S e n z a f i n e
by saint's hands
005: TRUE LOVE ( seeking for you)
A single snowflake landed on her shoulder after swirling around for a stretched moment. In the past she would've reacted to it with childish wonder, smiled even. Now she merely watched her overcoat absorb it and continued walking after spotting him watching her from a short distance. She closed the space between them and slipped her arm under his, knowing it was what he'd expected from her. Her other hand remained deep in her pocket where she was still fingering an old, wooden rosary. Not quite the nun she'd been, or an atheist either.
The year between now and then had skimmed off some of her naiveté and adolescence. He'd made her grasp a gun, pull of the safety with calmness beyond her years and experience and fire it. Killing with a bullet was so different from killing with her Craft. A bullet made it real; made it a crime, a murder, a sin. It didn't empower her or lie to her about its nature, the way it made her feel. So in his opinion the only weapon she should hold ought to be a gun. While she couldn't quite agree, she obeyed.
Her reverence for him had grown when he'd been able to defeat his inner demons, and then hers. She'd come close to losing the light for good when her hungry flames had escaped her control and burned everything in the Factory to the ground. Amon had been there to keep her sane, help her survive the withdrawal that'd forever imprinted her with fear for her Craft. He'd forgiven everything without question and she'd submitted to him, believing his vision was without obscure unlike hers. After that change had been inevitable and slowly she'd become his creation rather than Toudou's.
Amon didn't like it when she half-smiled this mysteriously and wandered a few steps behind him. Her smiles had become a rare treasure he cherished and anticipated against his calculating character. She had no idea of this anticipation though. In the end it was unbelievable that out of the two he was the weaker one for needing such trivial things. But he was.
Amon held tighter onto her arm, perhaps for reassurance that she wouldn't disappear on him again. She was what'd begun to define him after all. Existence without her – he didn't even want to consider it willingly. Robin took notice of his anxiety immediately and knew something bothered him. Her nowadays trademark dark expression softened up a little when she leaned against his shoulder, landing her other hand over it as well.
"What is it?" She asked. He glimpsed at her shortly and then returned his eyes on the road.
"I haven't seen you smile lately," he confessed in his usual straight-forward style. The wind tossed his open and unruly hair around almost fiercely. It'd grown longer but remained the exact opposite to her silky hair by being rough and untameable.
"I feel trapped."
She failed to mention whether that feeling was physical or mental and he knew it was both. Italy created distress for him as well for some undetermined reason. Then there was also the falsity of their current relationship. Somewhere along the way they'd embraced the behaviour of a brother and sister. They weren't siblings. Behaving like that didn't erase reality, and reality was she'd started to bloom and he wasn't as blind to it as he would've liked.
"Do you want to leave then?"
The decision was hers; he'd be content anywhere where she wanted to go or at least as content as he was right now. The change of location wouldn't change anything between them. He'd still have to sleep with his back at her when she tied her arms loosely around his torso. He couldn't watch her during the morning when she wasn't clad in her armour of high collars, tight hair-dos, and long hems. A single strand of loose hair made him want to grasp it; a single glimpse of her skin had him shivering. Her smile had the ability to completely disarm him.
He was bewitched and no location would change it. Distance between them would only kill the last spark of sanity and restraint in him.
"Could we live somewhere uneventful? Somewhere where you don't need to turn around to find me when I stray?"
She wanted him to say no. That he'd never fail to catch her movement, or gestures, or the tones in her voice. He understood her didn't he? If he watched over her she might pretend everything was alright and they weren't in hiding or pretending; that their closeness wasn't falsity. He needed to watch over her because he wanted to.
"There is no such place," he hid his truth with his monotonic voice, completely discarding such an occurrence from ever happening. Even when he didn't watch her, he sensed where she was. He knew what she was feeling.
