A.N. - I love Steven Universe to pieces, and the hiatus is slowly killing me. So, since Connie and Steven are so adorable together, and since it was Easter, this little 400-word drabble came to be. This was actually not inspired by the Hozier song, nor any particular religious sentiments I hold. It's also very slightly lime-tinged, so fair warning. I don't own SU; Rebecca Sugar has that honor.
The Gems were otherworldly, near incomprehensible if Connie hadn't seen them herself. Gods in name they may not have been, but in the surety of a 12-year-old's mind, they were the deities of the planet Earth. Maybe not worshiped openly, but hushed whispers and stunned silence in their wake spoke of something mystical, did it not?
Connie had not been religious, before – not versed in the Eastern or Western faiths. But prolonged contact with Steven and the Crystal Gems inspired a following in her. Life had never been more interesting, and her path had never felt so right. And it had all dovetailed into something special, a whirlwind her imagination could not possibly have conjured up in her bookish old, friendless former life.
But what did that make Steven, he of the half-mundane, half-magical parentage?
His spirit was all warmth, kindness and compassion. His actions bespoke genuineness. Surely these were virtuous traits befitting his lineage. But it was when Steven wasn't speaking that Connie was most sure of his place on the pedestal she'd long ago placed his guardians on.
It was in the wholeness she felt when his attention was focused on her and her alone.
A blessing was bestowed every time his healing lips pressed against her skin.
The benediction of warm breath at the base of her throat left her whole being feeling sanctified.
It felt like forgiveness, the gentle way he had of undressing her without the requisite embarrassment.
Prayers were answered when he bent his head low over her.
Absolution washed over her as Steven worked his everyday miracles – some act of grace that Connie still struggled to grasp had been bestowed upon her.
That he existed at all was a minor marvel. That he walked around in human guise was unsurprising. That he insisted he was all hers had to be a sign that the promised land was real. It was here, in the sands of Beach City, in the gem settled in the abdomen of the boy-turned-sacrosanct through her eyes. The non-organic made flesh and blood and so, so alive, and little Connie Maheswaran was the center of his world.
A chorus of angels wasn't singing, but Steven's soul spoke to Connie's with gestures and caresses. Every one reminded the girl that, inexplicably, divinity was real and thought her worthy. And Steven, though the act of simply being himself, led her to believe.