Verse I Guess The Good Lord Has Forgotten 'bout Me (holly) - Tumblr Posts
Seeing him like this makes her heart break. Were she able to express anything other than an emotionless face, that would be obvious. Holly would take the bottle from him and set it down gently, to bring him in and lay his head on her chest and to pat at him, shushing. To tell him everything is all right, that she's here and she won't be going anywhere ever again. But that dream is short lived.
Holly now wonders if it was Nick's doing, getting him to drink. Of course Holly didn't tell him about it. It was told in confidence that it wouldn't leave the room, and it never did. But she wonders how it has taken an affect on him. That won't do, she'll have to sober him up.
" Ich habe dich auch vermisst. " She said. Though his eyes are obstructed by his hands. When they come into view once more, she brings her hands up to sign, in her god awful sign language ( for beig a polyglot, she was never able to get a full grasp on sign language ) something akin to ' miss you '.
Lips pull into a tight line, pale scar across the flesh of her neck as she swallows. She's becoming increasingly aware of her standing out in the open where their neighbors could see. Holly now wonders if the neighbors tried to help him. Holly always did with them... the woman hoped they could only return the favor, even if it wouldn't ease the pain he had gone through completely.
" Did you throw out my clothes ?? " She asks. This tie dye shirt and bright pink shorts were hardly her style. Especially not one with profanity in big block white letters across her chest. God she hopes not. After having spent all that time with hardly anything on and then to this after god knows how long, she's dying to get back into some sort of normalcy. Normal clothes, normal house, normal husband, normal fucking life.
She'll never be normal again.
Hugo hesitated the first time Nick offered him a drink. He vaguely remembers staring at the bottle, noting it was the same brand of whiskey Holly liked. Despite never drinking it himself, he had remembered because regardless of his feelings, she liked it.
Nick wouldn't have known. He doesn't think Holly would have told him about...everything. That was a secret he told only to her in the dark one night. A secret that died with her...but what did he have to lose now? He had always worried that if he ever did partake, he would become like his mother; cruel and abusive. And he couldn't take the chance of becoming someone he wasn't and hurting her. Not her.
He had accepted because if he did become cold-hearted, who would blame him? If he became belligerent, who would shame him? For all he's suffered, the world owed him something.
What happened after was almost comical— he grew silent. He grew numb. Instead of an outpouring of those difficult emotions he's been grappling with, it seemed to lock it all away. Nick had cried and Hugo had stared at the ground between their feet where his tears fell, noting how his own eyes watered but would never spill over. Didi had locked herself in a room, refusing to speak to anyone, the occasional sound of shattering glass being heard through the door.
When she had finally emerged, she would just look at him— and he knew what she was thinking behind those dull eyes. He had always been wary of her, what with her temper and her violence...she seemed unstable but with how she looked at him then, he thinks that she was just hurt. Now he felt the same hurt.
And they both had the same idea. An awful, terrible idea. One that Hugo would have never even considered...up until the moment he saw Holly on the slab.
He didn't really do it for Holly. Vengeance wouldn't bring her back and he knew that even with the grief and the numbness...but it could be stopped. A good life was lost and it felt necessary to take another to rectify it. Maybe so they could all sleep better at night. Maybe because they would know that the monster that haunted their nightmares would no longer be around.
Hugo doesn't think back to what he did. It was done, like the many he killed during his service. If anything, it was the one noble murder he's ever committed, if such a thing made sense. Well, none of it made sense, did it? Because they still hurt in the end. It hadn't really gotten better.
So he continued to drink, if only to dull his senses. He didn't need to think about how he wasn't there for her. He didn't need to think about what happened to her. How scared she must have been—
The knock doesn't reach him. Not the first nor the second time/ No, what catches him is the movement— he was in the dark now, no lights on, curtains closed, not a speck of sunlight breaching his space regardless of the brightness outside.
Except for the light that poured in from the glass panes in the door. It was an old-fashioned sort of thing, but a door was a door. He never really thought of changing it. And now someone's head was bobbing about, obscuring the only light he had.
He answers only so he could ask them to leave. Nick would have texted first. Didi would have snuck herself in somehow. Anyone else had enough good sense to leave him be.
Once again, he's left silent. For a brief moment, he doesn't think she's real. More like...something to taunt him with. A trick of the eye, a drunken hallucination, something his brain wants him to see, to force him to remember.
