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Veritas tinkered with the maiden’s silk, perfectly hand-crafted attire.
The two sat there.
Being a genius does not strip away your curiosity, but further makes you indulge in it. Simple nuances like romance become more complex and interesting. A whole new shift in perspective, especially when met with such things up close.
Close, inching closer, the silence engulfed the room — a comfortable, still silence, one that both hated yet craved so badly.
“Doctor,” Herta said in an annoyed yet involuntarily cooing voice, “What would the Aeons think of this scenario?”
Her voice was not worried, nor anxious, but rather teasing and enticing.
“They wouldn’t care.” Veritas flicked her forehead. “I wouldn’t care.”
The ephemeral banter reeled in the even closer proximity, intertwining fingers. Cologne filling the enclosed space, both scents mixing into this perfect tied mixture of familiarity. Herta looked ethereal, Veritas wouldn’t admit — unless he wanted to use it against her, in all his egoistic ways.
The room was in a disarray, to be more precise, it was Veritas’.
Herta could’ve created an entire region, entire universe for this moment — but it was all too beautiful to wait further. Instead, she settled for a room of someone she would often call a hypocrite, that so-called hypocrite’s plaster statues on a desk not so far from the bed they were rested upon.
Eye-contact, melting eye-contact. Bittersweet, spite and greed, greed in many different ways. Greed to hold them for a moment more than the Aeons would like, and greed to completely erase this moment from history for the better.
“It perplexes me.” Veritas spoke sternly. “This feels all too familiar.”
Deja vu, that’s the word he was finding, yet he was still unsure if he liked it or not. The same room, years later from the first instance, the same two people in the exact same position. Exact words, yet a different feeling. It had the same solitude, now mixed with something more.
“You never change, Veritas.” Just the way he liked it, that annoyingly cooing voice of hers. That caressing of his face she does, that weird feeling in his chest that not even a medic could diagnose. “Please don’t change.”
“You never say please.” Veritas held her palm near his lips. “You get what you want all the time, but you still choose to be this irritatingly polite today.”
He looked up at Herta, taking in her touch, as she smiled at his wit and banter. “You’re taking advantage of this opportunity too much.” She looked down as she brushed her fingers against his soft hair.
“Then things truly have never changed.” Veritas winced, as Herta finally rested her lips on his forehead.
To say what fate has for both of them in the future, it would be ineffable. To say what they feel for each other isn’t. Both mourn, both weep, yet both are vulnerable despite their confident facade to other people, all these emotions tightly locked into tiny moments like these.