Compilation of extra RotW scenes that don't yet fit onto a page. All of these are/will be canon.
Aggressive Wholesomeness: The Coffee Wars[]
The current Storm warden narrowed his eyes at the innocent little cup of coffee sitting on his desk. Nothing else around it seemed to have been moved or touched. It was only the coffee.
Lane knew he wasn’t absentminded enough to unconsciously make himself a cup of coffee- and how would he even do that? He’d been in his classroom nearly the entire time. Granted, he wasn’t always staring at his desk, but surely he would have noticed someone coming in and dropping off some coffee.
And the cup had to have only been there for maybe ten seconds, which meant-
Rushing to his classroom door, Lane poked his head out and looked down the hall. Sure enough, a flash of blue disappeared into a certain Water warden’s classroom and a door shut behind the figure.
Startled, Lane retreated back to his desk, and continued his staring contest with the cup.
After about a minute, he tentatively reached out and picked up the cup, taking a slow sip. He sighed as the taste of a well brewed coffee hit his tongue, and that solidified it.
Samantha was the reason the steaming hot cup of coffee had been sitting on his desk. None of the others knew how to make coffee so well.
After another sip, he found himself glaring at nothing in particular, unexpectedly riled up in spite of the rather kind gesture. There was nothing about a simple cup of coffee that should come off as offensive, but he still felt a simmering annoyance beneath his skin.
Standing up abruptly, he quickly downed the rest of his drink and pivoted towards the door, having the sudden urge to go to the breakroom and make someone a cup of coffee.
Samantha blinked at the painted porcelain mug she usually drank her coffee from. She could’ve sworn she had mournfully taken her last sip of the warm liquid in the middle of her last class, and she’d only left her room for maybe fifteen minutes to check up on her kids before coming back.
Shrugging, the warden reached out to grasp the handle so she could take a nice, soothing sip…
…only to instinctively snatch her hand back as the sting of static electricity hit her. Which was extremely odd, considering how porcelain wasn’t even that conductive, unless an extremely powerful lightning wizard had been holding the mug just before- oh.
Lane was probably just returning the favour. That would make sense, although he didn’t have to be so secretive about it.
Taking hold of the mug again, thankfully without any unwanted electricity this time, she took a sip, smiling as the perfect ratios of cream, sugar and coffee slipped between her lips. After another sip, she glanced at her door thoughtfully.
The smile shifted into a smirk.
Samantha stood up, quickly packing her bags, and made her way to the breakroom, mug of coffee in hand.
The coffeemaker would soon learn to hate a certain pair of stubborn wardens and their new silent war.
Credit: Diamondsea
The Day was but A Blur[]
The skies of Skywatch glowed orange as the sun rose beneath the clouds, causing the wisps of dreaming white to glow passionate shades of pinks and yellows.
In this glorious morning, a Storm Warden—for once—had woken up early, sliding a pair of custom earbuds in and blasting questionably loud rock music as he pulled up a hologram, tapping away at the interface. On his desk was a mug of steaming hot chocolate and to the right of that was a Sfakianopita on a plate, a dish Wattage was well versed in after reading the few cookbooks the man owned. He took a bite out of a round piece of bread, completely used to the clash of the flavors of cheese and honey, savoring it for a moment before grabbing his stylus and adding another detail to the design on his screen. The design was for an improved arm brace, designed to completely cover his arm rather than only…well, bracing it. There were also designs for a leg brace, but it seemed to have a lower priority, a variety of virtual sticky notes blocking the image.
He was completely tuned out, focused on the project before him even as Raiden picked up Grace to take her to class, as a stack of papers was dumped on his desk, as Wattage brought in a bowl of reheated Souh Douh that Raiden dropped off. A three-dimensional printer whirred to life as necessary parts began to melt onto a metal sheet, stacking into existence. Meanwhile, he threaded mithril with copper, dipping into a pan of material to insulate the conductor. A pair of wire cutters sat atop his glass, placed on a fabric so it wouldn't scratch the device. A small box of screws sat aside his lunch, made up of Volcanic Ultimus, the most durable metal he could get his hands on through much "negotiation" with Ignis.
He had also retrieved some fabrics and stuffing from his mess of drawers, fingers heavily protected by thimbles as he sewed up padding, to be affixed to the metal plating that was currently printing in the machine behind him.
