All that glitters in darkness.

Alarik takes one look at her, as she stands in front of his dad's grave under the moonlight with streaks of soft blue light breathing on her skin and staggers on his feet.

She's beautiful. The thought takes away his breath, and he only gives more of his self in return even as it feels like his lungs are fire. But he wants to burn, Alarik finds. Completely and utterly burn in her existence. His eyes are stinging with tears. She is standing with her long blood red hair tied in a messy bun and her eyes closed head tipped downwards in respect to his father. Watching the sight feels like stepping into new fresh spring, something light and warm settling in the space between his ribs, pulsing his heart with feather gold. Feels like falling in love all over again and it's freshling dazzling. She’s beautiful, Alarik thinks again, as the tears flow down his cheeks like a river. He chokes on a sob, curls a fist on his chest–

Then, a laugh tears out of him his voice light and free in a way he forgot and surprises him even if it shouldn’t. Of course, even if everyone else left and spat on his father’s grave, called him a traitor she didn’t. Of course, she stayed and even chose to pray respect regardless of what his father did, what he sacrificed to save a handful of friends. War, hundreds of lives traded for four friends, only four lives yet she stands in front of his grave with deep respect like he was a hero. And the thought makes Alarik dizzy, tipsy.

Then, she opens her eyes, slides them to his meets his eyes with determined, sympathetic clear violet eyes, in understanding and the world shifts around him. The earth beneath his feet steadies, firms. And when she spreads her arms wide, Alarik doesn’t think as he crosses the distance in a leap and melts in her embrace. It’s like slipping into a lost piece of him, a piece he didn’t think he needed. Her sturdy arms hold in place, let him cry-laugh on her shoulder. Alarik shakes and trembles under her hold, but she steadies him and doesn’t let him fall.

It wasn’t fair, but the men were always supposed to be the stronger ones, always supposed to the protectors. Always had to hold their head high, the shoulders broad. But, sometimes Alarik wanted to be protected, he was tired and weary. Each part of him engraved with lines of fatigue, something inside him broken and shattered, completely unrepairable—

Then, Elina appeared shook the foundation of his world and rearranged it. Suddenly, Alarik didn’t have to wear a mask, didn’t have to pretend. The first time he tried to in front of her, she threw a punch at him then hugged, kissed him while she cried and cursed him.

So, Alarik melts deeper into her embrace, pours everything out, ugly and raw. Elina holds him closer, tighter in response.

(and somehow, were it possible he manages to fall deeper in love. Hits bottom rock in an abyss with a glimmer of lights at the end, and he can’t ever imagine climbing out. Only borrow deeper.)