But she speaks and— well, if he had dreamed her up, he might have heard her. He can still recall what a woman's voice sounds like. Maybe it wouldn't be hers, but he could imagine. He could have heard it and considered it a dream.
But he can't. And that's why he doesn't think it's a dream. The back of his hand presses into his mouth and his nose as he feels his eyes water once more, fingers still clutching onto the bottle for dear life. If someone were to tell him he'd get another chance to see her again, he would have assumed he would feel elated. That he'd cherish that moment for as long as he lived. Now, with her in front of him again, seemingly alive, he could only feel shame.
"I thought you were—" She must know what he thought. "I didn't—" He didn't save her. He hadn't been there. And Hugo didn't think he'd ever be redeemed for that.
There's a sniff, rough hands rubbing at his face harshly, trying to push those tears away. Maybe he didn't deserve this second chance. Maybe this all was a dream. Maybe...there are so many maybes, but what he knows is that right now, he could see her. Maybe he won't tomorrow. Maybe not in an hour. But right now he could.
Scarred lips pull into the smallest of smiles, the smallest gesture of joy he's been able to express in a year. "...Ich habe dich vermisst, Mausbär."
Holly watches him process it, watches him try to wrap his head around it all. It took her a while, too. Fuck, she's still trying to figure it all out. Why her ?? Why is she alive again ?? Holly remembers dying, very explicitly. How the blade felt cutting into her pale flesh and losing all the blood she fucking had as he watched and laughed. But she doesn't want to remember. She would much rather forget everything that she could.
Heart doesn't beat, chest doesn't rise with a breath, her eyes are pale and skin much lighter than before. She's sure, aside from the obvious, that her appearence is a shock to him as well. It was enough to question her ability to walk. She'd love that, to be wrapped up in his big strong arms, like their first kiss, like the first night they made love, like he always had when she wasn't feeling great. But something tells her to stop. Maybe it's her own guilt eating her alive.
When he reaches out for her hand, she ignore the alarms ringing within her head, fingers grazing against his. She shakes, the one thing her body still seems to do in response. Holly hadn't been touched in a kind and gentle way in a year. It makes her nervous. Though, after that moment, a long, long ten or so seconds, she withdraws herself, eyes flicking upwards to find his again.
" Good, I need t'change. " She says, and moves past him into the door.
Holly still remembers the home well. The pictures of them still remained up, the ones she hanged, the ones she loved so much. It's as if she's on an eveneing stroll down the hall to their bedroom, taking her time ( but not too long ). Hand reaches for the knob to their door and she twists it open.
Fingers find the drawers, pulling them open and retrieving various items to make up her outfit. It's not her favorite, no. It's the same outfit she always had worn when she was insecure, didn't want to be noticed. Wanted to blend in as if she didn't exist. She begins to strip immediately. Thank god the bruises had been healed long ago, though the scars still remain.
There's fear mixed into the indescribable joy he feels; a fear she'll disappear within the span of a blink. That he'll look away for a moment only to prove it was all a trick. That she'll be gone the very second he lets his guard down.
When he finally breathes again, not even noticing how he'd been holding it in since she walked through the threshold, he thought it was probably best to...to act. To make the most of whatever this was. If she's still there in an hour, it's a blessing. If she stayed until tomorrow, he'd be the happiest man alive.
He doesn't even know what he'd do with himself if she stayed any longer.
Miss you. There's a choked laugh and he nods, eyes crinkling up as he smiles. She missed him. She understood the time apart— he didn't know what that meant. What her time...gone meant.
Maybe it meant nothing. Maybe it was just time apart. Another tragedy they had to only momentarily live through.
"I kept them." Of course he did. Neatly folded in her side of the dressers. Perfectly pressed in the closet. He hadn't wanted to let go yet. Even if he ever got to the point of thinking he should move on, he wasn't sure if he'd let himself. Like he had to keep them there to remind him. Remember how you were happy with her? Don't forget the happiness.
Gaze falls on what she was currently wearing— Hugo's not sure how he blocked it all out, but he's sure he can find her more suitable attire—
Scar.
He nods, sudden and furious, not being able to look at it for longer than a second. "Are you...?" A hand is held out for her, gently and politely asking her to take his hand again. Just like the first time he asked. "Can you walk alright?" She got here somehow, hadn't she? It may be a stupid question, but maybe he just wanted an excuse to hold her, pick her up, cradle her into his chest until he was sure she was real again.