Hours passed before he was sipping from a glass of water, half-eaten souvlaki on the plate by his desk. He hadn't taken a single break since starting on his project, only pausing briefly to eat whatever Wattage bothered bringing him and to rub his eyes to dismiss a fatigue he didn't truly feel.
Raiden didn't speak to him the entire day, at this point knowing that when he got into one of these almost maniac workaholic states there was no chance of getting him to rest. Yet there was plenty of evidence of her interaction, the blinds being closed after the sun sunk below the horizon and the calming of Grace so that he could work in peace.
It was around midnight that he finally sunk into his chair, a yawn threatening to escape him as he stretched, feeling a tail flick behind him.
This caused him to stop, glancing back, eyes wide with panic that at some point, somehow, his childhood traits had manifested, plaguing him once more.
But only empty air met his gaze.
Realizing it was just a phantom feeling, his gaze slowly returned to his desk, his mismatched eyes glazing slightly as his thoughts spiraled, and he began to question why he would start to have phantom feelings now, after decades since…
The man shook his head, his adrenaline fizzing out as he stared at the mess on his desk.
He had made quite a bit of progress, finishing the frame of an improved brace. He had already affixed the wirings, almost reminding one of a human's muscular and skeletal structures. This had…clearly disturbed him as he had made quick work of adding plating over what would be immediately visible, titanic metal polished and painted white, its glossy finish catching the light.
It was now the borg propped his hand against the desk, trembling as he stood up. Spending the day sitting had caused his legs to go numb, a disadvantage to him seeing one of them was immobile to begin with. He didn't bother reaching for his crush, instead pushing himself away from the desk so he would fall on the bed, sighing as he stared at the ceiling.
The warden could never really pinpoint his feelings about all…this. The mostly quiet house, allowing him to work without healthy interruption. The completely immobile leg of his, a void scar blossoming about his knee. The growing pile of paperwork he had to deal with as warden, that he had been avoiding, and Raiden, on the other hand, been working on nonstop. How his relations with Raiden herself have grown very distant, and much more quickly than he had gotten comfortable with, and finally, Grace…
The girl had always liked her mother better than him, having been taught from a very young age a variety of foul nicknames for him and how he was just a bumbling idiot who couldn't be trusted to do anything right. Now she favored Raiden, never once coming to him with her worries and troubles and always turning to her older sister.
He knew he felt closed off, that was for sure, but he didn't know what he felt about being closed off. The gray-haired wizard had always been lonely, even as the household was much more active. He also always felt…uncontent, desiring the company of someone despite everything. He didn't know who that someone was anymore.
His father, who at this point was obviously avoiding him? Perhaps Caleb, Faith, or Connor, or any of the other children that had brought him so much joy as he took care of him, the children he would do anything to see the smile on their faces, anything to ensure that they would be safe and never have to face the horrors he had.
Something he had failed to do.
Or perhaps it was Chase or Raid, lovers that he had realized far too late that he had feelings for, quickly learning that they wanted nothing to do with him in that matter.
He sighed again, a dragged-out noise accompanying the steady whisper of breathing from upstairs, his hearing still much too sharp for his own liking.
There were many people he desired to have the company of, at least one more time, but he knew he would never obtain that.
He instead dragged his thoughts away from his mess of incomprehensible emotions and removed his arm brace with his right hand, before allowing himself to collapse against the mattress.
It didn't take long for a certain AI to turn off the lights in the room, and he drifted into a dreamless sleep.
Yet, before he had closed his eyes, listening to the soothing noise of the wind causing rainwood leaves to sing, a singular question arose in his mind.
Is there even a point of wanting someone to care about?
And for a voidwalker, this was quite a question indeed.
Credit: AlyssSolo
And the Night Was Drunk Away[]
Trigger Warning: Alcohol
Pale, stubbed fingers faintly gripped a glass, a deep blue liquor swirling inside as a powerful, oddly sweet scent bathed the room, pungent and perfuming the dimly lit kitchen of the private common room.
Not many knew about her drinking, having a routine of waiting until everyone had gone to bed to break out her locked-up bottle of wolfberry ferment, the wine—a fey brand—being strong enough to instantly send a human into a drunken stupor.
She only ever drank a shot of it, switching to a lesser quality liquor to binge drink. Yet she didn't shoot down the shot glass, taking careful sips to savor the liquid. It was in this addictive ritual that she drowned the problems that plagued her, the problems that piled up in the day.
A tentative sip. The pile of complaints on her desk.
A slightly larger sip. The twins who currently resting in their crib.
