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Hatred. That was all Emre could feel, staring at himself in the mirror. Reminders of everything that had happened, and everything that he had lost.
Scars that ran across his chest, down his arms, covered his skin like marks from some horrific disease he could never escape. Perhaps that part was almost true. Markings that ran up the back of his neck, down his spine, all the way down to his legs. Lines where wires once lay beneath his skin, wires that controlled him like puppet strings.
He stood in front of the mirror, running his hands along the raised marks with a quiet sigh. His eyes burned with tears that he refused to let fall, breathing shaky.
Emre had promised himself that he wouldn't get carried away this time. That this time, he would stay focused, and wouldn't glance at himself in the mirror. But the moment that his shirt was pulled over his shoulders and thrown to the floor, he couldn’t help but look.
Emre hummed to himself subconsciously, simply to break the silence. He hated the silence. The only thing it did for him was cause his mind to fill the void with irritated chittering he swore he got rid of years ago. He stepped closer to the mirror, tracing the edges of his scars with a sharp inhale. They didn’t hurt, not anymore. But the mental pain connected to them was always there, no matter how hard he wanted to forget.
The process to remove Chernobog was a painful one, wires and circuitry embedded into his skin that took years to remove. It left these awful scars, left him unable to walk without being taught how to again, and that voice in the back of his head never once seemed to go away, even with it gone from his body.
It still crept into his every nightmare, trapping him in a hell of a language he didn’t understand, yet knew all too familiarly. Chernobog was a threat he was no longer under the control of, yet still ran from each and every day.
His hand finally landed over his chest, where the ugliest of the scars lay. Sometimes, if he lets himself stare too close, Emre can still see that hideous eye staring back into his reflection, stuck. Watching.
He wishes that he could tear all of the damaged skin away, start anew and never have to see himself in that way again; free himself from the chains that still held him down, no matter if he was his own man today. The actions and events of yesterday would still always haunt him.
Emre barely feels the tear that runs down his cheek, much too focused on the blotch on his chest that once controlled his very existence, that kept him from dying so many times.
That parasite, it was finally gone now, so why did he still feel as if it had him on a tight leash, pulled closer every second he let his guard down?
He doesn’t feel the many that fall after it, either, until they pool on his chin, covering his face with shimmering streaks that never really fade. He can’t bring himself to look away, to wipe his face, to try and stop focusing on those hideous scars. He just can’t.
He’s sobbing now, and yet he barely notices, simply staring and mourning the man that he used to be before his life was stolen from him without any notice.
That is, of course, until a pair of pale arms wrap themselves around his waist, warm skin pressed against his back, grounding him, bringing him back to reality.
“Kære. You’re okay, I’m here for you.”
Freja’s voice was quiet, almost muffled, yet it cut through Emre’s racing thoughts, and suddenly a static that he had barely registered he was hearing cut to a complete silence. All he could hear now was Freja’s breathing, and his own quiet sobs and sniffles.
And he simply broke, weeping to himself, hands finally raising to wipe tears from his face that never failed to keep falling. To think he would allow himself to cry like this, a soldier, in his position-
No. Not anymore.
He wasn’t a soldier anymore, right? No. He was an ordinary man. He lived an ordinary life. He stayed at home, cared for the house, cooked meals for the both of them. Freja slept beside him every night, in the room they were standing in at this very moment. He was a husband.
He didn’t need to worry about battles, about fighting, about any of that. He’s a married man now. He has a happy life now.
All of that only made him want to cry harder, the realisation that not only was he safe, but he no longer needed to deal with that thing taking over his life anymore. He no longer needed to deal with Talon. He was truly free.
Freja’s arms tightened around him, and she hummed quietly, forehead pressed against his back, eyes closed. Simply listening, simply being there. She’d learned that usually seemed to work. No fancy words of reassurance, no conversation required. If she was there, that was all he needed.
It took a while for Emre’s tears to quiet down, sobs eventually slowing to a halt, sniffles turning to quiet breaths. Freja let go, allowing him to turn around to face her.
“I was wondering where you were. I figured I should check in here, and that's when I heard you crying. I tried to call your name, but you couldn’t hear me.”
Emre hummed a response, walking away from the mirror to sit on the edge of the bed. His eyes wandered to a framed photograph he kept on his dresser, one of their wedding photos, subconsciously starting to fidget with his ring. Freja sat next to him, head resting on his shoulder.
“I got lost in thought again.”
“I could tell. You usually do when you focus on yourself too much.”
Freja’s eyes were knowing. They read into every little thing Emre did. She sighed, taking his hand in hers, tracing small circles into its palm.
“I’m sorry, Frej-“
“You’re not supposed to apologise for something like this, Emre. We all have our moments.”
He didn’t have a response for that. He didn’t have a retort, a statement to imply she was wrong for thinking that. He simply nodded, resting his head on top of hers. She tended to keep a better sense of logic in these conversations.
Her other hand shifted up his arm, tracing the lines that trailed up his skin. She touched them in such a gentle manner, afraid to cause any sense of discomfort. “These aren’t something to feel shame for, Emre. They aren’t a reminder of what was there before. They should be a reminder of how much you’ve grown.”
Emre stayed silent for a moment, before laughing quietly, taking one of Freja’s hands and pressing a kiss to it, humming. “I’m glad you’re the woman I married.”
“I’d hope so. I doubt we would still be married if you weren’t.” A laugh hung on the end of Freja’s words, and she pulled away from Emre to fall back onto the bed, sighing as her back met the cool fabric of the sheets.
He turned around to glance at her and just… Stopped. His gaze softened, and everything went quiet. Truly quiet.
He stared at her hair, the way it framed her face and splayed out behind her, akin to hot flames. The way her freckles dotted over her pale features, the way she smiled when she laughed. He admired her, another reminder that this was his life now.
Suddenly, the world didn’t seem so finite. There was no Talon, no threat hanging over their heads to bother them. There wasn’t a little box they were required to stay in. There was just a quiet life where they didn’t need to worry.
And Freja was right, there wasn’t any need to worry about his past. About things he couldn’t control.
It would be hard to grasp, but he could manage it eventually: the ability to live without a constant sense of worry.
He fell back onto the bed beside her, turning onto his side and taking her hand in his own once more, fidgeting with her wedding ring this time.
“…I’d like to get rid of that mirror.”
Emre’s eyes widened a little, and he hummed, confused.
“I’m not going to keep something around that risks you getting upset like that again. We have a mirror in the bathroom, anyway. We could put this one by the door, maybe?”
Emre thought for a moment, before nodding. In truth, if he spoke a single word, he risked crying again. That probably wouldn’t be the best.
She nodded in return, eyes falling closed. “Good. We’ll move it tomorrow.”
Silence was all that followed for a short moment.
“I love you, Frej.”
She smiled at that, humming.
“I love you, Emre. Remember that.”
Freja paused for a brief moment. “All of you. No matter how many scars.”
…
And just like that, tears began streaming down Emre’s face once more.