The way that holly would sob for hours randomly one day when she gets her memories back and her body isn’t still in fight or flight mode and she can properly feel emotions in her revenant verse god
so to add to this, Hollys death was so violent and traumatic that it brought her back as a revenant, and because there’s… literally nothing of her old body left, she can’t be laid to rest, so she’s just forced to haunt everyone for eternity
The way that holly would sob for hours randomly one day when she gets her memories back and her body isn’t still in fight or flight mode and she can properly feel emotions in her revenant verse god
@undedfuck | it's been 84 yeaaars
Chest rises as her eyes find his figure from where she sat on Nickolas' couch. A figure Holly used to know so intimately, so well, as if he had been the back of her hand. It was in passing, attention torn from the television the moment he stepped foot in the room. Nick hadn't even given it a second thought to introduce them, he never did. He wanted to keep Holly away from his work, though it's a little hard to do that when your best friend never leaves your house, isn't it ??
How long had it been ?? Years don't matter to Holly anymore, not since her death. Not since she stopped aging. When they last saw each other, Holly had blood pumping through her, the woman was alive, smiling and happy ( well, as happy as the man could make her, anyways ). And now her eyes are sunken in, akin to that of a roadkill's, iris' pale in comparison to the years before. If she had a heart beat, it'd be going crazy right now.
Hands white knuckle the blanket that lay on her. The woman is so torn, wanting and wishing for him to not even notice her there, to just assume that it's another one of Nick's fuck buddies ( because he has a new one every damn hour ) as he notices her out of the corner of his eyes... she also wishes for him to watch, to stare, to never take his eyes off of her again- but... he broke that promise. He broke that promise all those years ago, the one she believed. What she doesn't know is that it wasn't of his own free will that he had broke that promise. One day, he was just gone.
She knows for a fact it's Cyrus. There's no definitive answer she has on how, but call it an inkling. Maybe it's some sort of sixth sense she picked up from being dead, who the hell knows ?? She doesn't. If he doesn't stop, she'll have to leave the premises until Nick tells her to come home. But that isn't her home, that man was her home.
Chest rises with an audible inhale, not that she needs to breathe anymore. A force of habit she still has not yet been able to kick ( she's still human in some aspects, she has not had as much time as Cy has had to adjust to being dead, yet ). Another habit she has yet to kick is the scan of a crowd, eyes wandering in hopes of him being there, watching her. Holly had never dreamt about reuniting with this man at Nick's house. Though it doesn't come as a surprise to her, either.
Holly wants throw herself at his knees, sob and whine until the sun has turned to dust and the moon has floated away, until she’s shaking violently and he’s held her so tight she’s started to turn purple. However she settles for the blink of an eye and the raising of her brows.
Holly freezes in her own spot, unsure of how to even respond, scared that if she did the man would disappear once again. That had fucked her up, the not ever knowing what had happened to Cyrus or why he had left her. Did he hate her ?? Couldn’t stand her anymore ?? She’d like to believe that he wouldn’t just do that to her. Just because he does awful things does not lead Holly to believe that he is an awful man, though the fact of the matter still remains that he DID leave her.
The lump in her throat is swallowed as she hears those words spill from his lips, and it’s then that Nick realizes that he isn’t being followed anymore. Perhaps Cyrus had stopped to look at a painting, or a dumb ass art piece he had somewhere, but when he turns around, it’s neither. They’re staring at each other, Cyrus and Holly. A look of confusion paints over Nick’s face so wildly it would catch even him off guard.
Those words has Holly crumbling, and it’s obvious to Nick. He hadn’t seen her like this in years, not since before her death.
Holly scrambles for any words to say, lips parting to speak but nothing comes out, and all she can manage at this second is the furrow of her brow and a nod of her head.
It takes everything in her not to get up, not to run over there and wrap her arms around the mountain of a man, the love of her life. And Nick can see that turmoil in her, enough for him to shake his own head ‘no’, and speak himself.
