scribes of King Hezekiah:

God conceals the revelation of his word

in the hiding place of his glory.

But the honor of kings is revealed

by how they thoroughly search out

the deeper meaning of all that God says.

The heart of a king is full of understanding,

like the heavens are high and the ocean is deep.

If you burn away the impurities from silver,

a sterling vessel will emerge from the fire.

And if you purge corruption from the kingdom,

a king’s reign will be established in righteousness.

Don’t boast in the presence of a king

or promote yourself by taking a seat at the head table

and pretending that you’re someone important.

For it is better for the king to say to you,

“Come, you should sit at the head table,”

than for him to say in front of everyone,

“Please get up and move—

you’re sitting in the place of the prince.”

Don’t be hasty to file a lawsuit.

By starting something you wish you hadn’t,

you could be humiliated when you lose your case.

Don’t reveal another person’s secret

just to prove a point in an argument,

or you could be accused of being a gossip

and gain a reputation for being one

who betrays the confidence of a friend.

Winsome words spoken at just the right time

are as appealing as apples gilded in gold

surrounded with silver.

When you humbly receive wise correction,

it adorns your life with beauty

and makes you a better person.

A reliable, trustworthy messenger

refreshes the heart of his master,

like a gentle snowfall at harvest time.

Clouds that carry no water

and a wind that brings no refreshing rain—

that’s what you’re like when you boast

of a gift that you don’t have.

[Wisdom Practices Self-Control]

Use patience and kindness when you want to persuade leaders

and watch them change their minds right in front of you.

For your gentle wisdom will quell the strongest resistance.

When you discover something sweet,

don’t overindulge and eat more than you need,

for excess in anything can make you sick of even a good thing.

Don’t wear out your welcome

by staying too long at the home of your friends,

or they may get fed up with always having you there

and wish you hadn’t come.

Lying about and slandering people

are as bad as hitting them with a club,

or wounding them with an arrow,

or stabbing them with a sword.

You can’t depend on an unreliable person

when you really need help.

It can be compared to biting down on an abscessed tooth

or walking with a sprained ankle.

When you sing a song of joy to someone suffering

in the deepest grief and heartache,

it can be compared to disrobing in the middle of a blizzard

or rubbing salt in a wound.

Is your enemy hungry? Buy him lunch.

Win him over with your kindness.

Your surprising generosity will awaken his conscience

and God will reward you with favor.

As the north wind brings a storm,

saying things you shouldn’t brings a storm to any relationship.

It’s better to live all alone in a rundown shack

than to share a castle with a crabby spouse!

Like a drink of cool water refreshes a weary, thirsty soul,

so hearing good news revives the spirit.

When a lover of God gives in and compromises with wickedness,

it can be compared to contaminating a stream with sewage

or polluting a fountain.

It’s good to eat sweet things,

but you can take too much.

It’s good to be honored,

but to seek words of praise is not honor at all.

If you live without restraint

and are unable to control your temper,

you’re as helpless as a city with broken-down defenses,

open to attack.

The Book of Proverbs, Chapter 25 (The Passion Translation)

[Psalm 25]

A song of David.

ALWAYS I will lift up my soul to You, Eternal One,

BECAUSE You are my God and I put my trust in You.

Do not let me be humiliated.

Do not let my enemies celebrate at my expense.

CERTAINLY none of the people who rely on You will be shamed,

but those who are unfaithful, who intentionally deceive,

they are the ones who will be disgraced.

DEMONSTRATE Your ways, O Eternal One.

Teach me to understand so I can follow.

EASE me down the path of Your truth.

FEED me Your word

because You are the True God who has saved me.

I wait all day long, hoping, trusting in You.

GRACIOUS Eternal One, remember Your compassion; rekindle Your concern and love,

which have always been part of Your actions toward those who are Yours.

Do not HOLD against me the sins I committed when I was young;

instead, deal with me according to Your mercy and love.

Then Your goodness may be demonstrated in all the world, Eternal One.

IMMENSELY good and honorable is the Eternal;

that’s why He teaches sinners the way.

With JUSTICE, He directs the humble in all that is right,

and He shows them His way.

KIND and true are all the ways of the Eternal

to the people who keep His covenant and His words.

O LORD, the Eternal, bring glory to Your name,

and forgive my sins because they are beyond number.

MAY anyone who fears the Eternal

be shown the path he should choose.

His soul will NOT only live in goodness,

but his children will inherit the land.

ONLY those who stand in awe of the Eternal will have intimacy with Him,

and He will reveal His covenant to them.

PERPETUALLY my focus takes me to the Eternal

because He will set me free from the traps laid for me.

QUIETLY turn Your eyes to me and be compassionate toward me

because I am lonely and persecuted.

RAPIDLY my heart beats as troubles build on the horizon.

Come relieve me from these threats.

SEE my troubles and my misery,

and forgive all my sins.

TAKE notice of my enemies.

See how there are so many of them

who hate me and would seek my violent destruction.

Watch over my soul,

and let me face shame and defeat

UNASHAMED because You are my refuge.

May honor and strong character keep me safe.

VIGILANTLY I wait for You, hoping, trusting.

Save Israel from all its troubles,

O True God.

The Book of Psalms, Poem 25 (The Voice)

[Psalm 4]

For the worship leader. A song of David accompanied by strings.

Answer my prayers, O True God, the righteous, who makes me right.

I was hopelessly surrounded, and You rescued me.

Once again hear me; hide me in Your favor;

bring victory in defeat and hope in hopelessness.

How long will you sons of Adam steal my dignity, reduce my glory to shame?

Why pine for the fruitless and dream a delusion?

[pause]

Understand this: The Eternal One treats as special those like Him.

The Eternal will answer my prayers and save me.

Think long; think hard. When you are angry, don’t let it carry you into sin.

When night comes, in calm be silent.

[pause]

From this day forward, offer to God the right sacrifice from a heart made right by God.

Entrust yourself to the Eternal.

Crowds of disheartened people ask, “Who can show us what is good?”

Let Your brilliant face shine upon us, O Eternal One, that we may know the undeniable answer.

You have filled me with joy, and happiness has risen in my heart, great delight and unrivaled joy,

even more than when bread abounds and wine flows freely.

Tonight I will sleep securely on a bed of peace

because I trust You, You alone, O Eternal One, will keep me safe.

The Book of Psalms, Poem 4 (The Voice)

[Psalm 118]

Give thanks to the Eternal because He is always good.

He never ceases to be loving and kind.

Let the people of Israel proclaim:

“He never ceases to be loving and kind.”

Let the priests of Aaron’s line proclaim:

“He never ceases to be loving and kind.”

Let the people who fear the Eternal proclaim:

“He never ceases to be loving and kind.”

When trouble surrounded me, I cried out to the Eternal;

He answered me and brought me to a wide, open space.

The Eternal is with me,

so I will not be afraid of anything.

If God is on my side, how can anyone hurt me?

The Eternal is on my side, a champion for my cause;

so when I look at those who hate me, victory will be in sight.

It is better to put your faith in the Eternal for your security

than to trust in people.

It is better to put your faith in Him for your security

than to trust in princes.

All these nations surround me, squeezing me from all sides;

with the name of the Eternal, I will destroy them.