A quarter of the glass. Storm's…paternity.
The entire remaining half. Gale's arrest.
She fingered the glass, sighing in discontent at realizing her tongue was already numb, her ability to taste temporarily being burned away. Her gaze fixed on her bare fingers, the fingers that were not only missing claws but the entire ending joint, leaving her with scars and two remaining segments, with only one on her thumb. It was difficult—to use that hand, that is. Something she had to deal with since childhood.
The Ice Fey still remembered how, when she was a student and struggled to do simple tasks, Gale had approached, offering to teach her how to use her left hand. It took quite a while to master, and, out of instinct, she would often reach for things with her right hand only to realize her left was better suited for the task. Still did, actually.
It was the reason she earned the name "Ice Fingers" from Ignis. The reason why she wore her left glove was to hide the fact the fingers on that hand were longer than the right, as wearing a glove on the right would cause it to sag in the absence of bodily tissue and supporting bones.
It was around then she swapped to a larger glass, a honey-colored fluid filling it to the brim. She hated this stuff, but it wasn't as if she could taste it. The only thing she could really feel was the burn as it trickled down her throat, and the headache she always got when thoughts clouded and she became groggy in her drunkenness. It wasn't long before the only thing she managed to be able to think about was the vague concept of needing to go to bed, and with her last remaining drop of sobriety, hid the liquor in its usual cabinet and simply dragged herself to bed.
The next morning she slowly opened her eyes, feeling as if she had been hit by a truck. With a groan, she found herself thanking Harmony—an actual, quite literally goddamned deity for once in her worship-devoid life—that she only taught afternoon classes. She lay there, arms spread, lightly brushing the edge of her upper wings as they were also spread against the sheets, a risky laying position but quite comfortable with how heavy she felt at the moment. It took quite a while before she gained enough composure to sit up, rubbing her eyes, tail lashing and accidentally knocking a few pillows off the bed.
When she dragged herself to the bathroom, she spent quite a while dissociating in the shower, still having fully recovered from the sheer amount of liquor she had consumed the night before.
By the time she exited, properly dressed and whatnot, her gaze dully met an open pocket watch, hanging from a pin on the private common room's bulletin board. A note was affixed next to the watch, Storm's familiar, messy handwriting scribbling out the words: Still fixing the grandfather clock. Leaving this here for now. —SD
The time, in lettered numerals, read ten thirty-four, just enough time for her to eat a small snack and perhaps help herself to a cup of tea, along with filling a thermal mug with coffee.
The scent of catnip arose when she grabbed a handmade tea pouch from Gale's old tea tin, the Ivory's alchemical tricks keeping the tea perfectly preserved for years post his temporary death.
It was a lovely scent, something she could never truly describe to non-Ice Fey but had always enjoyed. Even in this humanoid shape, it still revitalized her, although it would be much more effective if she ever dared to shapeshift. Perhaps even too effective.
As she sipped the brew, her gaze fell on Storm's pocket watch, observing the exposed gears tick behind the clock face. The pocket watch's chain, instead of ending in a pin, ended in a garnet crystal, cut into the shape of a pendulum.
She found it strange, as far as she knew, the Storm Warden had never fiddled with witchcraft, only wizardcraft, but she decided not to question it.
After all, if no one questioned why she stayed up so late…she could at least return the favor.
…at least until Storm fixed the grandfather clock.
Credit: AlyssSolo
An Afternoon with a God[]
A half-demon lifted a small container of lotion and placed it on the top of her dresser, unscrewing the lid and scooping out a lump of cream. Wasting no time, she applied to the scales on her wrist, letting out a pleased sigh as it relieved the itching of shedding scales. They would still shed, of course, but at least it would stop the persistent, nonstop need to itch.
It came to her as no surprise that Scarlet had an amass of scale ointments and lotions, the dragon clearly having learned from that one mass scale shedding incident in her fledgling years. The demigod, on the other hand, had no such worries, since there weren't nearly enough scales for that.
Frankly, they were only on her left wrist.
Protruding as if she had stabbed in glass and left it there were the most curious of crystals, a…"gift" from her older brother. It was surrounded by amethyst scales, the same shade as her other markings, and generally being just another boring addition to her life at this point.
It did serve some function aside from questions regarding her physical well-being, as she found she had basic void manipulation now. She didn't know how powerful it was, of course, as she had no interest of risking her a** testing her void magic against Storm…or anyone else for that matter.
