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21 ; wasn't what i wanted

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His thumb rubs circles against the back of her hand. Comforting and steady and warm. Her Jellal.

Her breath isn't shaky but it's not quite... normal, either. It's weird, Erza thinks. It's so weird. She's spent three years estranged from the man buried in front of her and it's only now that there's a gravestone with her father's name on it that she can think of anything she'd want to say to him.

Instead, she finds herself clutching at Jellal's hand like a lifeline. "Remember when we first met?"

If he's surprised with the sudden question, he doesn't show it. "In the playground? Yeah, I remember. You were crying."

Erza nods, eyes not straying from the smooth stone. "It was because he twisted my arm back that morning, and it wouldn't stop hurting. 'Cause I asked him to tie my hair up for me and we were running late." She shakes her head, scoffing lightly. "Something so stupid."

She's sure it's by reflex, the way his hand tightens around hers protectively.

"And... And remember your twelfth birthday?"

He doesn't say anything this time but she takes his silence as acknowledgement.

"How I had to miss it because he wouldn't let me leave the house?"

Now her breath shakes. It confuses her. Why's she crying? She hated him. Why is she crying? I hated him, Erza reminds herself. I hated him.

"Erza," Jellal murmurs, wrapping his arms around her shoulders. His chest is warm against her shoulders, and she leans back into him, her shield against the cold. "I'm sorry for your loss."

And with that, it's like the dams break, like some artificial wall comes tumbling down. "I-I..." Her voice sounds broken, so unlike her, but she's crying and she can't help it— "I hated him, you know."

He hums, a deep vibration in his chest. "I know."

"B-But I think I—" Her shoulders start shaking. "I—..."

"I know," Jellal says again, leaning his chin on her shoulder and leaning his cheek against hers. His voice is so soft; so gentle. He's so kind with her, so careful, nothing like—

"Why?" she demands from the gravestone in front of her, lonely and bereaved and relieved and so heartbroken she can't bear it, doesn't even know where it's coming from (and maybe that's the worst part). "Why do we love what breaks us? Why... D-Damn it..."

Something new in his voice, something sharp, something hurt— "Erza..." Jellal turns her around and she lets him, lets his arms pull her to his body and lets his chest mute her grieving. She let's herself get lost in the warmth he offers against the dry cold of the evening — against the guilt she feels for loving the man who, albeit accidentally, raised her to be as strong as steel.

But right now, she is guilt incarnate. Betraying herself for mourning him. Betraying him by berating herself for it. Confused and hurting, like the dagger's invisible but she's bleeding herself dry.

Why do we love what hurts us? she whispers into his chest, words unspoken but the meaning there. Why do we always need what we also need to lose?

And again, when Jellal's arms tighten around her, the only thought she can think (and oh, does she hate herself for feeling like a traitor even for letting her heart feel it) is that she hopes this boy will never, ever have to give her the answers to those questions.

I'd rather never know than learn from you.