“ Hey guys, uh, what the fucks goin’ on ?? “
He asks. Hands planted firmly on his hips a moment, fully expecting an explanation. However, at least from Holly's end, she gives him one look and says, calmly:
“ Can you please give us a moment, Nickolas ?? “
Hardly does she ever government name him, only in times of seriousness and when he’s done something wrong. The Hound gives Cyrus another long glance before shaking his head in disbelief. He supposed it wasn’t entirely out of the realm of possibility that in a past life she knew one of these men that he has unfortunately hired to work for him. Though he never expected it to actually happen.
“ Listen, whatever the hell is happening between the two of you, figure it out, and come back to see me, Cyrus. “ But before anyone could say anything else, he’s headed towards the kitchen.
In that past life they knew each other in, Holly had cared a little too much about her appearance. Always making sure she’s well put together, makeup perfect, not a hair out of place or a wrinkle on her shirt. Even when relaxing at home, sure the clothes were comfier but they were still nice. Clearly, she’s a different person now by the oversized t-shirt she dawns ( Nick’s, no doubt ), the short blonde bob she now sports, and the smudged eyeliner and mascara around her large eyes. Were this her past self, she’d tell him to look away, no matter how long they had been together, she always had to be presentable for him.
Holly stands, the blanket being thrown off her bare legs, and she begs them to move. But she stays planted firmly in her spot. Anxiety is something she’s still used to, and god does it rear its ugly head at this moment, the phantom heart beat pounding in her chest as hands fidget with each other for a moment.
“ Cyrus, I- “ Words still don’t come easy, eyes refuse to give him even the slightest bit of attention, though she forces it finally.
“ Why’d y’leave me ?? “ The question is posed and brows are knitted tightly together.
How long had it been since he’d made an in person delivery for nick? cy couldn’t tell. Months, weeks, years they all blended in together to the point that he rarely noticed when the sun set or rose. This called for a special arrival on his part, a hand signed and passed over letter clearly showing that the agreement nick had been working for finally went through. All the time he’d spent working his loose ends and putting away strays worked out, and he felt more pride than he’d admit about the deal. That and every so often cy did look for a reason to come sniffing around nick’s stomping grounds, pay a visit to the man himself.
It explains why he graces his polished doorstep, breezes through the ornate doors themselves. He wouldn’t deny that he enjoyed nick’s sense of decoration, it reminded him of the old days – the days when having rich pieces actually meant you were rich and not bored with too much money. Granted cy couldn’t pinpoint exactly where nick stood and he didn’t bother with categorizing the younger man, it didn’t matter – none of it really mattered in the end. Not the polished marble floors, not the grand staircases or the elaborate garden mazes people built just to fuck and get lost in. None of it survived.
His steps are lazy and slow as he takes his time to absorb just what has changed and what remains the same in this house. Easing through the doorway into the main room his milk-like eyes are raised toward the ceiling, careful in their assessment – was he looking for bullet holes? maybe. It all looked the same, frozen much like him. Raising his eyebrows he drops his attention to the rest of the room, noting the chairs, the paintings, the tv left on, and the woman on the sofa covered in a blanket. No, no, no, no, no – not just a woman and not just a girl. He knows her, he’d know her anywhere.
Holly.
To think even her name felt like a gash in his side, a holy searing pain that consumed his every fiber and being and writhed like a freshly killed snake. She was alive. She lived – she lives, it's been…ages. Ages locked behind a stone tomb, feeling his body be eaten by rats, roaches, and more as he waited. Waited to be free, waited to return to the one face that haunted him more often than the moonlight he only ever caught glimpses of. It was holly, his holly … the girl that now looked so different but was exactly the same.
His throat didn't dry up any more, he didn’t need to breathe, there was no reason for him to hold air in his chest. Seeing her made him freeze, made his entire body root itself into the very marble he stood on. Several questions ran through his head loud and demanding and angry and happy, overjoyed and consuming they rolled one right after the other – but all fell at the feet of the one thought that he could fully process. She’s there. She is here in nick’s house with you, after ages of being locked away she is sitting right there mere steps away.
His lips part, brows rising just a fraction higher on his forehead as his eyes drink in every detail about her. “ you’re still here…you’re real. Please tell me you’re real princess. “ his final words are a whisper, almost like a prayer he can't bear saying out loud but he does so anyway. He has to know.
If her heart were in working order, it would break. Break into a million little pieces and she KNOWS she’ll be left to pick up them up on her own. Men like him who are loved by women like her don’t get their happy ending. Especially not when they’re terminally ill. What a joke, she dies, gets brought back to life, and now he’s dying. But he won’t be as lucky as her, she thinks.