They rose up against me, squeezed me from all sides, yes, from all sides;

with the name of the Eternal, I will destroy them.

They surrounded me like a swarm of bees;

they were destroyed quickly and thoroughly—

Flaring up like a pile of thorns—

with the name of the Eternal, I will destroy them.

I was pushed back, attacked so that I was about to fall,

but the Eternal was there to help me keep my balance.

He is my strength, and He is the reason I sing;

He has been there to save me in every situation.

In the tents of the righteous soldiers of God,

there are shouts of joy and victory. They sing:

“The right hand of the Eternal has shown His power.

The mighty arm of the Eternal is raised in victory;

the right hand of His has shown His power.”

I will not die. I will live.

I will live to tell about all the Eternal has done.

The Eternal has taught me many lessons;

He has been strict and severe,

but even in His discipline, He has not allowed me to die.

Open wide to me the gates of justice

so that I may walk through them

and offer praise and worship to the Eternal.

This is the gate of the Eternal;

the righteous children of God will go through it.

I will praise You because You answered me when I was in trouble.

You have become my salvation.

The stone that the builders rejected

has become the very stone that holds together the entire foundation.

This is the work of the Eternal,

and it is marvelous in our eyes.

This is the day the Eternal God has made;

let us celebrate and be happy today.

O Eternal One, save us, we beg You.

O Eternal One, we beg You, bring us success!

He who comes in the name of the Eternal will be blessed;

we have blessed You from the house of the Eternal.

The Eternal is the True God;

He shines His light on us.

Let the feast begin.

Bring the sacrifice, and tie it to the horns of the altar.

You are my God, and I give You thanks;

You are my God, and I praise You.

Give thanks to our Eternal Lord; He is always good.

He never ceases to be loving and kind.

The Book of Psalms, Poem 118 (The Voice)

[klynnwordsadhoc]

It Started with a Wedding Part 3: A United Front

“We can start a club,” Simon says brightly. “We’ll call it the ‘People Who Aren’t Good Enough for Maryse Lightwood’s Children’ Club. Magnus can be President.”

A Lightwood family dinner. It’s going to be interesting.

Read on  AO3

Read the other parts: Part 1 | Part 2

“Hey,” Alec leans out of the bathroom, patting a towel over his newly shaven face. “Are you busy next Sunday?”

Magnus looks up from the two shirts he has laid out before him. “Is this a trick question?”

Alec comes out of the bathroom fully, one brow arched. “No,” he says slowly. “Did it sound like one?”

“Usually you know my schedule better than I do,” Magnus replies with gentle teasing.

Alec scoffs an amused sound and drags a t shirt over his head. The red one, since it's his favorite. “You didn’t mention anything and I would know if you used that calendar I shared with you.”

Magnus laughs, “Ever my regimented soldier. If I used that calendar, it would fly in the face of my free spirited artist ways. But it’s a valiant effort, darling.”

Magnus puts up with a lot from him, Alec knows that, so he lets the calendar thing go for the moment. He just thinks it would be convenient, for planning purposes. It’s a source of endless amusement for Magnus.

“So? Plans for Sunday.”

Magnus taps his fingers against his lip, half his attention still on the shirts. One is lavender edging on gray and the other is black with silver detailing. Alec pauses to lean on his shoulder, squeezing his waist.

“I like the black one,” Alec says.

Magnus shoots him an amused look, “You always like the black one.”

Alec chuckles, “True. But it’ll go better if you’re wearing the gray jacket.”

Magnus regards him with surprise and grins. “So it does. You are learning, Alexander.”

Alec smirks, “It’s kinda hard not to with you around.” He watches him shrug on the black and silver shirt. “Sunday?” he prompts.

“I don’t think I’m doing anything. Why?”

“My mother wants to do a family dinner,” Alec replies, already wincing as he says it, because he can see the look on Magnus’ face.

“I just remembered, I have to gargle battery acid, so I simply won’t be able to make it,” Magnus says brightly. He grabs his jacket and heads out of the bedroom.

Alec sighs, waiting a second before he goes after him. He wishes things could be easier, but he just can’t get his mother to accept his choices. This isn’t new, but now it’s affecting Magnus and that bothers him. He goes after him.

“Babe,” Alec tries. “Come on. You have to come.”

“Tell them I died,” Magnus’ voice is tight. He’s trying for humor, maybe, but he’s obviously not happy.

Alec takes his arm. Magnus turns to look at him, but his expression is shuttered. “Magnus. It’s a family dinner.”

“I wasn’t aware I was family.”

Alec draws back like Magnus slapped him, and honestly he may as well have. It would have stung less. Family is the most important thing in the world to Alec, and Magnus is included in that. Magnus is everything to him, and if he doesn’t know that… Alec looks up when he feels Magnus cup his face.

“Hey, I’m sorry,” Magnus says. “That was harsh. I didn’t mean it like that.”

Alec takes his hand. “Have I ever made you feel like that? Or Izzy? Or Jace? Magnus, Izzy adores you, and Jace… Jace has gotten used to you.”

“You and your siblings are not the problem, Alexander,” Magnus says tiredly.

“Then what is-” Alec starts and then he feels like an idiot for asking when he knows the answer. He always did. “My mother.”

Magnus nods, waving a hand at the obviousness of that answer. “That woman hates me. No, she doesn’t just hate me. She despises me.”

Alec sighs, “She doesn’t hate you,” he argues, even though Magnus gives him the most incredulous look he can muster. “It just takes her some time to get used to things.”

“Alexander,” Magnus says, exasperated, “It’s been seven months.”

“Okay, a long time to get used to things,” Alec sighs. He lifts his hands when Magnus takes an angry breath, “I’m not defending her. Magnus, don’t you see? That’s why it’s so important that you come.”

Magnus gives him a long look and Alec tentatively steps into his space, taking his hands. Magnus looks down at their linked hands. “Why is that?”

“Because she needs to see that this,” Alec lifts Magnus’ hand and holds it against his chest, “Us, isn’t going anywhere. You’re not going anywhere.” He quirks a little grin at him, “At least I hope not.”

Magnus shifts his jaw like he still wants to be irritated, but his body relaxes when Alec pulls him closer. “No, I’m not going anywhere.” He playfully pushes Alec a step back, “You’re lucky you’re so pretty.”

Alec chuckles, dipping down a little to press a kiss to Magnus’ mouth. “So you’ll come?”

“Yes I will come,” Magnus leans against him, shaking his head. “I know I’m going to regret it, but I will come.”

“Well, we’re going to that restaurant she likes,” Alec offers, hopeful that will make it a little better. “So, it’ll be in a public place. And you know how much my mother hates making a scene. Also, there’s a bar.”

Magnus laughs, “Oh, you know just what to say.”

Alec gives him a little half smile. Hearing him laugh makes him relax a little, though Alec isn’t so sure it’s going to stay that way. This thing with his mother isn’t going to go away, and Alec is honestly at a loss how to make her understand. It’s frustrating. He knows it hasn’t been that long since he finally told her he was gay, but at this point in his life, he’s tired of waiting for her to respect his decisions. A change it may be, but he’s a little less inclined to have patience. He’s happy. He wishes that were enough for her.

