— I'll break you a hundred different ways —
She follows him, and the first thing he feels is relief, but it is quickly overtaken by guilt. He can hear the strain in her voice despite how she tries to hide it – she should know by now she cannot hide anything from him, just as he should know she would always follow him. He knew she had walked all this way despite being heavy with child, but he had not intended to leave her for long. Not even when stuck in the darkest pit of his own self-loathing could he leave her alone and risk not being there if something were to happen.
He turns a skeletal head to follow the sound of her familiar voice in the dark, to push the bones of his face into the strands of her mane and admonish her quietly, “You shouldn’t have come all this way.” He wants to trace his lips down the slope of her neck like he might have done once, but he hears the sound of bone scraping against bone, and instead he withdraws, swallowing away the disgust at himself to keep it from showing in his voice. “And I’m sorry I made you feel like you had to.”
Her voice is soft and sweet in comparison to the harsh thoughts of his own mind, a stark contrast to the endless cycle of negativity he had found himself lost in. And he thinks, again, how different his life would be without her in it.
Her words surprise a short, quiet laugh from him, and he shakes his head. “Thirteen? How did that happen?” There is almost a lightness to his voice, a glimpse of some of the softness and humor he reserved only for her managing to slip through the cracks of light only she can create. But it fades at what she says next, and he shakes his head. “You’re not going anywhere,” he tells her, the bones of his wings rattling when they instinctively move to drape across her like they might have once done, but he catches himself. “This darkness isn’t normal, Wonder. I don’t want anything to happen to you.”
He is quiet for a long moment, the silence feeling heavier from the night that weighs all around them. Finally he shifts closer to her, unable to resist touching her even despite how much he hates the way the skeleton of him sounds against the bone of her. He misses the warmth of his body against hers, misses being able to press his lips into her skin. “I love you, too,” he murmurs back to her, resting his head over top of her neck. Her glow chases away the dark closest to them, and he can see the large swell of her barrel, and again guilt and concern weighs like lead in his bones. “How are you feeling?”
— and I'll make you remember my face —