Let her be selfish. Because she’s going to be regardless of what the warlock says. But his words do cause her brows to furrow and a frown to form on lips. He was always so fucking stubborn.
“ I didn’t ask if you were good for me, John. To be quite honest, I don’t care if you are or aren’t. I just want you. “
Eyes stare at his form now, sounding like an asthmatic who needed their inhaler. That’s something she doesn’t have to worry about anymore. Holly has half a mind to reach into her bag and grab her inhaler for him. She doesn’t, only because she’s unsure if it’ll help.
Holly wants to point out what he did for her. How he helped her regain feeling, both emotional and physical, and she’s not just a thought piloting a meat mech anymore. How HE gave HER purpose again. But, she’s reminded of the payment he was given. Fuck, she doesn’t care about it. About how they met, or if he didn’t do it for pity, no. All she cares about is being in his arms.
“ Is it because I’m no longer human that you deny yourself this ?? “
@thehollyverse (holly) said: "I should tell you that I think of you each night."
the words send a chill down his spine, a rare feat these days. instincts tell him to turn & run in the opposite direction, panic settling in the pit of his stomach until it feels like bile about to come back up. feet remain firmly planted on the ground despite his better judgement, & brown eyes lift to meet holly's gaze: SILENCE is deafening while fingers itch for the pack of smokes tucked away in his pocket. he doesn't move though, only forces oxygen into his lungs [ as well as he can ] until pain blooms in his chest, the wheeze that follows the only sound that breaks through the air.
one breath, & he doesn't say a word. two breaths, & he blinks, nice & slow. three breaths, & he swallows around nothing. four breaths, & he finally speaks. ❛ don't say that. ❜ a warning or a request? who knew. constantine certainly didn't. FEELINGS were something he'd always thought were best left unspoken — things he felt for holly were complicated, & he certainly refused to put a name to any of them. even if it meant her walking away, even if it meant dying without ever admitting a damn thing. he shouldn't have encouraged any of this when he's a dead man walking. ❛ i'm no good for you. ❜
* MEME, always accepting.
Chest rises as she inhales, pale hand reaches for the cigarette. The other lays flat on his chest as he holds it there. Holly blinks, pressing the cigarette to lips and inhaling. Palm feels the beat of his heart, and even when his hand is dropping to her waist to pull her in, her own does not move. And no, she is not offering the literal cancer stick back to him.
Milky eyes blink up at John, another inhale of the cigarette and the smoke hangs heavily around them. Digits grasp at his shirt gently. Holly has half a mind to pull him in to a kiss at this very moment, to make him act on that selfish though... though she knows it's not that easy.
" John, stop tellin' me what I should and shouldn't do. I'm a grown woman, I can make my own fuckin' decisions. I've had enough of that in my life. "
With cigarette between slender digits, she presses the hand to his cheek, thumb grazes against the rough skin.
" Let me make my own decisions. " She says, low.
he pulls out the cigarettes now, lighting one up without thinking about it & inhaling the smoke that somehow makes him feel better — not as though it can make stage 4 cancer even worse. eyes drop to stare at the carpeted floor between them, almost hoping it would swallow him up, get him out of this conversation. but he's stuck, with this woman's eyes boring a hole into him & he's finding any excuse to not put a title on what they may or may not be. fingers absentmindedly open & close the lid of the lighter, again & again.
one more puff from the smoke before he takes two steps, closing the distance between them. hand tosses the lighter aside before taking hold of holly's wrist — fingers wrap around it so effortlessly, raising it enough to press it against his chest. heart beats only for her, even if he doesn't say it to her, lungs only fighting for her sake. smoke is exhaled through his nose & his head shakes, fingers tightening their grip on pale skin. almost begging her to feel everything that's wrong with him, to feel his organs failing on him.
❛ you think that matters to me, sweetheart? ❜ smile tugs at the corner of his lips, & he laughs. fingers offer her the smoke, another sign that she does mean something to the man, in the only way he knows how: it may not be enough, but it's the best he can do. ❛ i kill demons for a living, sleeping with a revenant hardly seems like a line to draw. ❜ & once he's done laughing at his own words, his hand finally releases her wrist.
instead it finds home on her hip, pulling her closer, closer, closer — lips inches from hers, but not connecting. she deserved better, yet he doesn't let her leave. ❛ you shouldn't be wasting your time on someone that's gonna die before you even finish this trip around the sun. ❜ no sadness in his voice, only the resolve that he is doing this for her sake, not out of his own selfishness: if he was half as selfish as he was made out to be, he would've taken holly right then & there & not cared one bit about how unfair it was to her.
