[DDD | 053 | RL with Kawrou] Red String Virus

[redheadcarrier]

She'd woken up that morning and for a while had been content to simply lay under the covers, curled against the comforting, familiar warmth of Kaworu's body. He'd remembered - finally remember - the other night. He'd been shaken by it, she knew that much. She'd been there, though. Despite his pain, she'd felt a sense of joy to see him finally becoming the Kaworu she knew rather than the distant, odd one who'd come back to her. It was strange, it was different, it was a bit difficult, but she'd managed.

However, despite her want to stay in bed, things had to get done, even if the weather was crummy. It was supposed to be their six-month anniversary today, but the weather had nixed any plans they might've had on going out. Instead she'd puttered around the kitchenette for a bit, fed Socrates (and gotten a slightly annoyed, "You're late" look in way of thanks) and begin fixing some tea and toast for breakfast, when she noticed the thin red line wrapped around her finger. She'd blinked at it for a moment. It looked like a piece of string was twined around her finger and was pointing in the direction of her room, before it faded an inch or two away.

Curiously, she gave it tug, ignoring the howling of the wind and weather outside her window. She had light and heat and the apartment seemed cozy enough. For now, this string fascinated her. She tugged on it again experimentally. What was this?

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[eschatologist.livejournal.com]

He's not stilling nor pausing as she presses a kiss against his cheek. As she's squeezing his hand, just a little bit tighter. Once, this kind of proximity would have been foreign to him. Now, from what he can remember, he knows why it is sought. Why others search for it. The way she leans against him, almost familiar. Almost known. Buried, beneath the lack of clarity. Beneath what memories he still cannot call back. Still cannot touch upon.

But, he is feeling her speak before he is hearing her. Feeling the way she shapes her syllables. The weight of her words. Soft, and not.

He had known fate, once. Years back, and though he cannot seem to truly remember what it was he was chained to, bound to - he had defied it. He had ignored it. Disobeyed what he had come to do. What he had been elected for. And even so, it is a thought that keeps silent. Keeps quiet. Even as he's gently returning her grip on his hand. Glancing to her, though his vision is filled with the red of her hair. For a moment, before it is clearing. Sharpening. His voice, almost too soft, when he finally speaks.

"Likewise."