Magnus cups his jaw and presses a kiss to his mouth. Alec falls into it, because kissing Magnus is still one of his favorite ways to spend his time. They’ve come a long way from when Alec lost his mind for a second and kissed him when he’d known him for a couple hours, when they hadn’t even gone on a date yet, but Alec doesn’t regret it. Not when he gets to have this. Not when he gets to have this beautiful, kind, wonderful man as the love of his life. He wants to spend the rest of his life with Magnus.

Family might be important to Alec, but he knows he’d always choose Magnus. His mother is just going to have to accept that.

Alec breaks off their kiss after a little too long, forcing himself to step back before he convinces Magnus that Isabelle will forgive them for cancelling on their brunch plans last minute, and dragging him back into the bedroom.

He clears his throat, “We’re going to be late,” he says instead.

“God save me from making Alec Lightwood late for something,” Magnus teases, turning away to grab his coat and keys.

Alec scowls at him, though there is no heat behind it, “You know ‘fashionably late’ isn’t actually a thing, right? It’s called being disrespectful.” He shrugs on his coat, checking for keys and wallet.

“Darling, everything I do is fashionable,” Magnus replies easily, completely unrepentant, even as Alec shakes his head at him and sighs in a put upon way.

“What was it you just said to me?” Alec asks, keeping up the offended tone, though he isn’t even a little upset, “’You’re lucky you’re so pretty’?”

Magnus loops his arm with Alec’s and leads him to the door, smirking, “Yes, yes. I know about fifty percent of the reason you’re with me is my looks.”

“Twenty percent, most of the time,” Alec retorts, “Eighty percent right now.”

“Only twenty?” Magnus places a dramatic hand on his chest, and Alec rolls his eyes, “You wound me.”

“Come on,” Alec loses his battle with his amusement and laughs. “Or we really will be late and they’ll start speculating on why we were late. I’d like to avoid that.”

“You know they only do that because it flusters you so much.”

The smile on Magnus’ face is almost enough for Alec to forgive him for his amusement at his expense, but he does not find it as funny as Magnus and his siblings seem to think it is. He’d have thought the novelty of ‘Alec finally has a boyfriend’ would have worn off by now. He’s clearly wrong.

__

They’re the last ones at the restaurant, but they are not late, thank you very much. Alec is surprised to see Clary managed to drag Jace, since Jace isn’t really a brunch kind of guy and usually he uses Sunday as his day to not get out of bed until noon. It’s not even ten am yet. Jace is slouched in a chair next to Clary, looking half asleep still, arms folded into a gray hoodie. Alec takes the seat next to him.

“I don’t know how you manage to look so put together this early,” he grouses at Alec.

“I’ve been up since six,” Alec replies, shaking his head a little.

“I know for a fact Magnus hasn’t,” Jace replies.

“It’s magic, my dear,” Magnus says smoothly, smirking, “I could tell you, but then I’d have to kill you.”

Isabelle doesn’t even have the decency to let Alec get in a sip of his overpriced – but strong – Blood Mary before she starts.

“Did you ask about Sunday?”

This is what Alec gets for talking to his sister about things. He blames all the years he spent not seeing her for more than a couple weeks at a time.

“Yes,” he says, his voice tightening a bit. He drapes his arm over the back of Magnus’ chair and rubs his arm, though he isn’t sure he needs the reassurance, since he looks almost amused. “Can we not talk about it?”

Isabelle and Simon share one of those knowing, silent, married couple looks that Alec is really getting tired of and she leans forward, “What’s the problem?”

Alec opens his mouth to tell her to drop it, when Magnus waves a hand in a ‘go ahead’ gesture, and Alec knows he’s not going to get out of this conversation. No one listens to him anyway.

“Magnus thinks Mom hates him,” Alec says, defeated.

“Magnus doesn’t ‘think’,” Magnus adds, his voice deceptively light, “Magnus knows.”

Isabelle nods, reaching across the table to pat Magnus on the arm. “She’ll get over it,” she assures like it’s going to help.

“Yeah, Magnus,” Simon adds. “She doesn’t like me much either.”

“Or me,” Clary pipes up, shutting down Jace’s attempt at denial with a look. “She still calls me ‘that Fray girl’ sometimes.”

“She calls me ‘the musician’,” Simon doesn’t look the least bit bothered, “Which, you know, would be flattering, because hey, at least she knows what I do. It’s less flattering that she looks like she ate something sour when she says it.”

“Neither of you are helping,” Alec says, annoyed. And maybe he’s a little sensitive because it took him and Magnus moving in together before his mother stopped calling Magnus his ‘friend’.

“On the contrary,” Magnus puts his hand on Alec’s knee and squeezes it, so that’s at least mildly reassuring and Alec relaxes his shoulders. “I find this extremely helpful.”

“We can start a club,” Simon says brightly. “We’ll call it the ‘People Who Aren’t Good Enough for Maryse Lightwood’s Children’ Club. Magnus can be President.” He raises his glass, “What do you think?”

“It’s a little long,” Alec says, tightly.

“Oh, come on, Alec,” Jace says, choosing this moment to be awake enough to add his two cents in, because he’s apparently decided to betray him too, “She’s always like this and you know it.”

Isabelle nods, “When you joined the Marines instead of going into the Army like her and Dad, I thought she was going to have a stroke.”

Isabelle looks far too pleased with herself for that example, and Alec narrows his eyes, “Oh and you dropping out of Brown with two years left to go to art school and study fashion design went over so well.”

“You’re gay,” Isabelle retorts, perhaps a little too loudly, and there’s a beat where they stare at each other and the people the next table over shoot them an uncomfortable look.

Isabelle breaks first, muffling her laughter into her hand, and Alec joins her a second later, and then their whole table has dissolved into laughter that is definitely too loud and now the people the next table over are looking at them like they’ve lost their minds.

“So there’s not really much I could do at this point that would shock her,” Isabelle says once she calms.

“Except,” Simon says, sliding an arm around Isabelle’s shoulders, an exaggerated cock-sure grin on his face, “marry me.”

“My point,” Isabelle says, shaking her head with a fond little twist of a smile, “Is that you and Magnus could be throwing kinky sex parties on the weekend—”

“Who says we’re not?” Magnus jokes.

“Ew,” Jace groans.

Isabelle chuckles, sending Magnus a wink. “You could be doing that,” she continues, “And you, dear brother, would still be the favorite.”

Alec rolls his eyes, “Favorite disappointment, maybe.” He feels Magnus squeeze his knee, and he takes his hand, curling their fingers together.

“You’re kidding,” Isabelle says flatly. “You should hear the way she talks about you.” She immediately launches into a passable imitation of their mother, “’Oh Alec made Captain in four years, do you know how rare that is?’, ‘Alec served two tours in active combat, and he has two Commendations and a Silver Star.’ ‘Alec only took over the VP position a few months ago, and the company is running smoother than it ever did before.’”

Alec stares at her flatly throughout her entire tirade. “Are you done?”

It’s all well and good for Isabelle to say that, but it would have been nice to hear from their mother. All he’d ever heard his whole adult life was how if he’d joined the Army he could have been a Ranger, and Germany was such a step down from other opportunities, and really, he should focus on civilian contracts, they’re more lucrative. Alec had lived with his mother’s criticism his whole life, really he should be used to it by now. That didn’t mean it didn’t sting.