She put away the lotion and grabbed her coat from its hook, at first struggling to thread the strap between her pairs of wings but managing it. She glanced up, catching sight of her mirror, her yellow gaze fixed on the sight of her horns, which had grown slightly longer since the last time she bothered to look at them. They weren't growing nearly as fast as that day. It was more of a gradual, more natural thing, which was certainly a relief.
She had already eaten and met her other basic needs, and she opted to ignore her crave for anything remotely tied to creation energy. She'd also fed her tarantula and her mother's pets that she was in charge of, and since she had not trainee duties aside for her today…
The fey smiled, realizing her afternoon was completely free today.
…she supposed that meant she could pay someone a visit.
The rift had opened up within the imprint of Academy ruins, and ominous mist looming outside in the every shifting realm. Ensuring that her steps would be perfectly silent, she traversed the halls, stalking her prey and taking care not to emit the slightest malicious intent, as to avoid setting off their…special abilities.
It wasn't long before a familiar figure came into view, and she crouched, tail lashing like and excited cat's, but never once touching the floor.
She pounced.
"ARGH—"
Pinned beneath the Ice Trainee was a very flustered elemental, his pitch black gaze filled with some primal instinct not dissimilar to panic, his tentacles poised to impale her if it wasn't for the fact he realized exactly who she was.
"Honestly, isn't that eye of yours supposed to tell you who's sneaking up on you?" She was rather smug when she said this, tapping his forehead right above his third eye and causing it to squeeze even further shut.
"You know exceptionally well how it works, now would you—"
He didn't have to finish the statement for her to get off him, looking rather pleased with herself while waiting for him to get up.
"...I hate you."
Glace rolled her eyes, "No you don't, otherwise I'd be dead by now."
He, as he usually did, threateningly raised a tentacle and allowed it to harden, his blank stare giving no indication of whether or not he'd actually impale her. Yet, as she childishly stuck out her tongue at him, he relented as per usual, letting the limb drop to his side.
"What do you want this time?"
"Nothing, just wanted to know how you're doing Voidy~"
"You are acting disturbingly like our mother." He monotoned, glancing away with a trace of discomfort towards the nickname.
She plopped down on the window sill, her tail flicking against the edge of the ledge, "You didn't answer the question."
"I am the essence of nihility and you expect me to have an answer to a question regarding mortal emo—"
The woman smirked at hearing him get increasingly defensive, simply interrupting, "Well, let's do this the long way. Are you feeling happy, scared, upset, or tired?"
"Is none an option?" He monotoned.
"Okay so we're skipping to apathy. Are you bored?"
With that, he stared at her, "There is nothing to do in this place aside from watching the sect argue throughout eternity. And you ask me if I'm bored?"
"Boredom is an emotion, Voidy," she replied, resting her chin on her hands, "Come on, I'm sure there's more you can do than that."
"...there's always chatting with the Temple Guardian."
"You see, there was something. Anything else?"
"Watching Alge's beast destroy the Ffodnarg for the hundredth time, I suppose."
"Continue."
"Fulfilling my end of my agreement with RW."
"And?"
He sighed, "There's also you."
"I guess I'll just have to find something for us to do then," she replied with a smile.
He turned his gaze away from her, "I have no interest in your vulgar forms of entertain—FOR THE SAKE OF CREATION—"
The fey had once again approached him from behind, taking the opportunity to hug the much taller figure and, in his bewilderment, taken the opportunity to steal his crown.
It wasn't long before he was hounding her through the halls, spitting swears as he chased her, leading to the two playing a very intense game of keep away through the rest of the afternoon.
On Harmony Island, unknown to both of them, a dark elemental had her eyes closed, smiling slightly at the sight of her offspring enjoying themselves.
Although, she did have something to say about the whole thing.
"My, I never seen him blush before." A smirk, "He looked like an eggplant."
Credit: AlyssSolo
A Morning with an Alchemist[]
A man sat at his desk, a long, gradient golden tail snaking down to the floor, its split tip flicking about and brushing the dark hickory wood. Grey fingers loosely gripped a round-bottom flask, amber eyes disinterestedly watching the small, disfigured homunculus place its hand against the glass, its eerie, unnatural fingers spreading apart as if to express its desire for physical contact.
He closed his eyes, trying to sense the slightest trace of a spirit from the creature but found none, leading to his gaze containing even less empathy when he reopened those amber, heartless eyes, his yellow sclera making it seem as if they did not belong to a person but a bloodthirsty monster.
