Lucilfer (ChrolloxReader)

Chapter 73

Now, I was curled up on the sofa, the sketchbook open in my lap and turned to the drawing of me. I held a pencil in my hand, though I didn't intend on even touching Chrollo's work, for fear that I might smudge it—I only gazed thoughtlessly again, searching for a place, any place, apart from the present. My eyes followed the deeply cast shadows he'd depicted and the softly illuminated plains of skin, the few scars which would've been visible having also been depicted. For some reason, I wasn't repulsed by them, but surely that came from the knowledge that my only one had been the one to draw what I stared at. His intentions with shading the scars were already known to me, and blissfully so.

"...but until then, I can do my best to make you understand how beautiful you are to me."

One side of my mouth was taunted upwards, forcing a gentle, crooked smile to infect my expression. My fingers twiddled uselessly with the pencil as I recalled the morning he'd playfully attacked me by placing relentless kisses over my scarred skin, leaving me writhing helplessly beneath him, a glowing, feeling heart in my chest and the inherence of belonging tinting my emotions.

I'll be able to return to that in one month. Just one more month.

In a way, it felt short, arising a shuddering excitement in my soul, but it also felt just as dragging when I compared it to the month I'd already been through. I didn't want to live through another day knowing I was fully capable of divulging the truth to my lover, but that I was unable to do so until he came home.

My face fell once more. Expressionlessly, I peered over the sketchbook and over my knees at where Kurapika knelt on the other side of the coffee table, hunched once more over that strangely heavy, embroidered fabric. His fingers moved carefully, cautiously, but deftly as he pricked the needle through in a specific manner unbeknownst to me and then pulled the thread taut, securing his work, doing so repeatedly. My brows twitched lower as I tried to pick out a rhythm in his movements, but I couldn't make perfect sense of it.

He must've felt me staring—his hand paused, and he looked up after a few moments, a tired smile twisting his lips, but not touching his eyes. I forced one in return.

"Do you need me for anything right now?" he asked, his voice pleasant and low, quiet. "Would you like me to make more coffee?"

I blinked and flickered my gaze down again, shrugging.

"You can if you want," I murmured. "That sounds good."

I allowed my eyes to stay trained on the drawing of me for a prolonged minute before finally releasing a sigh and closing the book. Kurapika gingerly set the needle aside and stood, stretching his arms up over his head—I watched absently and felt an involuntary twinge of endearment in my heart at the sight of his biceps trembling mutedly, his forearms bending behind his head and his eyes fluttering closed for a second. His legs extended jaggedly as he stepped forward, and then he dropped his arms, exhaling heavily before walking towards the kitchen. I found it strangely comforting to see him perform regular, human acts like that, as if it somehow proved to me that he wasn't just a shell, that he, too, indulged in simple satisfactions.

While he started a fresh pot of coffee, I grabbed the sketchbook and took it back to my duffle, tucking it away securely and checking the time on my phone as I did so.

4:36 p.m.

Earlier that day, I'd rehearsed extending Feeler Inversion again—it was still flawless, though it often resulted in a minor pounding within my temples. It felt odd, though, as well, and disconcerting to release so many emotions at once. I was so used to hiding them that whenever I deployed such a technique, the skin at the back of my neck tingled and the hair on my arms raised, creating a trail of disheveled goosebumps over my body, as if my subconscious mind was alerting me of the fact that I was taking part in so much vulnerability, so much exposure. But it was mostly just odd to trust completely, to finally have nothing to hide, or to know that when my lover did return, I would be able to reach the point of hiding nothing. It was relieving, but it was terribly frightening.