“Yes,” Isabelle replies. Her expression softens. “Do you think there are other people out there who argue about who’s more of a disappointment to their parents?”

Alec huffs a little laugh before he can stop himself, “No, I think that’s just for us.”

“And I can say this because I married into this family,” Simon adds, “It’s a little messed up.”

“Oh, like your family is perfect,” Isabelle says.

“Hey, my mother is a delight,” Simon defends in mock offense.

“She really is,” Isabelle sighs, her expression put out, “It’s not fair.”

“Can we talk about anything else,” Alec sighs, rubbing his temple with a little shake of his head. He looks at Jace, “Did you get the contract out for Harvers Pharmaceutical like I asked you to?”

Jace gives him a flat look, “Of course. I got it after the third time you threatened to fire me if I didn’t, like you could.”

Alec rolls his eyes, but he can’t keep the amusement out of his voice. “If you weren’t my brother, I would fire you.”

“Boo,” Isabelle exclaims, and Alec gets a wadded up napkin thrown at him. “No talking about work. That’s not better.” She looks over at Magnus, “How do you put up with that?”

Magnus chuckles, “I make interested sounds at the appropriate times.”

“Wow,” Alec says flatly, narrowing a mock glare at him. “It’s eighty percent again.”

“As it should be,” Magnus replies without a hint of remorse.

--

Sunday night seized the city with a snap of unseasonably cold weather. The air turned frigid and a layer of ice beneath a dusting of snow covered everything. People were talking about the possibility of a white Christmas. Magnus sincerely hopes not. New York isn’t the tropics by any stretch, but at least they normally had a few more months before winter really set in. Magnus detests being cold.

As soon as they step onto the street, the wind hits him and seizes his lungs for a second, making him wish his lined brocade coat offered at least a little more protection.

Alec laughs and rubs his arms, “We need to get you a better coat.”

He unwinds the black wool scarf around his neck and loops it around Magnus’, over the knit one he already wore.

“Alexander, you need that,” Magnus protests.

Alec shrugs, flipping up the collar of the black wool duster he’d swapped out his usual leather jacket for. “I’m fine. We could take the car.”

Magnus stares at him for a second, “To get from here to Midtown? At this time of night? We’d never get there.”

He knows Alec is offering to get him out of the cold sooner, which he appreciates, but it’s a lot of trouble to go through.

Alec gives a faint shrug, “So we’re a little late.”

Magnus just continues to stare. “Did I have a stroke? Because I just saw you shrug, oh so nonchalantly, over being late.”

Alec looks at him in amusement, “What?”

“Alexander, my love, the last time I made us late for something, you didn’t talk to me for two hours.”

“Let’s just say I’m not in any hurry to do my mother any favors tonight,” Alec says, rubbing the back of his neck with a sigh.

Magnus frowns. Alec has been off, to say the least, since the weekend. He’s tried talking to him about it, but Alec just kisses his cheek and insists he’s just stressed, or tired, or some combination of the above. Magnus has been around the block enough to know when to pick his battles. Alec will come to him when he’s ready.

He slips his hand into the crook of Alec’s arm, and leans into him to soak up some of his warmth. There was nothing to do for it now, so Magnus chooses to focus on getting through this evening with minimal damage.

“Let’s go before you do really give me a stroke,” he jokes, but the uneasy feeling he has doesn’t disappear.

The walk from the subway is pretty enough, with the layer to snow not quite turned to brown slush yet, and the twinkle of the lights the city has strung along the streetlights. They meet Isabelle and Simon at the entrance of the restaurant.

Isabelle grins at them, waving as they approach. “Hey,” she says. “Ready for this?”

Alec just rolls his eyes, so Magnus answers for him, “As we’ll ever be.”

“Hey, it could go fine,” Simon says and then winces. “Yup, I just jinxed it. I’m gonna just go inside. Once more unto the breach.” Isabelle catches his arm, laughing and leaning into him.

As they follow them in, Alec slides an arm around Magnus, a guiding hand pressed to his waist. Alec is not the most demonstrative in public, preferring to hold Magnus’ hand, or link their arms, so this, which puts Magnus decidedly in Alec’s space, is unusual.

“What’s this?” he asks, not because he dislikes it, but because he’s honestly a little worried about Alec at this point.

“Does it bother you?” Alec asks in return, giving him a tiny smile.

Magnus doesn’t really have to think about that. He honestly prefers being in Alec’s space. He’s warm and solid and he smells heavenly. “No.”

“Then I’m making a point, let me make it,” Alec looks forward, and his face smooths, but his eyes are still warm.

“Sir, yes sir,” Magnus jokes in return.

Alec chuckles under his breath and shakes his head. Then they near the table where Jace and Clary already wait with the formidable figure cut by Maryse Lightwood. If she were just a bit more likeable, Magnus could almost appreciate her fashion sense, which always managed an understated elegance that was at once feminine and imposing. She rises from her chair to greet them, her gaze sliding over Alec’s arm around Magnus’ waist, and what she thinks of it is known only to her, because Magnus can’t quite read her expression. Her greeting to Isabelle and Simon is a touch chilly, and a lot austere. She kisses Alec’s cheek, though, giving him a brief hug. Alec returns it with a hint of stiffness. Her gaze slides over Magnus in a way that isn’t quite dismissive.

“Maryse, lovely to see you again,” Magnus says, trying solely for Alec at this point.

Maryse nods, “Yes,” she replies. Though her tone doesn’t really do much in the way of returning the sentiment.

Alec takes a seat at Maryse’s right, and Magnus slides into the chair next to him, across from Clary, who gives him a subtle thumbs up half hidden by the edge of the table. It’s a bit closer to Maryse than he would prefer, but it has the benefit of him not having to look directly at her. Isabelle and Simon take the chairs directly across from her. There was symbolism there somewhere, in the placement of Maryse’s children around her, Alec at her right and Jace at her left and Isabelle directly opposite. He really needs a drink if he’s starting to get existential about seating arrangements.

Luckily, their waiter is prompt with the drink orders when he sees a full table. Maryse requests a bottle of wine for the table, and that seems to be the cue for the rest of them to go along with that. Magnus thinks not. He stops the waiter with a light hand on his arm and orders himself a martini, and after a second of consideration, a vodka twist.

He knows Alec is not a huge drinker, but he also knows he wants one. He could see it in the way Alec’s shoulders sunk a little when Maryse ordered wine. He is only stopping himself because of some misguided attempt at peacekeeping, since the only reason he’d refrain is Maryse doesn’t like it when he drinks. Well, since she already thinks Magnus is a bad influence, they can’t really make it worse and Alec is allowed a stiff drink to get through this.

His little act of rebellion seems to have emboldened the rest of the table, because their waiter leaves with a few more drink orders than he had originally started with.

Alec leans a little into Magnus’ space. “Thanks,” he whispers, a little flicker of amusement in his eyes.

Maryse clears her throat, “So, Magnus,” she says, and apparently this is his punishment for drawing attention to himself, she’s going to talk to him first. Oh joy.

“How is your little shop running these days?” she asks in a way that would almost be pleasant if she hadn’t just called his company a ‘little shop’.