In all seriousness, he was a monster of sorts l, but that didn't matter under these circumstances.
No…the real monster was that soulless, living thing resting in his flask, trying to induce a trace of pity from him.
There will be no pity.
He knew exceptionally well what a homunculus was capable of.
This specific creature was not created with intention, meaning it had a truly twisted form of free will. And lacking a soul, if left to run a mock it will bring only ruin.
Most alchemists believed all homunculi were soulless, obedient creatures but he knew better. If created properly they could indeed in fact manifest a spirit of being and more importantly, misbehave, just like a real, natural, developing person.
He never once dared to create a perfect homunculus.
The Ivory set down the flask in its stand, preparing a syringe and drawing a dose of violet fluid from a nearby test tube. Then, he stared at the creature uncaringly as he inserted the syringe of the cork of the homunculus' residency, preparing to press down on the plunger when—
A knock drew his attention to the door, a trace of panic filling his previously emotionless gaze.
It technically wasn't illegal to create or own a homunculus as long as one followed the corresponding laws, and of course, had an alchemical license. And he did, and frankly had a doctor's degree in alchemy, something he didn't care to mention around the young wardens or even his own wife.
Yet the violet fluid, on the other hand…
He quickly senses, ensuring that the person on the other side of the door wasn't someone he'd blacklisted from spectating his experiments before daring to open the door with a flurry of telekinesis. As known, Abner stepped inside, and the alchemist slammed and locked the door behind him with a sweep of his hand.
The wizard's yellow gaze settled on the living, moving creature, resting in the flask on the man's desk.
He took a step back, a fear and shock and shock pooling into his dilated eyes, "What...What is that?"
"A homunculus," the Ivory monotoned before he turned back to the desk, putting his thumb back on the plunger, "Don't worry, I'll be putting it out of its misery soon enough."
"I…don't you have anything against…killing…" The wizard trailed off, causing the fey to pause, hesitant.
"It doesn't have a soul, Abner, anything it somehow manages to think about has no real meaning…it has no aspirations aside from maybe getting out of this bottle, and even then, it won't be long until it dies without me teaching it how to tend to itself."
"It sounds like you're trying to convince yourself."
"I—Look, I don't like killing things any more than you do but in my line of work as a Keeper you know it's a necessity at times. And I need to see how humane my methods are before I use them on a conscious person." The presence of a spectator had shaken him up a bit, bringing out the humanity he had tucked away to become an uncaring experimenter, "If it makes you feel any better, I'll wait until after you leave to test this batch."
"Could you…at least get it to sleep or something?"
With that, a gloved hand dropped a handkerchief on the flask, much similar to dropping a blanket on a birdcage.
"Now, what is it this time? If it's about the aqua aeterna I already warned you of its potential consequences and how they cannot be—"
"No, I'm worried about you."
A pause, "How come?"
"How is that your first question?" Aber snapped at him, exasperated, "You spend days, weeks, sometimes even months locked in this room. You barely interact with your own son, you have elemental balance, and—" He stopped, eyes dilating even further at spotting an object on the man's desk, "Is that a philosopher's stone?"
The fey's chin was resting on his palm, gaze following the wizard's to the engraved, unassuming stone on his desk, "Oh, this?" He gently lifted the rock from his desk, and almost immediately, it began to bleed, "Not quite. Right now it's just a dragon's stone in an unstable rubedo stage—only halfway there."
"You—how much time did you spend on that? And—" Abner looked a bit uneasy, seeing the stone bleed like that. It's not as if he found blood disturbing, it's just… "—would you put that down?"
He obliged, and the blood instantly stopped, not a speck on his desk. He dipped his hand in a ceramic bowl of water to allow the liquid to dilute and clean off, then began to answer the question, "Not long, really. With all the books available to me it didn't take long to find functional recipes and rituals. It took longer to figure out the combination to create the stone rather than how." He cast a wry glance, "In case you're wondering why I'm making it, it's much more effective, and safer, than aqua aeterna."
"So you do care what happens to me?"
"I am not permitted to answer that question."
The wizard sighed, placing a hand to his forehead, "Well, now that that's out of the way, how are you doing?"
"I'm doing just fine. The balance hasn't been majority shifting lately and none of my family has dropped dead yet…that's enough for me to be fine."
"Gale…I mean, how are you doing? You can't just say everyone else is fine and reason that you are." Abner shot the man a look of pity, promptly biting his lip out of concern.
