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‘’You’re all I ever knew of love”
Once upon a time this was true. All Paul Verlaine had ever known of love was simply Arthur Rimbaud. Love was how he was always there, present in some way, a grounding presence he could rely on. It was how he taught him, a firm and steady hand that guided and led, never shaking or unsure even if Verlaine would acted up or tried to stir an argument. In some way Verlaine always tried to rip the bandage off, get Rimbaud to show his ‘true colours’. Verlaine knew that, surely, Rimbaud had thought of him as inhuman as he knew himself to be. Surely, Rimbaud was merely pitying him, even ridiculing him. Not that such a moment had ever happened, no. In fact, Rimbaud was hell bent on proving the opposite.
Love was a birthday celebrated only twice by Rimbaud before.
Now, a few years older and feeling wiser, Verlaine knew much more about love. There are many forms of love, each unique. There is the love between him and his little brother. This love was how Chuuya would sometimes come to him, just to talk. He’d let his frustrations out while Verlaine stayed quiet. He’d ask for counsel and Verlaine would offer his guidance as best as he can, simply because he wanted to help no matter how simple the issue. Chuuya would excitedly show a new skill or present his improvement with his ability and Verlaine would never get tired of it.
Another visitor he often gets is Ozaki Kouyou. Mostly because they are about the same rank and often end up working together. She is a rather interesting woman, not unlike her weapon: elegant and deadly and deeply traditional. He neither expected to see her decently often nor to get along with her so well. Love was the tranquillity between them. He often sparred with Chuuya or trained his students, so he was up and working or on his own. Kouyou came to visit with a cup of tea; they sat, they talked, then they parted ways. While their chats would often be work related, sometimes they would be about their mutual trainees or even proper weapon upkeep. Kouyou would also often send things down ‘to keep Verlaine sharp,’ she said. It was a love much subtler than others.
Though Verlaine would never say it out loud, he has also come to love his students as well. He trained them, gave them his knowledge so they would never need protection, so they could protect themselves. One of the first of these students was Akutagawa Gin, at only about 13 years old. A sweet little girl, she looked lost at the start and Verlaine suddenly had the deep urge to help her. He was harsh in his training, but it did the trick; she started getting more sure in her movements, more determined in her actions. At the beginning, he gave her a knife, and now several years later, he would still see her carrying it around and just holding it, for reassurance, he thought. She still came down to train with him.
Verlaine gave a similar knife to Kyouka. He remembers Kouyou sent her to him, told him she needed to be strong and Kouyou trusted only him to train the young girl. So he did. He taught her to fight and kill without the use of an ability. She was quiet, but he noticed outside of his training she gained the elegance that Kouyou herself had. He didn’t spend much time with Kyouka, he was told she’d left the mafia and joined a detective agency. Kouyou said she was happier, and he hoped it was true. He’ll miss her and how she’d just sometimes sit in his room in silence, with nothing but their company. He hopes she thinks of him fondly.
Yes, once upon a time, Rimbaud was the only love Verlaine has ever known in his miserable life. Nowadays it isn’t true anymore, in strange ways, he’s learned that there was a lot more to love than he could have ever thought. Rimbaud wasn’t the only, but the first he’s ever known of love, and Verlaine was glad for it. Although Rimbaud was gone now, physically, it was because of his love that Verlaine still lives, and that he gets to experience all of this and meet these people. He will forever treasure these experiences.