Beside him, Alec tenses, but Magnus lays a hand on his arm reassuringly, “Oh, it’s going wonderfully, Maryse, thank you for asking. We’re releasing a new formal line in a few months. One of the main designs was Isabelle’s concept actually. She’s very talented, you should be proud.”

Maryse hums noncommittally, “Yes.”

Magnus presses down the swell of indignation he feels at the way Isabelle’s face falls. He lays a gentle hand on her arm and gives her a bolstering smile.

Alec, bless him, starts talking about work, which Jace picks up on almost immediately, and between the two of them they manage to distract Maryse through most of the first course. The one hiccup is when their waiter brings Alec his drink and Maryse lays a solicitous hand on his arm and comments on his drinking, accompanied by a pointed look in Magnus’ direction.

“One drink with dinner doesn’t make me an alcoholic, mother,” Alec says tightly. “I’m fine.”

It would be funny, except the atmosphere is far too tense for humor, and Magnus just wants to get through this ordeal without becoming an alcoholic himself.

They’re into the second course when Isabelle tells her mother about at trip she and Simon are planning to take in the spring.

“I’m surprised you can afford that, Isabelle,” Maryse says, “Since you are the only income, such as it is, in your household. You should be careful with your money. That trust fund won’t last forever.”

Magnus shares a look with Simon, both of them a little blindsided by how smoothly she’d managed to take a swipe at both of them without ever mentioning them directly. Magnus would be impressed if he weren’t so annoyed.

“Mother,” Alec intercedes, “I’m sure Izzy is fine. She’s very successful. You know that.”

Maryse inclines her head graciously, “Of course, Alec. I’m sure you know better than I do.” Her voice is bone dry, and Alec’s jaw tightens a little. “Oh, Alec, the Maidstones are throwing a holiday party and I won’t be able to attend. I need you to make an appearance.”

Alec sighs, “Yes, mother.”

Magnus knows that Maidstone Financial is one of their biggest civilian contracts. He’s met Bradley Maidstone a few times. The man is loud and boisterous and no nonsense and Magnus likes him. Alec won’t be able to get out of this, but there are worse things to be forced to do.

“The Merril’s daughter Tatum has moved back home from Europe,” she continues. “You were friends with her, weren’t you?”

Alec frowns, thinking for a second, “In high school yes. I haven’t seen her in years. Why?”

“Perhaps you should take her,” Maryse says, like it’s a natural suggestion to offer.

Magnus doesn’t really know what to think or say in the face of her audacity. Alec, however, seems to have a few ideas.

“I’m confused,” He says slowly. “If I were to give up an entire weekend to drive upstate to go to a party, why I wouldn’t bring my boyfriend?” Who is sitting right there is so heavily implied in his tone, he may as well have said it.

“Be serious, Alec,” Maryse replies, shaking her head. “The Maidstones are traditional people. Besides, I doubt very much it would be Magnus’ kind of party.”

“You’re joking,” Alec hisses. “You’ve got to be joking.”

“I don’t understand why you’re getting so upset, Alec,” Maryse chides. “It’s just business.”

Alec goes tense all over, “Business? You mean the business I’ve been running for almost a year, while also being openly gay? You think Bradley Maidstone would have a problem with Magnus? That’s funny, because he’s met him, more than once and they get along fine.”

“Alec-” she tries.

Alec slams a hand down on the table hard enough to make their plates jump. “No,” he snaps. “You just want me to pretend to be straight to keep up appearance with your friends. And you thought the best time to bring that up was here, in public, in front of my boyfriend, who I live with. You have a lot of nerve.”

“Alec, you’re making a scene,” she snaps in return.

“Good,” Alec raises his voice a little, and people are turning to look at them now, “Maybe everyone in the restaurant needs to hear what a fucking bigot you are. I don’t have to listen to this, Magnus sure as hell doesn’t have to listen to this.” He rises suddenly, “We’re leaving.”

Magnus forces himself to react through the shock, grabbing his coat, and helping Alec with his, because his lover is shaking too much to manage it. Alec grabs his hand, and strides out of the restaurant without another glance.

--

Alec is silent the whole way home. Magnus knows he is angry, he can see it in the set of his shoulders, the tense line of his jaw. He also knows Alec well enough to know he needs quiet to deal with things sometimes, before he can talk about them. So Magnus lets the silence stretch until they’re home, shedding coats and scarves and boots.

Alec paces away from him, his expression dark, and Magnus expects Alec is ready to say something. What he does, though, Magnus doesn’t expect.

“I’m sorry,” Alec blurts, like that had been just waiting to burst out of him. “Magnus I’m so sorry.”

It takes Magnus as second, because he can’t fathom what Alec could be apologizing for. He hazards a guess he is apologizing for his silence. “Alexander, love, I know sometimes you need to think before you can talk about what’s bothering you, we’ve talked-”

“No,” Alec says, his face creasing with frustration and pain, and Magnus wants nothing more than to ease it. “No. I’m sorry for what happened. My mother… That was… I never expected she would… That was awful. I- Magnus, please don’t…”

Magnus frowns. Please don’t… What? Be upset? He is, but unfortunately, he wasn’t all that surprised. Be offended? Again, he is, but he's worked too hard to be himself to allow the likes of Maryse Lightwood bring him down. Then he realizes the storm of emotion he sees in Alec’s face isn’t just anger and frustration and hurt. It’s fear, and a hopelessness and longing that makes Magnus’ heart hurt. Please don’t leave. That’s what Alec was trying not to say.

“Oh, darling,” Magnus closes the distance between them and take’s Alec’s face in his hands. “You are not responsible for your mother. I love you,” he whispers fiercely, “And there is not a single thing she or anyone else can do that will change that.”

Alec’s breathing hitches, and he folds into Magnus’ arms, pressing his face into his shoulder and clinging to him like he’s worried he’ll disappear if he lets go.

“You have nothing to apologize for,” Magnus strokes Alec’s hair, trying to keep his tone soothing. “I am so proud of you, Alexander. I know how hard that was for you. You did nothing wrong.”

Alec’s arms tighten around him and he shudders slightly. Magnus is angry. Oh, Magnus is furious. But not at Alec, never at Alec. No one is allowed to make Alec feel like he is anything less than perfect the way he is. That will be addressed, but not tonight.

Eventually Alec’s breathing levels and his grip on Magnus loosens a tiny bit. “I love you,” he murmurs against his neck.

Magnus gently urges him to lift his head, “I love you, too, my darling,” he says with a small, warm smile. He strokes his thumb along Alec’s cheekbone, “Why don’t you go take a hot shower and I’ll make you some tea?”

Alec sighs and gives him that tiny crooked grin that made him fall in love with him in the first place, “That sounds good.”

He leans forward then and presses his mouth to Magnus’. It’s slow and gentle and filled with such affection that Magnus’ chest feels tight when it ends. Alec rests their foreheads together for a moment, closing his eyes, and then he steps away.

Magnus watches him disappear into the bedroom, sighing out some of his own frustration. His phone vibrates in his pocket as he’s setting the kettle on the stove. He debates ignoring it, but Isabelle’s name flashes across the screen along with a picture of her and Alec from the only time they convinced Alec to go to a nightclub. Alec is a tiny bit drunk in the picture, his face is flushed, his smile big and bright, his head leaning against Isabelle’s while they use Magnus’ phone to take a selfie. It’s a good memory.

