Chapter Text
He knew for a very long time that he had feelings for you. Feelings that only ever seemed to grow, deep in that stone heart of his. They had started slow, careful, almost unnoticed as they swelled more and more with each passing day.
But his love had always been a quiet affair. He never found the need for grand gestures or sudden declarations. In fact, he didn't feel rushed to confess at all. He simply enjoyed the presence of you as your relationship with him blossomed and changed all on its own. He had no need for more than what the moment gave him.
He was sure the time would come when it would feel right to tell you how his heart had grown so fond of you, but until then he didn't mind the simplicity of what it was. He was only ever worried his feelings would complicate the peace you brought.
He invited you to meditate with him today. An invitation he often gave away freely to many of the others, but one that only you seemed to take consistently. It was a calm moment where both of you enjoyed the company of the other without the need to fill the air with words. A small reprieve in lives that seemed like whirlwinds.
You two had been here for quite a while, the smell of incense having long since burnt out and cleared the room, the quiet strung along for near ages. Knowing that your time together was inevitably drawing to a close, you feel it’s acceptable to finally break it.
“I wanted to ask you something,” you dare the words at his side. Your eyes stay staring at the wall opposite of you, though you still notice the way he tenses at the sound. But then he breathes a second later, the tension falling as he returns to the moment.
“Of course,” he answers, tilting his head towards you. You only turn to him then.
“You have such keen senses, even I sometimes forget you can't see,” you state plainly and he nods in acknowledgment, imploring you to continue.
“How is that? Do you have some sixth sense?” The question is genuine but lighthearted as you ask it, curiosity mixing with some strange delight. He finds himself smiling at that. It was one of the things he loved most about you: how you asked questions like even the simple act of wondering was a joy of its own.
“I suppose you could call it that, if you wished,” he played along for a moment, nodding like he was oh so serious even when he knew his smile gave him away.
“But it is more that I strengthened my other senses to near perfection. And then I taught myself the pattern of what certain things mean,” he tries to explain, but when he feels you lean in closer he knows he hasn't been clear enough.
“Breath is a very easy one to tell, most of the time. I know where you are looking just by where your breath lands in the air,” you pull away quickly at those words and he almost laughs. Had you genuinely not known that he could tell you were so close?
“And I have learned to recognize footsteps and smell to tell who I'm beside even when they don't speak,” he continues, starting to lose himself in the explanation.
“It is usually the smaller things that allow me understanding, with demons especially. They are predictable creatures, relying on sheer power rather than honing their abilities. Once they reveal what they can do there is often not much more to it. Many have trouble adapting,” he catches himself, realizing he's been speaking for some time and that you have long since looked away. He frowns, hoping he hadn't bored you too much.
“My apologies, I have fallen off topic,” he recognizes, though he's a bit surprised when you turn back to him so suddenly.
“Don't apologize. I enjoy listening to you,” the words slip before you mean them, but are there all the same. He isn't shocked by the feeling in his chest, that common elation he finds you often bring him. He can feel his smile soften at it, a reaction he couldn't control even if he felt he needed to.
“That is good to hear. Many do not,” his tone is jovial, knowing well enough that the others don't often like the wisdom he tries to teach them. The same way children don't enjoy it, he supposed. Some things simply don't change.
“A shame. I feel I always learn something when speaking with you,” you contemplate the words, though you do speak them through something amused. He feels that blooming in his heart swell further, a nod being all he can give as he tries not to let it overwhelm him.
There is a lull, a few seconds where nothing more is said before you speak again.
“Do you…” hesitation. He leans slightly towards you, as if urging you to continue.
“Do you ever wish you could see?” You are careful as you ask it, not so much afraid as you are worried you might offend him. He hums an acknowledgement of the words, his face twisting into thought.
“Not often,” he answers quickly, though there is something that lingers in his voice, some want half revealed. He knows you hear it when you shift in your seat, turning fully towards him in clear interest. He continues before you can ask the inevitable question.
