. . .
"Love does not appear with any warning signs. You fall into it as if pushed from a high diving board. No time to think about what's happening. It's inevitable. An event you can't control. A crazy, heart-stopping, roller-coaster ride that just has to take its course."
― Jackie Collins
. . .
"What are you thinking?" Alastor suddenly prompts as soon as they got back to their hotel room, his hand hovering over her face as if to cup her cheek, the warmth of his thumb ghosting gently across her skin.
She blinks, "Why do you ask?"
He hums, pointing at her. "You have that look on your face."
She raises an eyebrow, "What look?"
"You're staring somewhere ahead but you're not really looking. Your brows are a bit furrowed, and you keep on blinking every few seconds to make it looked like you're not staring but you are." he clarifies and as if on cue, Proserpina found herself blinking again, "Something's weighing on your mind."
There is.
A lot of things, actually.
Proserpina only looks at him. Wonders how he can read her over something as limited as her facial expression. She's more than aware that she wasn't even the most expressive person there is. In fact, she strives to keep her expression as closed off as much as possible.
Better keep the cards close to her heart, after all...
So how is it that he knows more of her tells than she does? And why is he even paying attention to things like that?
He shifts on his feet, looking a bit embarrassed as he shoves his hands in his coat pockets, "You know you can talk to me if there something's bothering you, right? I won't judge. And if there's anything I can do to help..."
Oh.
Oh, I see...
A warmth seeps across her chest, even as she holds back a shiver that has absolutely nothing to do with the cold.
And it was so easy to finally just be honest.
"...I was thinking that I'd be lost without you."
A faint look of surprise crosses his features.
Proserpina knows that she has caught him off guard there and then. She was, too. He visibly swallows and it takes a moment before Alastor speaks up again: "Even if you hadn't met me, I think you would've done something anyway," he deflects, but the tone of his voice melts into air.
Somehow, Proserpina thinks she has never seen Alastor look as vulnerable as he did right now, not even with just about anyone had she seen him act like this.
He usually appeared so cocky, so sure of himself, especially when she had first seen him with the other werewolves; or goofing around with William from time to time... she couldn't help but feel humbled and flattered at the same time. That this strong, confident person could trust her well enough to be vulnerable around her.
It's a vulnerability he shares with her.
And it's a vulnerability she knows she can share with him too.
In the sanctity of their shared space, the words suddenly slip free from her mouth, unbidden, like a psalm, a forgotten, secret hymn. One that she has kept hidden away so much, even from herself, for so long that it was both foreign and familiar at the same time.
The words almost feel like a blessing, an incantation of wishes and wants. They lie heavy upon her tongue, but when finally spoken, they don't weigh much in the air, belying their importance.
The scene and time wasn't even anything particularly romantic or that important in the grand scheme of things. There was nothing dramatic or special, not even worth a second glance. They just got back from their so-called date that feels more like a friendly outing more than anything else.
But it was the little things that mattered.
Like the time Alastor would open and close the door for her. The many times Alastor would stick close to the side of the road as if to keep her from harm.
Charming but unnecessary.
Proserpina finds herself looking back on at the semblance of domesticity she gets to share with Alastor for these past few weeks and finds herself craving and cherishing it all with everything that she has, despite knowing it wouldn't last.
And that's what makes it even more precious.
Because this.
This is what she had been missing.
...What she had lost.
And while most people would say they love their partners because they make them feel special or something, but for Proserpina... for Alastor, it's because he makes her feel normal.
Human again.
"Alastor."
Proserpina couldn't stop herself from smiling when he suddenly turns away, as if to leave. As if expecting that was already the end of their conversation.
He hums, turns with an unexpecting gaze over his shoulder, and when she speaks again, her tone was as casual as one would about making a comment on the weather: "...Would you even believe me if I tell you now that I love you?"
Her tone may lack the reverence, but it is full of devotion.
And that's all it needs.
Because even though death whispers to her ears, time and time again, warning her that what they have is only going to lead her straight to damnation, a tragedy even before it started. But that distant future doesn't matter to her right now.
She was already damned.
...but his kind eyes and warm smile tells her otherwise, makes her want to believe that his love is nothing but a blessing.
Her saving grace.
(But the even more undeniable fact is that... by the time that fateful day comes, when the other half of her soul would have no choice but to leave her for the next realm, as all living things are bound, she doesn't really see herself taking it with the grace of a saint.
Because Proserpina is not a saint.
She is a goddess and by her will, it will be done.)
Alastor blinks, caught in between surprise and a sudden stumble on the edge of the carpet. His brows raised as he glanced down at his feet and then at her. His cheeks burn, embarrassed and flustered at his own clumsiness, and Proserpina couldn't quite stop herself from laughing at him.
She laughs and laughs until her gaze becomes clouded with tears. And as she blinks them away, she thinks, hysterically, that she must have gone mad.
"What the hell, Winters!" he fumes as he quickly regains his footing, "Don't you laugh at me! You can't just say things like that out of nowhere–!" Alastor immediately takes in a sharp breathing, cutting himself and looks at her in the eye.
And despite the very obvious flush on his cheeks, his eyes were bright and warm, delighted. Genuine, straightforward in the way that easily made her want to love him:
"...I love you too," he tells her.
Because when Alastor says it, he makes the words sounds so simple. Almost as easy as saying hello... even though Proserpina cannot help but hear and think of final goodbyes.