“Hello, Isabelle.” He’s not able to muster much in the way of enthusiasm, but his voice is warm.

“How is he?” she asks without preamble. Of Alec’s siblings, Isabelle is the most protective, so he’s not surprised by her call. He can only imagine how things went after they left.

“Upset, understandably so,” Magnus replies, “I don’t think he’s completely processed it yet.”

Isabelle growls out a sigh, “I can’t believe her. We left, Jace and Clary too, right after you did.”

“I appreciate the solidarity, Isabelle,” Magnus says. “I’m sure Alec will too.”

“How are you?” she asks after a beat.

Magnus smiles a bit, “Unsurprised, if I’m being honest. And frankly furious.”

“I’m angry for you,” Isabelle half growls. “That was not okay. She should be ashamed of herself.” She’s quiet another moment. “Just tell Alec I’ll text him later?”

“Of course,” Magnus says. “Have a good night, Isabelle.”

“You too,” she says, “Take care of my big brother?”

“Always,” Magnus replies warmly.

He says his goodbyes with Isabelle, and by the time he brings Alec’s chamomile tea with a bit of honey out into the living room, Alec pads out of the bedroom in track pants and a t-shirt, looking marginally better than he had before.

Alec takes his mug with a little smile of thanks. Magnus settles on the couch and Alec immediately settles back against him, resting his head on his shoulder. Magnus buries his face against Alec’s damp black hair, inhaling the clean, warm scent of him. No matter the circumstances, Alec fresh from the shower is one of Magnus’ favorite things.

They sit like that, quiet and close, while Alec sips his tea and occasionally nuzzles his cheek against Magnus’ shoulder in the quietly affectionate way that seems to come so naturally to Alec now and Magnus craves more than he thought possible.

On the table beside them, where Alec dropped it when they came home, Alec’s phone vibrates in the staccato rhythm of several text messages. Alec sighs heavily and hands Magnus his cup so he can reach for it. Alec unlocks his phone to six new messages, and Magnus looks over his shoulder without any shame. All Alec does in response is send him an amused look and move his phone so Magnus can see it better.

The first text is from Simon. All it says is, You are officially my favorite brother in law.

Alec sighs something that is almost a laugh, Thanks for that dubious honor, Lewis, he types back.

The next is from Jace: If you need to hit things, I’m still looking for a sparring partner this weekend. Love you, bro.

The tiny smile on Alec’s face widens slightly. I’ll be there. Thanks, Jace. I love you too

Clary has sent him three. The first just says: You’re my hero. The next is slightly longer, I know Jace is meeting you at the club on Saturday. Can you avoid the face? We have dinner with my mom and Luke that night. The last seems to be a continuation of the second, Which you and Magnus are totally invited to, btw. Also can I tell this story bc that was epic

Alec rolls his eyes, but the smile doesn’t leave his face. Thanks, I guess, he replies, I make no promises. And I’d rather you didn’t

The last is from Isabelle. I am SO proud of you big brother. You are SO brave. You’re awesome, Magnus is awesome, and I love you both so much. I’ll call you tomorrow

Alec’s smile is big and fond now. His reply is simple. Thanks Iz. I love you too.

Magnus smiles as well, his heart swelling with the outpouring of support and love Alec is getting from his siblings and their partners. This is how it should be.

“She’s right you know,” he says lowly.

Alec twists a bit to look at him. “What?”

“I am pretty awesome,” Magnus grins.

Alec laughs, shaking his head, “You won’t hear me arguing.”

Magnus tips his head to press a short kiss to his mouth, “In all seriousness, you are very brave, Alexander. I hope you know that.”

Alec sits up, turning to face him completely. He takes the mug from his hand and sets it on the table, and then looks at him seriously, “Only because I have you beside me.”

Magnus bites the inside of his lip. He loves this man so much it scares him sometimes. “And I will always be there, Alexander.”

Then Alec smiles, so warm and beautiful it takes Magnus’ breath away. He pulls Magnus into a hug, pressing his face to Magnus’ shoulder, his arms wrapping warm and solid around him. “I know. Thank you.”

“You never have to thank me for that.”

Neither of them seems to want to move, so they don’t, not for a long time. Eventually, Alec leans back, his expression warm and gentle, none of the earlier pain and frustration present. Magnus is glad to see it gone.

“What would you like to do?” Magnus asks. “We could watch a movie?”

Alec shakes his head, “Honestly I just want to go to bed. Lay down with me?”

Magnus smiles, “There is nothing else I’d rather do more.”

They go to bed, and Magnus wraps Alec in his arms, pressing gentle kisses to his neck. They talk about everything and nothing until Alec relaxes against him and drifts off to sleep. Magnus stays up a little longer, just watching him. He thinks, not for the first time, this is where he wants to be for the rest of his life. And no one, not even Alec’s mother, is going to drive them apart.

[bookedsuccess]

DAY FORTY

The Book “Rules for a Knight” in Three Sentences

Summary by James Clear

This book contains a number of “rules for a knight,” which are lessons on how to live better. For example, 1) never announce that you are a knight, simply behave as one and 2) the only intelligent response to the ongoing gift of life is gratitude, and 3) how a knight lives is what is important, not on which particular afternoon he was born or on which specific morning he might die. Along with many other insights.

Rules for a Knight summary

This is my book summary of Rules for a Knight by Ethan Hawke. My notes are informal and often contain quotes from the book as well as my own thoughts. This summary includes key lessons and important passages from the book.

If I return safely home from tomorrow’s battle, all the better; but should I not, then turn to these pages whenever you might look for my voice in guidance. I do not want you children to use my untimely death, or any setback that life may deliver, as an excuse not to take responsibility for yourselves.

I decided to seek out the wisest man I could find and ask him to tell me how to live.

Am I weak or am I strong? Am I kind or cruel? I have been all these things! I don’t even truly understand the difference between right and wrong. Just and unjust. And what does any of it matter, since in no time at all everybody I know will be rotting in the ground feeding worms?”

The first thing you must understand is that you need not have gone anywhere. You are always in the right place at exactly the right time, and you always have been.”

Create time alone with yourself. When seeking the wisdom and clarity of your own mind, silence is a helpful tool. The voice of our spirit is gentle and cannot be heard when it has to compete with others. Just as it is impossible to see your reflection in troubled water, so too is it with the soul.

He said, “While I teach you about the ways of war, I want you to know that the real struggle is between the two wolves that live inside each of us.” “Two wolves?” I asked, seated on an old log near the fire. My eyes were transfixed by the flames twisting uncomfortably in the night air. “One wolf is evil,” he continued. “It is anger, envy, greed, arrogance, self-pity, guilt, resentment, inferiority, deceit, false pride.” He paused, poking the embers of our fire with a long stick he’d been carving. “The other is good. It is joy, love, hope, serenity, humility, loving-kindness, forgiveness, empathy, generosity, truth, compassion, faith.” I considered that for a minute, then tentatively asked, “Which wolf will win?” Sparks danced towards the stars as the old man stared into the glare of the flames and replied: “Whichever one you feed.”