“I lost my sight as a child after a fever. It was so long ago now that I don't often remember what it was like. I vaguely understand color and light, but many other things are lost to me. It is hard to wish for something I can hardly imagine anymore,” he feels the way your gaze is on him, the breath of you as you become enraptured by his words. It feels nice to be heard, especially now. But even then he can't stop the way his smile falls, his mind plagued by only one thought.
“But sometimes I wish I could see you,” his face is pained at the admission, like he had wanted to speak it for so long but only now found the will to.
“I wonder about your expressions, how you might be looking at me even now. I wonder what your smile is like, and how your eyes might hold the joy of your laugh. It is the only time I ever really wish to see again,”
Silence. Long and stretching, a bone-deep quiet. He realizes only then the intimacy of his words, warmth flooding through him as he does. The thoughts had been trapped in his head for so long they had become normal to him, something trivial and common in his mind. But having spoken them out loud he can hear just how deeply the words resonate, how they were anything but simple. And he can hear, by your caught breath and the racing of your heart, that they affected you.
“I hadn't meant to say so much,” he breaks the silence and though he doesn't turn away you can see the nervousness that surges, worry creeping its way through his features. His eyes widen when you take his hand in yours.
“Do you mean it?” You ask, your voice gentle as you do. He is having trouble focusing, his mind drawn to the sensation of your hand held firmly in his. Despite the calluses, the scars, the rough skin that marks both of you, there is a tenderness to the touch. A type of softness he can't describe as his thumb grazes against the back of yours, trying to memorize the very shape of you.
“I would not lie to you. I couldn't,” the words fall from that space he's held you in for so long, sighing out as if he was accepting defeat. There wasn't a time more than now that he wished he knew what your expression held. He knew he stared at you now, closer than he'd ever been to you. Yet still, somehow, further than he ever wanted to be.
He almost winces when one of your hands leave, that ache in his heart hurting at your sudden departure. Until he felt your palm fall on his face, guiding him to the height of you until he could feel your warmth radiate to him.
“I wish I could give that to you,” you whisper, like a secret. He feels every muscle in his body relax, like you had just given him something he had hoped to find for so long, like this closeness was a comfort he wasn't aware he needed. His hand raised to cup the one you hold to his face before turning his head to kiss your palm like it was the most natural thing in the world. He hears your shuttered breath, he feels the way you shiver at the contact.
“You already give me more than enough,” he answers, eyes half-lidded, so comfortable here that he could fall asleep against the warmth of you.
But in him something selfish stirs, a desire he knows he should hold off on. This is the farthest the two of you had ever gone and it was more than enough to fill his heart and calm whatever worries he had about complications. But yet it's now more than ever that he wants more. Held in your palm he can't deny how deeply he wishes for it.
“But might I ask for one thing more?” He dares, even knowing he shouldn't. But his usual patience melts against you, his resistance a thought so distant now that he hardly understands why he would ever have denied himself this. You hum an acknowledgement of his words, urging him onward as he continues falling against you. He pulls you ever closer by the hand that still holds yours, one soft heavy sigh shared before he speaks again.
“May I kiss you?” He whispers against your lips. He notices your caught breath at the words, leaving a moment later to tease his skin just before you reply with your lips on his own.
His kiss is gentle, as careful as he always is with you. He refrains from teeth, from biting, from anything harsh. It is calm and coaxing, like falling infinitely into one another and wondering how you would ever do without. A lullaby to weary souls looking for peace in one another.
He pulls away first, though he lingers so very close after, as if considering falling right back in. But he finds his control quickly, parting just before resting his head atop your own. You fall into the embrace quickly, laying your head against his chest just as his arms wrap around you. It is a quiet, peaceful understanding of the moment you shared, and an unwillingness to let go of it just yet. A plea in the way you both fell, a promise to stay, if only for a little while longer.