enchanted | Druig x Makkari

druig

DRUIG

            The world was loud. The thoughts of mankind were disjointed, jumbled up in their primitive brains, but screaming out to him. They seemed to all suffer from the same afflictions—money, sex, love, and anger. The longer he spent on Earth, the more he understood—they were afraid because of how much they did not know.

            Their fear encapsulated them, morphed them into hateful beings, cruel beings, who killed and tortured one another for sport. Despite what the others thought, Druig did not hate humans. He pitied them. He supposed if he was one of them, he'd feel the same—burdened under the knowledge of not knowing their purpose, their meaning.

            As a rule that he'd set for himself, he did not allow himself to grow attached, did not allow himself to take joy in their success, fall to fear in their worry, devolve into anger at their losses. He remained impartial, at least as much as he could—after all, he lived among them for a very long time—only observing them and taking note on their progress as a society.

            In fact, he found it best not to get attached to anyone.

            He thought himself different from his fellow Eternals, jaded in a way they would never understand. He didn't bask in their childlike glee for humankind like Sersi or Ajak did, didn't care for their trinkets and tales like Sprite, Ikaris, or Kingo, didn't bend over backwards for their food and wine like Gilgamesh, didn't want to know of their weaponry like Thena or Phastos.

            It alienated him, to separate himself so fully from the others. It was lonely. He did not understand them, and they did not try to understand him. Over time, they'd all made up their minds about him—he was arrogant, cold, distant, uncaring. It was easier to let them think they knew him than to explain the truth.

            The only one he hadn't quite been able to distance himself from was Makkari.

            The lovely, beautiful Makkari, who was faster than sound and glowed brighter than the sun. She had a way about her that disarmed him, that made me break his walls down to allow just her inside. If he had to take a guess, it was probably that damned smile of hers, so sweet and kind and open towards everyone—even him.

            He knew Makkari loved Earth, knew she spent all her time roaming the planet, discovering cities and people and everything this tiny little world had to offer. Though he didn't share her delight, something about her enthusiasm brushed off on him, because he found himself listening intently to her as she rambled on about art and literature and music.

            Druig thought he could listen to Makkari talk for ages. Thought he could watch her for millennia on end, see the way her smile illuminated the room or the way her hands began to blur with her excitement. He knew he'd never grow tired of her stories, of her jubilance, because he would never grow tired of her.

            It was a problem; one he wasn't sure he wanted to get rid of.

            Her attention was like a drug, one he was most ardently addicted to. He found himself standing straighter when she turned her warm gaze on him, speaking slower and more clearly when she was reading his lips. He found himself stealing things from the market, picking flowers in the fields, or snagging food from the stalls just to give to her.

            He wasn't sure if she had caught on yet, if she knew the type of power she held over him, but he didn't fear. Makkari was not cruel, not like he could be, and she wouldn't use herself as a weapon against him. Then again, to be fair, if she decided to anyway, he'd be defenseless regardless. There was nothing he wouldn't do for her.