Never announce that you are a knight, simply behave as one. You are better than no one, and no one is better than you.

All living things rely on each other. If there were no earthworms, the soil would be depleted, grow no food, and we would die. Understanding that he relies on all that surrounds him, a knight is kind above all. He knows he will need many friends. Proper manners are not trivial. Being polite is part of our daily meditation on the equality of mankind.

Humility is the ability to see yourself in the context of a much larger world.

“Be humble or get humbled,” Grandfather would say. “A knight is never so arrogant as to think he has nothing left to learn.”

“Expect nothing, and you will enjoy everything!”

The only intelligent response to the ongoing gift of life is gratitude.

The simple joys are the great ones. Pleasure is not complicated.

Never pretend you are not a knight or attempt to diminish yourself because you deem it will make others more comfortable. We show others the most respect by offering the best of ourselves.

We all see the world through the prism of our identity.

A knight is the best kind of servant, leaving every space he enters brighter and cleaner than when he arrived. His surroundings reflect his state of mind.

“Shoot for nothing. When an archer shoots for a prize, he gets tight.”

“When you shoot to impress, your eyes divide. You see two targets,”

We must live and work together as brothers or perish together as fools.

I learned that evening that rain falls equally on all things.

There are only two possible outcomes whenever you compare yourself to another, vanity or bitterness, and both are without value.

The quality of your life will, to a large extent, be decided by with whom you elect to spend your time.

Remember, a friend does not need you to impress him. A friend loves you because you are true to yourself, not because you agree with him. Beware of grand gestures; the real mettle of friendship is forged in life’s daily workings.

It’s difficult to explain, but in some ways it can be easy to be supportive when your friend is hurt or sad. You may find it is more challenging to be wholeheartedly supportive when extreme good fortune befalls a friend and not you.

Those who cannot easily forgive will not collect many friends. Look for the best in others and yourself.

Every great knight has weaknesses. You will be no different.

Like a dead branch falling from a tree, which then decomposes and nourishes the soil, your disappointments can transform into the elements of change and growth.

We do not need a “perfect” family or the “ideal” community. The one we have is good enough with which to begin our work.

To head north, a knight may use the North Star to guide him, but he will not arrive at the North Star. A knight’s duty is only to proceed in that direction.

Don’t fear suffering. The strongest steel is forged in the hottest fire.

Without a little agony, none of us would bother to learn a thing.

Anything that gives light must endure burning.

Courage is our ability and willingness to overcome our fear.

Horsemanship—virtually every task I can think of is aided by an awareness of breath. It is the connective tissue of the universe, binding all living creatures together. By focusing on our breath, we are able to more adeptly inhabit our bodies and function on instinct.

Every task I can think of is aided by an awareness of breath. It is the connective tissue of the universe, binding all living creatures together. By focusing on our breath, we are able to more adeptly inhabit our bodies and function on instinct.

Pay attention: what you need to know is usually in front of you. There are no secrets, just things people choose not to notice.

Later he told me when he was younger he learned the secret to performing under pressure: don’t do it for yourself. Do it for someone else. “I know your grandfather always tells us to think of nothing. But when I get scared I just think of someone I love.”

Grace is the ability to accept change. Be open and supple; the brittle break.

Habit, routine, and too much consistency numb our minds and pave the road for us to sleepwalk through our lives.

But to live well, sometimes you will need to hold two seemingly opposing truths, one in each hand, and carry them both comfortably. Nature creates its balance with opposites. We need the sun and the rain, the glacier and the desert.

Young people, women and men, often use the possession of beauty or wealth as permission to be uninteresting, undisciplined, and ill-informed.

As you grow into maturity, do not concern yourself with aging. A rose is striking in full bloom only because it will never be so again, but a budding rose is also stunning, as are the dark petals of autumn.

As you grow into maturity, do not concern yourself with aging. A rose is striking in full bloom only because it will never be so again, but a budding rose is also stunning, as are the dark petals of autumn. It is the fact that time is passing that creates its preciousness.

There is no such thing as a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.

There is a moment for action, and with a clear mind that moment is obvious.

There is only one thing for which a knight has no patience: injustice. Every true knight fights for human dignity at all times.

A knight sets out to illuminate the darkness in society, not from its leaves but from its roots. This is how justice will be realized. Find the source.

You were born owning nothing and with nothing you will pass out of this life. Be frugal and you can be generous.

There have always been two ways to be rich: by accumulating vast sums or by needing very little.

The peregrine falcon is the swiftest, most adept animal I have ever seen. It is worth noting that, like many birds, the falcon’s bones are hollow. Travel light.

“A hearty laugh is the telltale sign of good health.”

“Sometimes I think that the more wealth people accumulate, the less they laugh.”

“I am happy where I am,” he confided to me. “I have friends. I’m good at what I do. And that is enough.”

In the field of battle, as in all things, you will perform as you practice; so practice hard.

The better a knight prepares, the less willing he will be to surrender.

Oddly, with discipline, structure, and order, you will find there is freedom.

Often we imagine that we will work hard until we arrive at some distant goal, and then we will be happy. This is a delusion. Happiness is the result of a life lived with purpose. Happiness is not an objective.

Seek pleasure and you will quickly discover the shortest path to suffering.

Your life is your responsibility, and you always have the choice to do your best.

Do not be overconcerned with avoiding pain or seeking pleasure. If you are concentrating on the results of your actions, you are not dedicated to your task.

You are not fragile. Engage.

“There are only two things worth hating: an easy life and too much success.”

Ordinary effort, ordinary result.

Everyone wants to be a knight; wanting is no great accomplishment.

You must not wait for the inevitable storms of life before you ready your mind. Thought precedes action. How we handle times of peace and calm will determine our behavior in moments of crisis.

Do not speak ill of others. A knight does not spread news that he does not know to be certain, or condemn things that he does not understand.

Disparaging yourself in order to rouse compassion in others is not humility.

A knight does not whine. He concerns himself with affecting change, not burdening the world with his grievances.

Never make a big decision without first walking a mile.

In matters of great importance, trust your own gut. Don’t be fooled, and don’t be hurried. There is plenty of time to make mistakes.

Every knight holds human equality as an unwavering truth. A knight is never present when men or women are being degraded or compromised in any way, because if a knight were present, those committing the hurtful acts or words would be made to stop.

Love is the end goal. It is the music of our lives. There is no obstacle that enough love cannot move.

Confrontation is always preferable to dishonesty, or injustice.

Do the good you have the power to do.

Life is a long series of farewells; only the circumstances should surprise us.

How a knight lives is what is important, not on which particular afternoon he was born or on which specific morning he might die.

One thing he had learned in his long life was that if he understood something, things were just as they were, and if he did not understand something, things were still simply just as they were.

[dfroza]

Today’s reading from the ancient books of Proverbs and Psalms

for monday, April 19 of 2021 with Proverbs 19 and Psalm 19, accompanied by Psalm 31 for the 31st day of Spring and Psalm 109 for day 109 of the year

[Proverbs 19]

[Wisdom Exalted]

It’s better to be honest, even if it leads to poverty,

than to live as a dishonest fool.

The best way to live is with revelation-knowledge,

for without it, you’ll grow impatient and run right into error.

There are some people who ruin their own lives

and then blame it all on God.

