Herbalists' Cache supposed to be on stage, but fuck it, i need a minute

he does not hate her. the words should not feel as relieving as they do, but she feels the tension in her ribs ease, just slightly. and then—

"i love you."

oh.

gjalla swallows thickly. her heart flutters, skips a few beats. he loves her. it settles like a stone in her throat, a heavy, aching thing, because she knows it is true. he is many things—bitter, stubborn, infuriating—but he is not a liar. he would not have said it if it weren’t.

she exhales, slow and measured, before finally turning her head just enough to look at him, to press her forehead against the curve of his jaw. and then, in the softest whisper against the dark of the water’s edge, she breathes the words back;

"i love you, too."

and she does. she loves him fiercely, desperately, even when he makes her blood boil, even when she wants to tear into him with bared teeth and seething words. she loves him in silence, in the way his weight settles against her now, like maybe—just maybe—he does not wish to be apart either.