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He was mindful of her living room, remembered the sidealley area with railings and dim-light, not so trash strewn because of course Emmy had areas near her apartment that were street swept and regularly patrolled. Everything was sore, exhausted, pained – he had so much news to throw at her – in spite of all her rules he thought, hell, this sort of news? It was probably best delivered in person because Emmilia wasn’t just *anyone*, not just one of the masses to be chatted at and catered to with the usual notes n signals that blared out over lines…

Emmy was – ******** – Waru couldn’t have begun to define Em’s even if he’d been given the vocabulary to do so, he lacked the words just as he lacked the presence of mind in all the aftermath to think up new ways to describe what she meant to him – especially knowing how he, himself, meant something entirely different to her.

It didn’t mean he didn’t wish to do so, to spend the hours that it’d take to try and find the answers to what sat in the center of his chest.

So he came to her – roughed up and scraped hollow and practically empty of magic – hated how this feeling twinned another one so closely linked to Alexa as she once had been; the way she’d taken him home in the aftermath of what felt like a great dying narrowly escaped, how he hadn’t even managed to begin to reconcile the reality of what nearly had been with what he’d seen with his own two eyes. It’d taken days into weeks that he simply didn’t have to give to Emmy this time around. Not that he was sure she’d want it, she was more for quiet reading and introspective thoughts than cuddle forts and crochet blankets made with love and floral patterns knitted in..…

He sucked in a breath of his own, blew it out, the mess of his dreads free, unbeaded. He hadn’t thought to tie it, to change himself out of whatever he’d been wearing before; worn black jeans shredded from use rather than for the sake of fashion, an oversized green-graphic-tee with bleach stains and an etching of white palm trees on it.

He reached out and knocked – realized that made so little sense when he could text her – followed the knocking with a simple ‘i’m here’, because maybe Emmy carried bats, or tazers, or – okay, though, this part of town was nice so maybe not, but who was he to just up and spook her anyways!?

Knocking was polite, he could remember this one simple thing; even if he didn’t really feel the door beneath his bruised knuckles, or the path beneath his feet. He refused to let himself be so gone as to completely forego all sense of manners…

Not with Emmy, she deserved better n that.

Was this the first easy touch he’d had in months? No, that was untrue. It was just different and he cataloged it as such, the way Emmy smelled nothing of fire — fresh laundry, clean silks, someone who ensured her whites were the whitest and probably disinfected her washer and dryer habitually. There was never anything overpowering about her — she didn’t need any cloying scents or flashy styles or pungent dryer sheets to stand out.

She did that simply by standing there, warm, concise actions all speaking to the same clear point, alive, alive, alive!! ******** but he was so glad she was alive! Everything hadn’t gone nearly that badly, but it could’ve, couldn’t it always?

The apology that wanted to spill from him like white noise became silent against her lips, the tension in his shoulders cut, stalled, died. Waru relaxed easy as a gentle tug into the motion of it, meeting her with lidded eyes hiding warm amber hues — red rimmed as they were — there was no room for his tears here. He didn’t want to ruin her clothing with them…

Not when he had good news.

“Please,” pulled along and he closed the door behind him as he was led inside. Bet good money the wine she was offering him was red enough to match the shade of her well manicured nails, the particular lipstick she seemed to wear effortlessly when powered, and when not— “anything you’re offering is more n I deserve Em’s” But he’d take it still, wouldn’t he? Chased after every scrap of offer at distraction like a greyhound after a hare. They’d start talking, but maybe after he bolstered himself with liquid courage and —

Waru tugged the nails secured around his shitty shirt higher, till he could press a kiss there too. Soft fluttery things lay along the delicate Snow White backs of palms and slender fingers that held pure steel and death with such surety. How he watched her lips that told him *no more* raptly, because she’d said she didn’t want to lose him, and ******** if he wanted to lose her!! There were feelings there and he didn’t know how to begin addressing them when the last thing he wanted to do was cross a line. He hoped the wine would help him find the words to address that as much as being in her presence was helping him settle down right then.

“M’sorry I didn’t bring you home straight after, I’ve been a s**t gentleman — a s**t listener — there’s a whole a** list growing to the stars…Hell, maybe you should have Adam carve it into me? Might finally get everything right then...” his laugh was brittle, dry, and hoarse as kindling ready to catch at the slightest spark. The rest of him was soft for her though, pliable, gentle with his calluses n how exactly he touched, and where…

“Never, you’re the hardest person I know, Em’s.”

