Agh! Can you believe it? We're already past 10 drabbles into the seven years series! And of course, this is due to your support! So thank you! Your reviews are so endearing. They bring literal smiles to my face. Happy days for me.
And Le Potato, I'll gladly accept your request! Give me another installment to write that one. :P
For now, haha, sorry. I've been riding the Jerza ship for a number of years now, so here's of course—another Jerza leaning one! Also it's angsty…because that's what I write when left to my own devices.
seven years older
When he took off his blue hood to reveal who he was and fully met her eyes, he was surprised to see that she had not changed one single bit.
Seven years ago, he had torn himself away from staring at her, turning his head sharply to face the empty dark carriage and closing his eyes while he was forced to walk forward to his inevitable imprisonment.
He had closed his eyes and burned her into his mind, hoping that his weak and forgetful mind would at least not forget her.
Her, with hazelnut brown eyes—warm and nurturing, but like bittersweet dark chocolate that had never witnessed the heat of the sun, they were sharp and determined around the edges and still broke with a crisp snap. Her eyes paved a path into everything in front of her, making way for only her ambitions and dreams, hopes for making the world a just place for the sake of her friends—both fallen and still falling.
Her, with fair maiden skin—soft and supple, but like a polished stone lying at the edges of the seashore, it showed signs of wear from constant pressures and tides in life. Her skin was perfect and pristine, and even all the discolored scars that she always tucked under a sleeve were smooth to the touch. He imagined if he closed his eyes and ran his fingers along her skin, he would never be able to tell the difference between her past wounds and armored skin.
Her, with pretty pink lips—full and lush, but like a porcelain tea kettle on a stove, the most hot-blooded and inspirational words would pour like water from them. No one would ever guess it from her glossy and unchapped lips but she had shouted more than her fair share of death threats to protect the ones that she loved. Behind a gentle smile, she covered up more pain and loss than she would ever admit in a whisper to the ear of a confidant.
And that precious scarlet hair. The beautiful color that he had thought he would never forget. It burned like the suppressed desire he quarantined in his heart, the build-up of smoke occasionally smarting his eyes and bringing hot tears to his cheeks.
He'd never admit that she was the furnace that kept him running, when the rest of his body was completely exhausted. He would never tell her that the only reason why he was living was because many years ago she had told him to not die. In his dreams, he'd chase after her and reach out to twirl a strand of her flaming scarlet locks in his hand, hoping that her hair would tangle and that she would be stuck with him forever with this red string of fate around his finger.
But he knew better—he would let the silky hair pass through his fingers and let her move forward without him tying her back down. She would walk the path of light, blossom under the smile of the sun.
He wouldn't dare to even follow her. He wasn't good enough to even try to be her shadow.
Yet here he was, standing in front of her. So when he took off his blue hood to reveal who he was and fully met her eyes, he was surprised to see that she had not changed one single bit.
She was still as young as he remembered, and he had aged seven years more years, now carrying a hard flint in his jaded eyes, now possessing a voice raspy with loss and pain, now unable to erase the mistakes from his past—ones that he finally remembered.
He saw her recognize him, her lips forming into a small O.
But as quickly as her eyes flashed recognition of him, they just as quickly steeled at the sight of him—older but not wiser, healthy but not fit, aged but not mature, breathing but not the least bit alive—
He wondered if the seven years that differed between them would forever leave them apart.
It was probably better for her that way.
Blahhhh. Word vomit. I'm fairly certain some of those sentences don't make shit sense.
As a side note, the first time I wrote the last sentence, I wrote "better for them" but then I thought about it for a moment and changed it to "better for her" because I thought that thinking about what was better for Erza was probably more like Jellal than thinking about himself as well.
Anyway, that was a random writing-related note that I thought I'd share. As always, I will ask for you to share your thoughts and ideas with me! See ya next time!
thir13enth