The walk back certainly wracks Genesis' nerves, but in a way that makes his heart soar rather than sink. His hand is curled with Angeal's the entire way, taking courage from that.
"I've decided I don't rightly mind how our names are ordered," he teases when they come within view of the villa. Just enough to fill silence, just enough to prove to himself his voice is steady enough for this.
So that by the time Genesis takes them to the center of the gardens, just before the entrance to the orchard of apple trees, he thinks he's as ready as he could ever be.
From his inner coat pocket, Genesis pulls out a familiar sight. His beloved copy of Loveless, the cover worn and the gilt long faded, but it's a comforting weight in his hands. But this time, he doesn't recite from it. He doesn't need to. He's written a hundred poems in ode to the way Angeal has made him feel in the margins of the verses. He thinks it's about time to live up to his name, and recite that love instead.
So with a hand guided by years of muscle memory, Genesis flips to a particular page, and ever-so delicately slides something small and gossamer between his fingers. He tucks Loveless away, and holds up the yellowed and paper-thin petals of a ring of flowers to the sunlight. His smile is soft and fond, adoring of the tiny treasure he's held onto since Angeal gave it to him when they were children. It's not hard to remember what it once looked like with those nascent petals wrapped around his finger.
"I've never forgotten your promise that day, you know." He speaks quietly and adoring, voice far away as he recalls the way he first understood what love meant. When he'd felt his heart yearn for someone in ways his young mind couldn't yet parse. But he'd known it all the same. It's a dream of a memory to a similar backdrop now, the pristine bark of the Banora Whites and their silvery-green leaves. It's still cold in the early months of the year, reminding him this isn't quite home. But that's all well; Genesis is starting to feel as though home isn't necessarily a physical place, but somewhere he's chosen to rest his longing heart beside another.
"Do you mind if I tell you a story?" Genesis asks, but goes on regardless. "It's something I've been thinking about for a long while now. About a little girl that lived on a hill in a quiet town... She was lonely and lost, and dreamed about fair kings and loyal knights. Who read about love across the stars and adventure through every world, and longed to be someone she wasn't.
"And then one day, along came a little neighbor boy that wanted to be her friend. That showed her a world outside her books and lonely home. That let her be that somebody she always dreamed of. Who never questioned her silly games and fantasies. Who understood her passions, her ferocity, her everything. Who even understood that "she" was really "he." Who loved that boy just the same without pause. Who let that little girl finally go, and be who he needed to be.
"And so those boys grew up together. And everyday they played under the boughs of blooming apple trees. Or fished in warm rivers for crayfish, or hid in crystal caves to share secrets. And every day, that lonely boy that lived on the hill felt the warmth of the sun beside his best friend, realizing he wasn't so lonely anymore. Could never truly be alone ever again. Because he loved someone. He loved his best friend. And every moment, even apart, he could always remember that boy in his heart. Could remember his voice, sure and gentle, the sound of his heartbeat, steady and true."
Genesis takes a deep breath, turning towards the trees and the glow of the sun. There's a moment to bask, to compose himself again, before he smiles at Angeal over his shoulder. The rosy light of the winter morning feels like it shines just for them. Catches against the most familiar shapes, lights up the shining boy he calls home.
"Oh, how that boy has grown up into the man I love so dear. How handsome he is, how kind and strong and gentle of heart. How he is everything that long-gone little girl once dreamed of. How he is everything that boy on the hill now cherishes more than the light of the sun, or the breath he takes."
Now, he turns to face Angeal, and fishes into his coat pocket once again. This time, his fingers are curled tightly around something small, hidden in his fist.
"All this to say that I love you. That I have always loved you since as long as I could remember, and longer still. Since time immemorial, since we were born of the same starstuff, your life and light twined with mine. Since we were as one.
"And that I wish I had the words to say just what my heart feels, but it all falls short, I'm afraid. But if I could try, I would tell you this: that across the universe, in a thousand different times, on a thousand different pages of every story, I would love you. In every book fate could ever write of us, I would choose you. My heart would know yours, and I would love you until all the light in the cosmos died. And still my love would echo in the dark of everything and nothing. Every time, Angeal, I would find you, and I would love you."
One more deep breath, his hands trembling.
"So... I must ask," he leads, and kneels onto one knee. Holding out his hand, Genesis unfurls his fingers to show Angeal what he's kept hidden. A gold ring, set with seven beautiful opals that blaze a rainbow of color in the morning light. How the band still shines despite being worn with years and years of love. The very same ring Angeal's mother always kept around her neck.
no subject
"I've decided I don't rightly mind how our names are ordered," he teases when they come within view of the villa. Just enough to fill silence, just enough to prove to himself his voice is steady enough for this.