If the axe to his throat didn’t tell them that? If his obedience in the wake of her taking charge didn’t tell them that? Waru didn’t like to think of himself as some wilful, wild thing, untamed thing– Right up until he did, and even then? He liked to think of himself as tamable, leashable, but only for the rare few who deserved that from him, and only under the right circumstances. ********, sometimes? He didn’t even listen to Faustite, and he was married to the man! But that sort of binding didn’t constitute complete and utter obedience. Faustite wouldn’tve wanted that from him – needed him to listen in the moments he should’ve been listening – needed him to *not*, because he could have any number of slavering, subservient lackeys, more important was someone who would argue a point for the sake of deepening a discussion. Someone like himself who would play devil's advocate just to see where that conversation led—

Someone like Jada – who knew how to take the lead, who was *trusted* by Faustite, time and time again, deserved every bit of power granted to her for just such occasions! True as it was that sometimes, for damn sure, he bucked beneath Jada’s heel where he felt it sharpest in the center of his spine…

Paid for that in consequences. All sorts of consequences.

More often than not, though? She was a person worth listening to. She was *the* only other person he ever listened to! At least in moments like the one they’d faced not mere hours ago—most of the time–he swore it was most of the time.

“If I ever told anyone anything else? They’d pin me for a liar–” whisper soft, and her insistence on his not needing to speak at all stole a better laugh from him, had him brighten at her all the more as he took the proffered wine that matched her nails from her hand, sat her opposite, sipped it down– gods alcoholic fruit the drink was the best sort of drink he could’ve had right now – it was bitter sweet, for all that he would’ve liked to have had it under better circumstances.

For all that wine was made for funerals as well as it was for parties, wasn't it? Was that a thing? Wine for celebrations, for christenings, for sending ships into harbors even if they were doomed to sink….

For promotions. People drank wine for promotions all the time.

He didn’t have to talk about anything if he didn’t want to, but when in his entire life had he ever learned to shut up? Even in the womb, he was sure he’d been babbling…She must’ve known this though, offered him options regardless, let him take his pick of whatever he’d find the most comfortable. Always considerate of him even when he was so rarely cognizant and considerate of others, accidental as it often was to a degree. Her care though, all her care that he hardly deserved after assing up everything; no matter the outcome in the end. He didn’t deserve such careful handling as this—eyed her blood red lipstick and blood red nails and he wanted to feel them run him through after reading him the riot act.

Especially for what he was about to do next.

“Em’s you’re the *second* warmest person I know—” was it true? Nectaris had been the sweetest, sugar taffeta melted around steel beams, and then there was Meri oh, but she’d been a different kind of heat entirely? Red hots, Devil's kisses and plummeting exhaustion to follow the line of it. Adam was *fridged*, all his heat was pinpoint, needlepoint, painpoint *hot*– Emilia though? She was a day at the beach, nature in all it’s most controlled forms, dangerous, lovely, *warm*. Like how the ocean could be in low tide warm as bathwater and high tide as cold as ice for people unprepared to face it that way.

“The first being my, heh, my husband — quite ******** literally—Who would probably like it if you saved a bottle of this for him? S’good s**t–and–ahmn—you’re sure you don’t mind me breaking our rule about, ah, whazit – the one about not talking about our other lovers when I’m with you?”

‘There’s my ********, she’s cute with her glasses on.’

He knew if she could’ve heard his thoughts even half the time? She would’ve beaten him over the head with the rest of the wine bottle for ever thinking them so damn possessively. He couldn’t help it though, Emmy was, even in his darkest moments, such a bright and sharp person to him; red lines, beach days, a hint of perfume. Seemingly always done up even when she was dressed down, an outfit for every occasion.

She could pull on ‘business’ as quickly as she could pull on ‘fun’.

“I am saying it, right now! You are—in fact—the first person I’m coming to say it *to—*” the words shoved out in an uncautious rush as the corner of the couch became his safe haven. Lovely as it was of the negaverse to assume everyone lived on their tablets all the time, lived to work and worked to live that work! Waru damned well didn’t. The uniform came off, the tablet got put away, he was a Senshi eternally, but what he was not? Was a Senshi who was always turned ‘on’, living in service to his people without pause.

He was different to Praxidike that way, at least, he wanted to tell himself he was, even as he clutched his wine a little closer to his chest. Like Emmy might break it with her gaze alone—-

“I was behaving though! For once! And it’s—listen, it's really hard to explain coherently? Like, I was there, and all of it feels kind of insane—” where did he even start without sounding crazed? Without getting misty eyed in the middle of telling it with how fresh it all was, because he had cried for awhile, at least once — more than once — and then the sad tears had become happy ones, and then when he’d exhausted that?? He’d found his beaten down baseline, slunk outta Faustites suddenly crowded feeling hospital room—come here—but only when he realized he wasn’t reaching all the people he thought he could via comms; when the replies from zuzu and co. just didn’t come back…..

Emmy *deserved* to see him first, though. More than anyone else. They had other things to talk on, he needed her to shore him up—needed to see her sharp, warm, brilliant face somewhere far away from the negaverse for five whole minutes!

“But I’m gonna try! So, after you made me see sense and I teleported out? Which–we’re gonna talk about that badass moment for sure…” The breath he took in, heaved out, the emotions he covered with his clutch of wine, the way he sipped it down to nothing, but warm rim and smudgy prints by the end. It was a lot to explain — to hastily find poor pauses and hiccoughed starts throughout. Messily retelling the events from hours and hours ago — crystals and Heliodore —- the brothers and Kamacite — the way Laurels had come in at the tail end to shock them all. The looks on Jet n Aquas faces, how Taenite had nearly been impaled before Faustite had melted outta his would’ve coffin-cocoon and emerged a whole entire King!!

