Frozen Roses
"We must love one another or die."
-W. H. Auden
Hi, he says with his quiet voice. His face is nothing short of being impassive, but his eyes are unable to meet yours. He holds out his hand to you tentatively, and it is only then that you notice the ice carved rose in his hand.
You say nothing, only intertwining your fingers to the item with uncharacteristic delicateness and staring at it. The rose is unflawed, finely crafted and smooth- just like the others.
He does this every time. It almost makes you scowl bitterly, because it is a painful reminder that he is beyond your league and untouchable. You want to throw it away, to push him out of your life, to leave him hanging in the air. You want to crush under your foot the five years invested in a relationship that had every so often contained nothing but pain, jealousy and turmoil. You want to do a lot of things that would only bring more hurt to both your hearts, but you can't. Not when he's in front of you feeling guilty and foolish because he lost his temper- again. You did too; you slightly wonder why the tension hasn't melted the rose yet.
He hesitates before peering at you with his amber eyes (dark and obscure yet at the same time those eyescan't help but be bright and expressive), and he looks surprised, for a moment, because he realizes that you're wearing the exact same dress you had worn the first time you two fought. He hasn't seen it in ages; you haven't, too, but now it's still in tact and it fits. And, yes, you still look beautiful in it.
You swallow the lump in your throat and grip the rose tighter. Imaginary thorns pierce through your skin.
Just when you think you have had enough of him and everything he was, he would suck you back into the trap.
And, in a way, it's your fault too because you forgive him each and every time.
You kiss the rose in your hands, and that's what makes him sigh in relief and smile.
Because he is your most important person, and even heroes need someone to come home to. Because the roses may melt and become nothing but water, yet you have given them your love and acceptance.
Because the dress preserves a dying memory and the bed has been too cold since he was gone.
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END
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A short one-shot written because I haven't written a RenAnna in weeks. Or is it months...? Ah, I'm so lazy. I can't even update A Slant of Light yet...
Review? Your reviews make me inspired... )