snow on snow on snow [closed to hana]
Snow may be falling, but that doesn't mean the dog doesn't need to be walked. Wren's a silhouette against it, big flakes that fall thickly and in swirls that quickly camouflage Inari's curious figure except for a black nose and eyes and threaten to cover up the dark of Wren's coat. There's almost - but not quite - enough cloud cover that the glitter of the crystals is smothered.
There's a quietness to it, a silent expectant feeling that only comes with falling snow.
It's getting cold quickly, though, too, and he cups his hands around his phone, pulling it out to text Hana as he waits for the dog to come back. Tell me you're not stuck feeding tigers in this, he texts with a small smile.
There's a quietness to it, a silent expectant feeling that only comes with falling snow.
It's getting cold quickly, though, too, and he cups his hands around his phone, pulling it out to text Hana as he waits for the dog to come back. Tell me you're not stuck feeding tigers in this, he texts with a small smile.
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It's the source of my power he says with a deadpan expression, but can't help it and grins.
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You're gorgeous, she assures him, pretending it's a terrible burden.
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He makes a face at the ruffle and smiles, wider for that little uncensored bubble of laughter. He's a collection of weird parts, but if Hana thinks that's gorgeous he's not going to protest.
We already agreed you're perfection, he says back, I'm just keeping up.
I like making you laugh, he admits with a thoughtful smile after a moment, looking at her, and it feels oddly like he's said something more serious than that, but it's just honest.
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She can't hear her own voice. When she does make noise, it's typically low and deep in her throat so that she can perceive at least some of it. What barely registers for her is often loud and alien to hearing people.
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Wren isn't polite. He isn't interested in being what other people prefer, or what they like: trying to do it has only ever ended up awful. He doesn't care about it in other people.
He loves veracity: raw, unexpected, inescapable, unpreventable.
So yes, her laugh is different, unmodulated for his hearing ears but it's brilliant and honest, all the more so for escaping the walls she's put up. Laughter, pleasure, they're freedoms.
He sits up, a little; it's his turn to tip her head to look at him. He nods yes and signs, "it's not WEIRD, it's -YOU."
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Wren celebrates her. Even her weird job and her deafness and the ways it alters her interactions. All of her. It makes it easier to be herself.
She only hopes she does the same for him.
You're the first person to say that.
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I shouldn't be, he says, and reaches to trace her cheek, leans in to kiss her with a kind of fierce affection that almost surprises him.
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Even without her empathy, she can feel the change, the increased fierceness of the kiss. Smiling, Hana cups his face and thinks again that she really could fall in love with him.
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He runs his free hand down over her side, lazy, like he's mapping her, and blinks at her when she pulls back.
What are you thinking?
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Even though she's nervous of the admission, she wants to do right by them both by being brave.
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He wants to say she's wrong, he wants to ask her why, tell her he's a disaster, he wants to run a little, but if he's learned anything it's that love isn't something controllable and it's not fair of him to try. And there's a very real part of him that doesn't want to. He can't tell which instinct is more rational: running or never wanting to move again.
He lets out the breath he didn't realize he was holding and leans his head in against hers, like it can keep them both safe. Don't he signs wryly, I like you too much.
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I'm not very good with being told what to do, she reminds him. He's the last person to tell her to ignore her heart.
Why do you think it'd be so bad?
Since they're in a sharing mood.
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Wren twines their fingers, lets himself be stilled for a minute and just watches her, smiling slightly when she kisses his hand. When he lets down his walls, it's slowly and all at once, and Hana seems less phased than most people by fear.
He can feel her offer calm and he draws on it, though to be honest just lying quiet with her feels a little strengthening.
He smirks at that reminder. Neither is he.
Wren takes a breath. Love isn't always enough, he signs, cryptic, then adds, The last person who tried - we don't talk. How to explain Rian in a fair way? They'd been everything, once. Rian and Lexi were the first people who'd made Wren feel belonging anywhere. For years Rian was family, creative partner, lover, friend. Most of their conversations were half unspoken.
I loved him, he explains. But I'm a stubborn disaster. I don't want to...I can't hurt you like that. And I don't want to lose you, either.
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Hana looks at him with a practical sort of face, one that suggests that that should be obvious. Of course love isn't always enough, she replies. Love is... How to express what she thinks without losing him in the signs?
It's like planting a garden. If you're lucky, all you have to do is throw the seeds into the soil and it takes hold without any effort. But most people have to put more into it. Time. Attention. Water. Plant food. Hard work. Love is the seeds and soil, the foundation, but it rarely flourishes without attendance.
But that doesn't make it painless when it goes wrong.
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Wren shakes his head no in agreement to that last bit with a flicker of a raised eyebrow. It definitely doesn't.
I love flowers, he says with a little bit of a smile. Somehow the pun is easier than saying too much. But a smart gardener doesn't choose rock to plant in.
He's been told enough times how selfish he is, ungrateful, afraid: he's pretty sure he doesn't qualify as anything nurturing. Though if anyone was the vine to break through sidewalk he suspects Hana is: she's determined. Much moreso than he is.
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You're not a rock, Hana signs. Just a rock star.
And if he's willing to try with her, Hana's not afraid of seeing what can grow.
Tonight got heavy. Weren't we supposed to eat cookies and watch the snow?
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He smirks at the play on words: even if he's dubious about her fearlessness, he can't deny it, and he nudges her into a kiss.
Artists, so dramatic, he signs, and smiles in apology, shifting to stretch past her and grab a cookie to hold up with a penitent look.
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She has faith in them.