@s-unfleur asked: holly also gets one (1) smooch from constantine ♡ from here
He annoys the fuck out of her. In the sense that he's always giving excuses for them not to be together. So what, he's gonna be dead by this time next year ?? Quite frankly, Holly doesn't give a shit. Not anymore. And it's obvious by the way she reaches up, fingers gripping at his jaw. It's harsh enough to pull him down to her height. She looks at him for one moment, then, presses her lips to his in a kiss that means something. It isn't empty, it has some feeling, and she hopes that it's enough to get him to shut the fuck up. At least for now.
Knees press together, hands resting in her lap. She's stiff, almost as if she had been carved from marble, stuck there. Eyes gaze outside, glued to the window as if it were the most thrilling piece of media she had ever laid her eyes on… or a car crash. Only time could tell.
Chest rises with an audible inhale ( not that she needs it anymore ), and it's finally then that her eyes shut. Emotions get the best of her, and a tear breaches, staining her cheek. But oh, how wonderful it was to be able to experience this feeling again… fear. Just as real and visceral as the night she had her life taken.
" It's just like- " It's obvious, the pain she feels in her voice. " I don't know, Cy has been a big help but… it's just like… I'm relivin' the whole night over again and it's hard, y'know ?? " It's still very fresh in her mind- well... fresher than Cyrus' at least, though she would never discredit his trauma and how he felt about it.
" I cried for four hours after Val helped me, and that feelin' hasn't really gone away yet. "
It's a somber look that sits upon laurel’s face as she watches holly carefully. Necromatic magic seemed to come easier to her than her sister or brother, the familiar static that lingers around holly now makes her fingertips itch. Val had come to her not long after the binding she’d performed on holly and spoken with laurel regarding her memories, to see if they’d be mixed with the deceased mortals or if she’d remain singular. She’d taken to consulting her fathers texts and tombs he kept stashed away in his office before following the very lead to laurence's crypt. It wasn’t often she found herself in the bowels of their garden, and laurel didn't make it a habit to touch the elder crow either. There were few answers to be found but after hours of mulling over texts, scripts, scrawls, and even making contact with her ancestor – she’d come to find that she would remain her own.
It was a breath of relief in truth, a heavy one. Now sitting in the crow drawing room, the blonde zombie rests on her mothers favorite lounge. Pursing her lips laurel nods voice level and low, “ i would say good, but that depends on what you are remembering. I would advise you find somewhere safe to be while they return to you, i can't say there won't be large waves of emotional distress after being numb for so long. “
@thehollyverse sent: " i remember ... everything . " for Laurel from holly!
Nails pick at the frayed skin of her fingers, very clearly nervous. Ever since... well ALL of that happening, she couldn't handle being left alone for an extended period of time. It was too much for her, and she's finally feeling what PTSD she should have felt all those years ago. It was fucking hard.
Holly swallows, inhales, chest rises and falls and eyes finally catch Lena's. She gives a nod and agrees to help. It gives her something to do, to not feel so useless as she often had nowadays.
" Yeah, where d'you want me to start ?? "
She’s nimble fingers. A delicate touch on harsh tablets as she scours through lyric’s scribbles and sketches to match the two symbols at hand. The attic itself was silent aside from the soft shuffle and hiss of a custom made grandfather clock in the corner. Outside the grand stained glass window the sun began to make it decent, dropping behind the trees and setting its sights for the horizon. Lena can feel the air shifting, the restless curl of something wicked rising in the distance. It makes her stomach cinch and her brow furrow, as her nails skim each line over and over again trying to find the exact match.
There is no alert to holly’s presence, the room does not quake nor does the air flip or shift. All is still as if she belongs there in the room all along, it is only when her pale blonde hair is caught out of the corner of lena’s eye does she start. Jerking up her dark eyes wide, she can feel her heart stutter in her chest brows rising as she gives a curious look to the other girl. She’d left her in the kitchen among the few goods laurel had abandoned, and the cats that milled around the property. Had she been gone that long? she could’ve swore she’d only left her five minutes ago. Holly’s answer is soft, an explanation and lena can only give a softer but tense smile. “ it’s okay, i don't like being alone all too much either. Do you wanna help me? four eyes would be far better than just two.