"I am fine," the Ivory repeated simply, looking away, "and doing the same as always."
Without waiting for a response, he continued, "You better head back home before Vanessa realizes you're gone. This is quite an unholy hour of the morning."
A yellow gaze fell on the handkerchief-covered flask, memories of that creature still burning, "Clearly."
The very moment his guest left, the grey-skinned figure gripped the cloth and removed it from the alchemical decanter, all too fluidly grabbing the syringe and pressing down on the plunger, its contents being depleted into the glass. The homunculus had slipped into a peaceful sleep, completely unaware of that vibrant shade of violet adulturing the comforting waters, toxifying the environment to the point death was certain.
A feather quill dipped into an inkwell, the liquid being used to write golden cursive notes, detailing every last symptom the creature proceeded to experience. With each spasm, the man flinched, with each desperate movement he had to force himself not to look away.
He had let the slightest bit of empathy enter his heart, and now he had to pay the consequence.
One had to inflict great cruelty to ensure no one else would suffer.
One has to dehumanize oneself, purge oneself of emotion, in order to bring about greater good.
One had to—
A second plunger slammed down on the cork, causing a milky white to penetrate the purple and relieve the creature of its suffering. The antidote was only experimental, but he couldn’t, just couldn’t endure it a moment longer.
The world was truly a twisted place.
But he did not want to be twisted along with it.
Credit: AlyssSolo
A Noon with the Failure[]
It was noon when Rai entered the training hall, his sentinel padding next to him. The hall was empty and quiet, not a single student was in there as it was lunch time for most of them, and this training hall won't be used again until tomorrow.
Fairy dust decorated the floor along with smears of blood and spell residue, broken wands and abandoned first aid kits.
He locked the hall door behind him.
Placing his vision next to his satchel, he shrugged off his cloak, exposing his bare back to the crisp, cold air of the hall. He fluttered his wings out of reflex, trying to use the movement to warm himself up, tail flicking behind him.
When he felt relatively warmer, he began his daily routine.
It was simple. Depressing, but rather simple. He would attempt to cast the beginners of spells of Astral, Ice, Earth, and Water, in that order.
Light fizzled out before it could form, Ice cracked and shattered, Plants withered before they could grow, and finally, water turned into acid, burning away the floor.
The fey watched, blankly, as the acid melted the wooden floor, sighing as he knew that once again, he would have to replace the floor boards.
Before he had become Earth Trainee and Warden, respectively, he couldn't even cast a spell and now…
…he could. Yet it always goes horribly, horribly wrong.
Mira would be proud, he thought emptily, seeing the acid. But he wasn't happy about that, frankly, he didn't want anything to do with her.
He sat there, watching the elements being turned against him.
He had gotten his wish, to get the slightest bit of magic of his own, but this was…
This was…
Awful.
It wasn't normal in the slightest and frankly, it horrified him. He wasn't sure what was worse, having no magic or this.
His sentinel, registering his distress, rubbed its snout against his side, giving him much needed affection.
As he hugged his pet, he let out a sigh, his drifted to the very light markings on his arms.
Tally marks.
Cut by his own hands, there were tally marks coating his skin, counting the amount of times he failed—is failing—as a reminder that nothing will ever go right for him. He could barely remember how he started doing it.
An accidental cut with his Vision? Or was it when Opal had held out the knife to him, gripping the blade so that blood would glisten against her palm.
He didn't know, didn't want to know.
There would be another tally mark soon enough.
The former warden didn't know why he kept trying, really, why he persisted. He knew there was no hope for him in this regard and that he should just give up.
Tears began to streak down his face, hot against his cheek. He wasn't sure when he started crying, but he was crying now. Weak. Pathetic.
Footsteps sounded behind him.
His form stiffened, eyes widening as he didn't dare look behind him to see who was approaching him. The door had been locked, which means whoever it was—
The footsteps stopped. Right behind him.
He bit his lip as he tried ever so hard to prevent his tears from giving way to hysteria.
That's when someone hugged him, and when he saw those dark grey arms, the ones who bore so many scars induced something similar to his own…
His tears gave way to sobs, knowing exactly who it was behind him.
Something about this hug felt different.
Perhaps it was because it was one he's been needing for a very, very long time.
It might've just been the following words, releasing him of the burden he felt for a lifetime.
I have always been proud of you.
He didn't know.
He never knew.
He just knew that this hug, this hug felt good.
And for once, he returned the hug.
Credit: AlyssSolo