Being wealthy means having lots of “friends,”

but the poor can’t keep the ones they have.

Perjury won’t go unpunished,

and liars will get all that they deserve.

Everyone wants to be close to the rich and famous,

but a generous person has all the friends he wants!

When a man is poor, even his family has no use for him.

How much more will his “friends” avoid him—

for though he begs for help, they won’t respond.

Do yourself a favor and love wisdom.

Learn all you can,

then watch your life flourish and prosper!

Tell lies and you’re going to get caught,

and the habitual liar is doomed.

It doesn’t seem right when you see a fool

living in the lap of luxury

or a prideful servant ruling over princes.

An understanding person demonstrates patience,

for mercy means holding your tongue.

When you are insulted,

be quick to forgive and forget it,

for you are virtuous when you overlook an offense.

The rage of a king is like the roar of a lion,

but his sweet favor is like a gentle, refreshing rain.

A rebellious son breaks a father’s heart,

and a nagging wife can drive you crazy!

You can inherit houses and land from your parents,

but a good wife only comes as a gracious gift from God!

Go ahead—be lazy and passive.

But you’ll go hungry if you live that way.

Honor God’s holy instructions

and life will go well for you.

But if you despise his ways and choose your own plans,

you will die.

Every time you give to the poor you make a loan to the Lord.

Don’t worry—you’ll be repaid in full for all the good you’ve done.

Don’t be afraid to discipline your children

while they’re still young enough to learn.

Don’t indulge your children or be swayed by their protests.

A hot-tempered man has to pay the price for his anger.

If you bail him out once,

you’ll do it a dozen times.

Listen well to wise counsel

and be willing to learn from correction

so that by the end of your life

you’ll be known for your wisdom.

A person may have many ideas concerning God’s plan for his life,

but only the designs of God’s purpose will succeed in the end.

A man is charming when he displays tender mercies to others.

And a lover of God who is poor and promises nothing

is better than a rich liar who never keeps his promises.

When you live a life of abandoned love,

surrendered before the awe of God,

here’s what you’ll experience:

Abundant life. Continual protection.

And complete satisfaction!

There are some people who pretend they’re hurt—

deadbeats who won’t even work to feed themselves.

If you punish the insolent who don’t know any better,

they will learn not to mock.

But if you correct a wise man,

he will grow even wiser.

Children who mistreat their parents

are an embarrassment to their family and a public disgrace.

So listen, my child.

Don’t reject correction

or you will certainly wander from the ways of truth.

A corrupt witness makes a mockery of justice,

for the wicked never play by the rules.

Judgment is waiting for those who mock the truth,

and foolish living invites a beating.

The Book of Proverbs, Chapter 19 (The Passion Translation)

[Psalm 19]

For the worship leader. A song of David.

The celestial realms announce God’s glory;

the skies testify of His hands’ great work.

Each day pours out more of their sayings;

each night, more to hear and more to learn.

Inaudible words are their manner of speech,

and silence, their means to convey.

Yet from here to the ends of the earth, their voices have gone out;

the whole world can hear what they say.

God stretched out in these heavens a tent for the sun,

And the sun is like a groom

who, after leaving his room, arrives at the wedding in splendor;

He is the strong runner

who, favored to win in his race, is eager to face his challenge.

He rises at one end of the skies

and runs in an arc overhead;

nothing can hide from his heat, from the swelter of his daily tread.

The Eternal’s law is perfect,

turning lives around.

His words are reliable and true,

instilling wisdom to open minds.

The Eternal’s directions are correct,

giving satisfaction to the heart.

God’s commandments are clear,

lending clarity to the eyes.

The awe of the Eternal is clean,

sustaining for all of eternity.

The Eternal’s decisions are sound;

they are right through and through.

They are worth more than gold—

even more than abundant, pure gold.

They are sweeter to the tongue than honey

or the drippings of the honeycomb.

In addition to all that has been said,

Your servant will find, hidden in Your commandments, both a strong warning

and a great reward for keeping them.

Who could possibly know all that he has done wrong?

Forgive my hidden and unknown faults.

As I am Your servant, protect me from my bent toward pride,

and keep sin from ruling my life.

If You do this, I will be without blame,

innocent of the great breach.

May the words that come out of my mouth and the musings of my heart

meet with Your gracious approval,

O Eternal, my Rock,

O Eternal, my Redeemer.

The Book of Psalms, Poem 19 (The Voice)

[Psalm 31]

For the worship leader. A song of David.

You are my shelter, O Eternal One—my soul’s sanctuary!

Shield me from shame;

rescue me by Your righteousness.

Hear me, Lord! Turn Your ear in my direction.

Come quick! Save me!

Be my rock, my shelter,

my fortress of salvation!

You are my rock and my fortress—my soul’s sanctuary!

Therefore, for the sake of Your reputation, be my leader, my guide, my navigator, my commander.

Save me from the snare that has been secretly set out for me,

for You are my protection.

I entrust my spirit into Your hands.

You have redeemed me, O Eternal, God of faithfulness and truth.

I despise the people who pay respect to breathless idols,

and I trust only in You, Eternal One.

I will gladly rejoice because of Your gracious love

because You recognized the sadness of my affliction.

You felt deep compassion when You saw the pains of my soul.

You did not hand me over to the enemy,

but instead, You liberated me

and made me secure in a good and spacious land.

Show me Your grace, Eternal One, for I am in a tight spot.

My eyes are aching with grief;

my body and soul are withering with miseries.

My life is devoured by sorrow,

and my years are haunted with mourning.

My sin has sapped me of all my strength;

my body withers under the weight of this suffering.

To all my enemies I am an object of scorn.

My neighbors especially are ashamed of me.

My friends are afraid to be seen with me.

When I walk down the street, people go out of their way to avoid me.

I am as good as dead to them. Forgotten!

Like a shattered clay pot, I am easily discarded and gladly replaced.

For I hear their whispered plans;

terror is everywhere!

They conspire together,

planning, plotting, scheming to take my life.

But I pour my trust into You, Eternal One.

I’m glad to say, “You are my God!”

I give the moments of my life over to You, Eternal One.

Rescue me from those who hate me and who hound me with their threats.

Look toward me, and let Your face shine down upon Your servant.

Because of Your gracious love, save me!

Spare me shame, O Eternal One,

for I turn and call to You.

Instead, let those who hate me be shamed;

let death’s silence claim them.

Seal their lying lips forever,

for with pride and contempt boiling in their hearts,

they speak boldly against the righteous and persecute those who poured their trust into You.

Your overflowing goodness

You have kept for those who live in awe of You,

And You share Your goodness with those who make You their sanctuary.

You hide them, You shelter them in Your presence,

safe from the conspiracies of sinful men.

You keep them in Your tent,

safe from the slander of accusing tongues.

Bless the Eternal!

For He has revealed His gracious love to me

when I was trapped like a city under siege.

I began to panic so I yelled out,

“I’m cut off. You no longer see me!”

But You heard my cry for help that day

when I called out to You.

Love the Eternal, all of you, His faithful people!

He protects those who are true to Him,

but He pays back the proud in kind.

Be strong, and live courageously,

all of you who set your hope in the Eternal!

The Book of Psalms, Poem 31 (The Voice)