@thehollyverse sent: " i hate being alone . " for Lena from holly!
Hm. Great success. Topic changed and though she'll bring it back around soon enough. Holly looks up at John ( as much as she could ), and sighs. Pads of her fingers remain planted on his jaw for a few moments longer before she's pulling them away, though she stays firmly planted where she is in front of him. Holly wouldn't argue if he had decided he wanted his shirt back right this instant.
" Get you to shut up. Kind of worked. "
it takes him by surprise, but he doesn't fight it. one hand goes to her wrist to hold it in place on his jaw while the other lands on her hip, pulling her body against his. when she pulls away, teeth playfully nip at her bottom lip — forehead presses to hers in a rare show of domesticity. fingers dig into the white fabric of his shirt [ he has half a mind to rip it off of her, but he doesn't ] & brown eyes are glued to her. he knows he could get used to this, & maybe that fact alone is what scares him. he opts to shove that feeling back down, keeping their bodies pressed together instead. ❛ what was that for, kid? ❜
Even if he didn't intend for it to be this way, she felt like his eyes bore into the back of her. To be fair, she wouldn't want to look away either, were the roles reversed. There's so may new things to look at, he'll have to learn her body all over again one day, when she's comfortable enough.
His eyes don't bring an uneasiness. In fact, she's quite used to it now. That man had hardly left her alone, and when he did, it was in the dark for hours, sometimes even days on end. And when he was there, he'd stare at her. Do nothing most of the time but sit and stare at her. It brought a weird comfort to Holly, knowing Hugo was watching. It was her new norm, and he had brought that back to her.
Hands make quick work of changing, pulling her shirt over her torso, pulling her pants up and buttoning them. Boring, mundane things, but it felt nice to wear normal clothes again. Especially something that belonged to her, though, she supposed that those loaners were hers now too.
His question is heard, though he stands, still facing the bed. She's quiet, hands gripping at biceps as she folds her arms over her chest. Teeth chew on the inside of her cheek, and she swears she chewed so hard there was a hole in her skin now... though she tastes no blood. There isn't even any feel of it. Holly shakes her head no.
" I can't feel anythin'. " And she forgets for a moment that he cannot hear what she says. Holly turns, head tilting as she gets a good look at him. There's another shake of her head no.
" No, Hugo. " His name still feels foreign on her tongue. She hadn't said his name in months, close to a year.
Hugo has learned that why is a dangerous question to ask. Before her, he used to ask it all the time; why him? Why couldn't he have a normal life? A mundane, boring one— he would rather live with the monotony than the memories he harbored.
And then she entered his life, changing it completely. And he only ever asked why had someone so lovely fallen for him? Many times he felt he didn't deserve it while another part of him asked again; why not? Why could he not be happy now?
He doesn't want to ask again. It felt like tempting fate to start questioning things. They were allowed one beautiful romance and had been reunited despite hopeless circumstances. Even now, she may not look exactly as he remembered her, as she looked in the pictures of her in his study, but her touch feels the same. Colder, maybe, but he knows how Holly felt in his hands.
He can feel another sting in his eyes but he keeps his gaze firm. She didn't need to see him this way. She's been through enough without the added sorrow.
Even if her retracting from him stings more than the tears. For a brief moment of silent panic he wonders if she doesn't want o be near him. If whatever she's been through has made her afraid— afraid of others, maybe, he could understand that. But not him. Please not him.
Hugo only nods at her request, following behind at a safe distance, thinking it would be best to continue to give her space until...until what exactly? She got settled? He didn't know what that might look like now. Whatever this new life of hers was, he still wished to be a part of it.
Clothes are gathered. Borrowed clothes removed as Hugo stands in the doorway, head bowed to give her partial privacy— not fully, as he still worries if he looks away completely he may lose her— but even with his head down he could see them. The white lines across legs. The small healed nicks along bare feet.
Defensive wounds, like she had curled herself up to escape blows. Feet scars from running barefoot through harsh underbrush.
"Are you..." He exhales softly to steady his voice. "Are you in any pain?"