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It’s quiet, in this shop and in your mind.
The fire crackles, tries to spread its warmth to your numbed bones, but you’re not cold from a natural cause. You know that, can feel it.
Faust's eyes, bright rubies in this low light, watch you hover over the kitchen sink, hands gripping the counter in which it resides like a lifeline. She tilts her head, slithers across the wood to get closer, bumping into your arm to grab your attention.
Her voice is soft, an other-worldly hiss in your ears-
“Okay?”
You suck in a slow breath, looking over to her with what must be an obviously forced smile. The words, tainted in the spirals of a lie, find their way past your lips.
“I’m okay.”
They almost taste burnt.
She concedes, but only a little, and curls in on herself to settle nearby. You reach for the tap and run hot water into the basin, dousing the dirty dishes within, and begin to clean the ceramics with care. You suppose you could just use your magic, but something pulls you to do this. Something tells you that you used to find joy in it. Comfort in the mundane. Simplicity.
You feel the ghost of familiar hands, so strange and yet welcomed, settle upon your hips. There is a warmth on your back from the chest of another, and the hands travel up, slowly and deliberately as if to memorize their trajectory, to wrap around your waist.
‘Come back to bed.’
A pain, unbearable and sudden, shoots through your head. Unrelenting and harsh enough to have a sharp cry flying past your lips-
One of his favorite tea cups slips out of your wet fingers, shattering upon the metal of the sink’s bottom. You try so hard to stand, to hold on, but you slide down to the floor, back against the cabinets, and cradle your head in your hands.
‘Asra, we have to open soon, you know that.’
He presses his head into your neck, the tip of his nose and then his lips gently grazing your skin.
‘I’m sure we can be a little late. Just this once.’
You hum, suppressing the shiver that threatens to travel up your spine. After a moment of thought, broken only by his tightening hold, you shut off the water with a flick of your wrist. You can feel the tilt of his lips against your skin, a satisfied smile.
You wriggle in his hold, just enough to turn around to face him, freezing in place at the sight before you.
Asra. Your Asra.
The tips of your noses brush, and his eyes, violet and loving, keep you in place. He doesn’t shy away when your hands, doused in their soapy dishwater drips, reach up to run through his snowy hair. Your kiss lands on the corner of his mouth, and he gently tilts his head to correct it, to capture you fully.
You break away, though barely, conceding to his request with just a whisper.
‘I suppose… one time won’t hurt.’
You hear your name, feel the touch of real, warm hands upon your shoulders-
Gentle fingers pry your own hands away from your face, and your eyes, though squinted in pain and lined with tears, make out the form of the Asra that you know. There is an ache in your chest, and you don’t know if it’s because of the concern spread across his features, or the realization that the vision, with all the love contained within it, was just that.
You attribute it to your accident, to exhaustion from practicing too hard, to your wants manifesting in an unfortunate way-
“Look at me.”
You don’t realize that you had been staring at the fire across the room until Asra’s hand moves up to cup your cheek, turning you to face him. He’s on the floor with you now, something akin to distress still in his expression, while his haul from the market lay abandoned at the front door. He’s still analyzing you, and when you finally do find your voice, his eyes flutter shut with relief.
“I’m okay. It’s… just a headache.”
The look he gives you makes it seem like he doesn’t believe you, but if so, he doesn’t voice it.
“Do you still hurt?”
You nod, and heat creeps up your cheeks when his other hand comes to rest on your forehead. There is a magical warmth, so akin to Asra, that spreads from his fingertips to your head, soothing the pain in mere seconds.
“Better?”
“Yes, but I…”
He’s still cradling your face, and you want to ask, you want to ask if he feels this too. This invisible string, this empty slot of a strange puzzle that only fills when you share the same space-
You wonder, did your eyes gaze upon the same stars, in some past life?
But you can’t bring yourself to ask such a peculiar question, so you simply speak the next thing that comes to mind.
“...I broke your cup.”
Asra’s serious expression melts, and he lets out a light laugh, the familiar sound easing the tension from your shoulders. Before you can even utter an apology, he’s pulling you against him, his one hand pressed against the back of your head while the other traverses your spine.
The numbness and chill that often haunts your bones loses its hold, and you wrap your arms around him and bury your head into his shoulder, chasing the cure.
You let yourself enjoy this, just for a moment, before letting some sense of practicality sweep in. Reluctantly, you begin to pull away, the sadness in your voice a little too clear.
“Master, we should put the food away. We don’t-“
His hold only tightens in response, keeping you in place.
“Asra, call me Asra.”
His tone is nowhere near demanding, instead almost pleading, and if his lips weren’t so close to your ear you probably wouldn’t have even heard it. The sound has your heart ache, and so you oblige.
You say his name, slowly and deliberately, and it feels like you’ve done it a thousand times before.
The sharp intake of breath he takes does not go unnoticed by you.
And there is another request from you both, to each other, you think-
Just a little longer.
It’s unvoiced but understood, shown by the way you both melt further into one another’s hold, shown by the uncaring for the tangled mess of limbs you have both become on these wooden floors. And you suppose, even if something like this has happened before, even if you were tied in a past life or through dreams alone, does it really matter?
Does anything but what you do now really come into play?
You’ll make memories in this kitchen and this space now. Even if they’re small. Even if you never move past this touch.
You’ll move forward, adamantly, with Asra’s own words ringing in your ears:
The universe always falls in love with a stubborn heart.