“So Faustites a General-Sovering now—and alive!! I just gotta—gotta remember to preface the part where he’s still on fire, but not a full-youma, but also very alive? I mean, in the infirmary, but alive….soooo…I-umh, I probably should’ve started with that, huh?” He had no damn right to be sheepish, but he was, able to smile more easily at her even as he expected to take that wineglass in her grasp to the head. He really had to stop putting his foot into everything with Emmy!!

Unless maybe he liked apologizing to her?! Some weird sorta subconscious urge he’d definitely have to explore *later*, because maybe now the rest of the wine could be celebratory for real!!

He deserved that, the act of being held accountable even as she kept her hard to win forgiveness and dangled it like a worthy prize. He didn’t want it easy, didn’t desire it as something passed off like a participation medal. Handed down to him just because he was ‘Waru’ and simple manipulations fed his ego and tamed his soul! This, here, was the stabilizing safety of familiar ground, a track he knew how to run blindfolded and barefoot when it came to Emmy—to Jadarite—who existed separately, but who he also thought of as always lying just beneath Emilia’s veneer.

This was what he needed though, right here, right now, knowing easy as breathing exactly how he stood on that ground where she was concerned.

Maybe he could be manipulating too, in his own ways, where he dragged things out so he could get more time, where he looked sheepish and caught out even though he’d known what he was walking into—all the ways he’d try to distract her without really trying that hard at all! It really wasn’t fair of him to put so much on her slim steel shoulders—but she could bear it, steadily, with grace. She always had before.

What do I want?

“M’not gonna lie, I maybe came here first because I wanted to be comforted by you specifically—” he watched the distance happen, slow motion, and it made him still up. He didn’t want her to go–he didn’t want to go! The words were out his mouth but that wasn’t everything, was it?

No, it was more than that—

“Because I need someone who cares—about Faustite, yeah, but also? Maybe just a little bit about me…” and it was probably safer if he made sure his wine was set aside as he went looking for Emmys eyes, tried to catch them away from where they reflected in pools of rippling red, “...who cares *enough* to wanna save my thick a** and the neck attached to it from said ‘bad habits’. All the s**t I need to work on, and I know I’m grown enough that I should manage it on my own–but just then? There was no way I was gonna be in control of anything–anyone–not even myself…” how could he have been in the face of it all, and in lieu of Faustites explicit orders? Someone had to have the reins and a cooler head, had to have his reins when all that made up his own world was disintegrating around him. He could admit that flaw in himself, could win it as he always did. Could even agree that it was entirely unfair to Emilia—she wasn’t his babysitter, his mother, his caretaker…

But even with an axe at his throat he could think, ’thank god, at least someone cares!!’ He could think even after that, with a slurry of curiosity and a heaphing heft of confusion for how it maybe muddied Em’s definition of a good time with him — ‘thank god, at least Emmy cares’, and once he thought it? There was no unthinking it. There could only ever be actions on his part, however uncautious and faulty.

“Besides! I already did my crying on what I thought was gonna be his grave, and then I cried some more on his sheets in the hospital room—happier tears! But still, yanno? He’s not alone—he's so goddamned surrounded…” like he was fine with it because he was, because he would keep being fine with Faustite being as popular and inundated by others as he always had been. Especially now that he knew he had time, that the later he’d prayed for would happen, so he could spend some moments here, because Faustite would still be back there in the infirmary waiting for him. Hopefully sleeping, and healing, and being given flowers that would hilariously set on fire and smolder in ways that would drive the nurses to ransom out hits on people who continued to bring them…

As if something as silly as death threats would stop me from bringing them—

“He’s a King, Em’s…and you? You’re ‘General Saves The Day’, who I owe some making up to…Sooo—if I can stay? I’d really kinda like to.” He was taking that closeness back, stealing it in increments, till he could touch her again, the softness of her home-attire, the warmth so casually hidden beneath it. Never wanting more than what was permitted to him—but also not wanting to give up a centimeter more of ground and then suddenly find himself leaving! Because if he had to go back and see Fafnir’s wrath, or hear Helio’s kicked-dog whines, or face Kama’s rageful tears, or even Taenite’s who he ********’ loved’s unsortable everything else!

He could deal with Aqua and Jet, maybe-– something about how emotionally detached they were from it all made them both easier to handle. Anything else though? Any other onlooker and praise bringer and person who’d been present at that battle and had gotten the announcement and so would be present again!!!

I can’t deal with it all, not right now.

So long as he knew Faustite wouldn’t fault him for taking a break? Then he was sure as ******** going to take it—the rest could wait a few more days for him to pull something like confidence back on and go run his own gauntlet of finding and checkins..