Robin simply smiled at him, downright beamed. She'd learned to appreciate the small victories over Amon. Even though neither of them wanted to separate or argue, the power play had slowly begun between them. They represented opposite forces in that game; he the natural order of things, a sense of what was proper and just, whereas she was the represent of anarchy, chaos.
As a child her impulses had been bound with strict discipline. The list of decent joyous things had been short and felt hollow when compared to her current life. Nowadays the thrill could emerge from anything: her associations with him, their escape, or the small "sinful" things she'd never even thought of doing while contained by her faith. He was still the living proof of solid restrictions and how they affected one through-out his entire life. He'd felt more comfort in her company when she'd still been a loyal child and not the mischievous woman she was learning to become. Her release seemed to serve only the function of somehow salvaging him as well, which he could not understand.
Yet with Robin's smile Amon felt pleasurable jolts of satisfaction lick his skin all around. Now that was what he'd waited, that was a sign of his Robin. Never maturing, never aging, and never tainted: she remained that way in his eyes. He was like an addict she'd given a syringe to for those few seconds. Then the magic number erased every sinfully good thought in him and he pressed his head down, bound again.
"We should move." He sounded almost grim to her, making her realize that their moment had passed and the role was upon him again. Whenever they were outside, whenever he felt threatened, the role was what he returned to in order to regain his control: Her precious Amon, always hiding himself from everyone. He kept even her at an arm's length, but when she wasn't supposed to look the endearment in his eyes was beautiful.
When they had left together she'd known there were only three ways things could end between them. First she'd wanted so much to show him how much she cared for him. That plan had soon been spoiled by her crashing as the addiction began to take over. He didn't seem troubled at that time though, which gave her hope. He hadn't considered hunting her, ending her when she'd proven to be the weak thing he'd always pictured her into. By recovering she'd come to realize they wouldn't end in death by each others' hands. Not anymore.
After that the option of indifference began to linger in her mind. She feared he would become numb to her and all conflict; all the hidden fire and passion between them would slowly fade. This was what she tried to fight even now. He was in a coma, unable to progress or move forward with anything; forever trapped in that sight of her trying to hold onto him when the wrath had come. He'd seen her unshielded, naked and without luminosity. No halos or praising words, just a girl suffering because of the concentrated evil that'd begun to awoke inside her.
A child: Someone who needed his care, someone he had to shield.
It was difficult for him to open his eyes now and see her. Yet that was the only way they would end the way she wanted to: in unison, in perfect harmony. They were a perfect match of body and soul in her mind where all other dreams had become ghastly or died from the lack of oxygen. Surely by now she knew there was no grand scheme in store for her and that her fancy title meant nothing in reality. The crazy ramblings of a fanatic, that's what the cryptic messages of the Eve were.
Amon was kind to her about it though, he never even mentioned it. He just held onto her hand tightly and stared at the horizon with strict eyes and forehead. She loved him for that, for many other things as well. He was so beautiful, so divine in her eyes, and the rapture wouldn't end no matter what he did or how he dodged her questions and affectionate gestures. He just wouldn't see what was right in front of him.
Robin wasn't as cheerful as before. She'd forgotten how to smile again upon realizing how monotonic his voice was, how cold he could be in his denial. He'd allowed her to tie her hands around him at night, breathe her sleepy breath against his back and nestle against him. She did it every time, tried her best not to cry because even when her tears wet the fabric of his shirt he wouldn't turn around, though she could feel him stir as if already awake and caught deep in the webs of a dilemma. It saddened her even more.
"I want to go home," she pleaded. Now, before she'd be reduced to tears and forced to explain herself. She needed to surround herself with the familiar walls of their hideaway, that distant house and the garden that bloomed in the backyard. She couldn't stand playing her part in this play anymore; it was too cruel.
Amon didn't reply, merely guided them towards a different destination silently, unable to grasp what he'd said or done to take away her joy again. All he knew was that there were times when she was laid wide open before him, and he loved those moments, but ended somehow always killing them.