So that by the time Genesis takes them to the center of the gardens, just before the entrance to the orchard of apple trees, he thinks he's as ready as he could ever be.
From his inner coat pocket, Genesis pulls out a familiar sight. His beloved copy of Loveless, the cover worn and the gilt long faded, but it's a comforting weight in his hands. But this time, he doesn't recite from it. He doesn't need to. He's written a hundred poems in ode to the way Angeal has made him feel in the margins of the verses. He thinks it's about time to live up to his name, and recite that love instead.
So with a hand guided by years of muscle memory, Genesis flips to a particular page, and ever-so delicately slides something small and gossamer between his fingers. He tucks Loveless away, and holds up the yellowed and paper-thin petals of a ring of flowers to the sunlight. His smile is soft and fond, adoring of the tiny treasure he's held onto since Angeal gave it to him when they were children. It's not hard to remember what it once looked like with those nascent petals wrapped around his finger.
"I've never forgotten your promise that day, you know." He speaks quietly and adoring, voice far away as he recalls the way he first understood what love meant. When he'd felt his heart yearn for someone in ways his young mind couldn't yet parse. But he'd known it all the same. It's a dream of a memory to a similar backdrop now, the pristine bark of the Banora Whites and their silvery-green leaves. It's still cold in the early months of the year, reminding him this isn't quite home. But that's all well; Genesis is starting to feel as though home isn't necessarily a physical place, but somewhere he's chosen to rest his longing heart beside another.
"Do you mind if I tell you a story?" Genesis asks, but goes on regardless. "It's something I've been thinking about for a long while now. About a little girl that lived on a hill in a quiet town... She was lonely and lost, and dreamed about fair kings and loyal knights. Who read about love across the stars and adventure through every world, and longed to be someone she wasn't.
"And then one day, along came a little neighbor boy that wanted to be her friend. That showed her a world outside her books and lonely home. That let her be that somebody she always dreamed of. Who never questioned her silly games and fantasies. Who understood her passions, her ferocity, her everything. Who even understood that "she" was really "he." Who loved that boy just the same without pause. Who let that little girl finally go, and be who he needed to be.
"And so those boys grew up together. And everyday they played under the boughs of blooming apple trees. Or fished in warm rivers for crayfish, or hid in crystal caves to share secrets. And every day, that lonely boy that lived on the hill felt the warmth of the sun beside his best friend, realizing he wasn't so lonely anymore. Could never truly be alone ever again. Because he loved someone. He loved his best friend. And every moment, even apart, he could always remember that boy in his heart. Could remember his voice, sure and gentle, the sound of his heartbeat, steady and true."
Genesis takes a deep breath, turning towards the trees and the glow of the sun. There's a moment to bask, to compose himself again, before he smiles at Angeal over his shoulder. The rosy light of the winter morning feels like it shines just for them. Catches against the most familiar shapes, lights up the shining boy he calls home.
"Oh, how that boy has grown up into the man I love so dear. How handsome he is, how kind and strong and gentle of heart. How he is everything that long-gone little girl once dreamed of. How he is everything that boy on the hill now cherishes more than the light of the sun, or the breath he takes."
Now, he turns to face Angeal, and fishes into his coat pocket once again. This time, his fingers are curled tightly around something small, hidden in his fist.
"All this to say that I love you. That I have always loved you since as long as I could remember, and longer still. Since time immemorial, since we were born of the same starstuff, your life and light twined with mine. Since we were as one.
"And that I wish I had the words to say just what my heart feels, but it all falls short, I'm afraid. But if I could try, I would tell you this: that across the universe, in a thousand different times, on a thousand different pages of every story, I would love you. In every book fate could ever write of us, I would choose you. My heart would know yours, and I would love you until all the light in the cosmos died. And still my love would echo in the dark of everything and nothing. Every time, Angeal, I would find you, and I would love you."
One more deep breath, his hands trembling.
"So... I must ask," he leads, and kneels onto one knee. Holding out his hand, Genesis unfurls his fingers to show Angeal what he's kept hidden. A gold ring, set with seven beautiful opals that blaze a rainbow of color in the morning light. How the band still shines despite being worn with years and years of love. The very same ring Angeal's mother always kept around her neck.
"Would you marry me?"