It was her lips, they were the first thing he saw. They moved quickly when announcing words and sentences and they curled into a smile only a few times -from what he had seen. She had said that it was because there was nothing much that made her smile nowadays; life was rather hard. Things were not as simple as they were when she was younger, at least that was what her lips would mumble. He noticed that those pale lips of hers would never tell a lie, they would refrain from telling him the truth on occasions, keeping shut -but with a sweet and gentle kiss to them, they would spill all they had intended to keep. The pair of lips were also warm when coming into can't act with his own. The always tasted of something sweet -sweeter than honey or wine.
Her hair was something he found so soft. He would run his hands through it as she slept in his arms in the nighttime. Sometimes it was held in high pony tails while others, it was in a bun, with braids adorning it. It was on rare occasion that she let it loose. The blonde strands would insist they were gold whilst in the sunshine. They would shine like newly polished chains of gold; something so mesmerizing and beautiful. It was beyond him when he would witness her hair in the sun. He had told her that if she were to leave her hair down while she walked the streets, someone was bound to mistaken it for gold and take her away -yet he only said that because he never wanted anyone else to see how beautiful it made her look.
He could stare into her eyes for years, or so he would claim. They were jewels that made many kings rage war against one another and knights fight until their dying breath for even the smallest of glances. Emeralds, that was what he called them, emeralds that made him fall in a trance -making him hypnotized like a sailor upon meeting a siren. She would often say that she hated her eyes because he was right, they caused only pain. Yet he had never made that claim, making men fall to their graves did not cause them pain, it caused them the sweetest form of love. Her eyes were something he found so lovely about her. Her eyes led him to another world, a world beyond his comprehension; somewhere he would always feel safe and relieved. He would always want to escape to the world they held, a world where he needn't worry about a single thing only to love her.
Pale skin turned red upon a soft and innocent touch, like ivory somehow mixing with roses. He would caress her cheek on occasion and her cheeks would flood with a sweet pink colour, taking her cheeks hostage. His fingers would hover over her skin, almost like ghosts in the dead of night because he did not want to wake her in the midst of the night. Skin so soft and creamy white, it always called for his attention; begging him for a touch, small, and sweet. Some mornings, she would awaken with bruises on her skin and he would kiss them with much tenderness, even if she would complain every time he touched her. He knew that she was not used to such loving acts, she had been a king in her life, she was not someone to like the touch of others. He wanted to change that because he truly loved her skin.
"I have told you not to touch me." She mumbled lightly, those lips moving just a little bit as the words escaped them.
His hand was hovering over her waist before he let it drop to take its place next to him. "Yes, of course." Although he always respected her wishes, he longed to hold her in his arms.
She took a deep sigh. "I hate feeling inferior and that is why I do not like touches." She had to say something because she knew that he was already sulking behind her.
"I know, you've told me many times over. But touch does not mean that you are inferior, it only means that I am in love with you." He was the only to say those words in the entirety of their relationship. She had never explained her feelings towards him and he had never pressured or expected her to say them.
"Yes, yes, and they only make me stronger," she huffed, "that is not how I see it, I can only see thy love makes me weaker than I already am. I do not want that."
It was the first time she had voiced her feelings on love, and it hurt him a little bit. "Love does not make you weak." He stated, almost defending himself.
"It does." She grumbled.
He took that statement to offended and drew a hand over his chest. "Then, am I weak to you?"
"I am not saying-"
"Yes, you are leading me to that conclusion." He had cut her off as his tone had become more and more harsh by every word that left his lips.
Her head shook softly. "You are not weak."
"Then? I don't understand why loving me is so hard." He was still offended and quite taken aback and confused.
"Because I cannot love you. I simply cannot." She nearly hissed. "Is that what you want me to say? Because I certainly can't say anything else."
"You harbour absolutely no feelings towards me?" His eyebrows furrowed as he hoped for her to say something for him to feel relieved. But it never came.
"Yes, I do not harbour any feelings towards you." That was all he needed to hear to take a deep sigh and turn about on his heel.
He walked towards the room and pulled out a gym bag from the closet. He was silent and so was she, they did not make a single sound. She walked to the doorway of their shared bedroom and watched as he set the bag on the bed and began to stuff his clothes inside. She did not notice, but his hands were shaking and he was taking unsteady breaths, trying his best to supress his sorrow.
"What are you doing?" She scoffed, not amused with his reactions; or so she let on.
Diarmuid bit his lower lip trying to keep it all in, even as he throat became dry and his heart constricted. "I am leaving, what else would I be doing?" He looked at her, blinking a couple of times and hoping that his sadness was not visible in his copper eyes.
"Leaving? What?" Her eyebrow rose and disappeared behind her golden bangs.
"What is the point of being here if you don't want me to be by your side." He mumbled it, knowing much too well that his voice was shaky.
"Diarmuid, you're making something so small seem important. Now, put your clothes back in the wardrobe and let's watch a movie."
"I have tried to make you love me, but I guess that it's not enough."
"Sop blabbering meaningless things."
"Stop, Arturia. Do not talk to me like that." He took a deep breath. "I'm going now."
"Where to?"
"I'll find a place." Diarmuid grumbled before pushing past her and walking towards the door.
"You'll be back in a few days." She shrugged and landed a hand on her abdomen. "I know."
"Not this time." He said before exiting the house and slowly closing the door behind himself.
The pare of pale lips that said such mean words, the gold strands that were her hair acting like malicious whips, the emeralds that had led him to despair, and the soft ivory skin that screamed at him to leave her alone was how he remembered her. Even after all these years.