sometimes weak and wan,
sometimes strong and full of light

"HOW'S YOUR TRAINING coming along?" Amethyst asked her soulmate one day. They were sitting outside the guild, perched upon a few idle wooden boxes, kicking their feet in the air. Romeo sat close to her, bathing in her warmth. His head was on her shoulder, chest rising and falling at a peaceful pace.

"Fine," he answered. Romeo's eyes were shut; he used his other senses to focus on memorising this moment between them. It was rare, coming about every few weeks. Sometimes even every few months, when Amethyst's missions were long and hard and wore her out too much that she needed a few days to recover. "Totomaru's a good teacher."

Amethyst hummed, "I'm glad to hear that."

And it was silence from then on. The baby blue sky was decorated with clouds of white cotton, drifting through the firmaments with no destination in mind. Amethyst supposed that these clouds were as free as an object could be, up in the sky, away from all the stress and toxicity that came with humanity. 

They watched over the world, silent, as if the wind spoke for them instead.

Her jewelled eyes shifted over to Romeo, and Amethyst felt a light smile curl on her lips, tenderness flowing through her veins. His hair had grown over the past years, a dark purple that reached the base of his neck. 

Chapped lips were slightly parted as if in slumber, and Amethyst couldn't help but think he looked cute like this. She knew, deep down, that she would have to leave once another letter was delivered to their guild's doorstep. She knew she had to leave him again; Amethyst wouldn't dare take Romeo on one of her missions, not when they were dangerous and unpredictable.

She wouldn't be able to live with herself if something—anything—happened to her Romeo.

"Romeo." His head shifted minutely, an indication that he was listening. "You know I love you, right? I love you so much."

Black irises met hers.

"I know," he told her. "But why are you suddenly saying it?"

Amethyst could only shrug. How was she meant to put these feelings of hers into words? How was she meant to tell him that he consumed every thought in her brain, every minute of her time, every beat of her heart? How was she meant to condense such insurmountable, almost universal, feelings into words that could only tell so little? They would do her feelings no justice, so, Amethyst pressed a kiss to the top of his head.

She found that actions spoke far better than words.

And Romeo found that he understood them better, too.

"No matter what happens, Romeo, you will always be my priority." Amethyst stared at him, really stared at him, as if she was looking straight at his soul, half empty and half full. "You will always be my calling home. Against whatever odds life may throw at us, I will find my way home to you, in your arms, in your embrace, wrapped up in everything that is wholly and totally you." Her hands came to grasp his, gentle, yet with each soft brush, Romeo could feel the callouses slowly beginning to build from years of training and going off to secure some financial aid for their guild — their family.  "So, when I leave for these fruitless missions, know that no matter what happens, I will always come back. I won't leave you. Never."

"Me too," Romeo returned. He shifted his upper body, facing his soulmate with an earnest determination on his face. "I won't ever leave you, Amethyst. So please, rely on me, too." There was a desperation in his tone, one that sought agreement, solace, a chance to be stronger than he felt.  "You're not alone here. It's you and me against the world."

A mellifluous chuckle broke through the air. Amethyst regarded her soulmate with such warmth that it almost took his breath away. Almost. Romeo found that it was her affectionate smile that stalled the oxygen in his body, his heart fluttering at the grace and beauty of it all. Marvellous. Magnificent. 

"You and me against the world," she echoed.

The two soulmates felt as if they could live in that moment forever; the late September sun lowering to the horizon, casting an orange gaze upon the world, the chatter of their guildmates in the background, the smell of baked bread and steaming soup, the brush of their bodies against each other— the feeling of everything familiar and everything that was home.

──────〔🦋〕──────

Walking down the streets of Fiore, Amethyst watched as people flitted by with lives of their own. Sometimes, like all of us, Amethyst forgot that people existed as their own; they had their own feelings, their own desires, their own pasts, presents and futures. 

They were like her, just different.

A familiar apartment building came into view, the pink bricks once something homey was now becoming a painful eyesore. The river before the entrance glistened like crystals on the surface; fishermen and merchants travelled on their wooden boats, cheerful and carefree. Amethyst entered the building, walked up the stairs (she remembered which one creaked and which ones didn't; it was a game of hers in her childhood, a game that she and Natsu partook in when they wanted to sneak up on Lucy) and turned to the apartment she called her own.

Her hand reached for the doorknob, turning it and pushing the door open.

"I'm home," she called to no one in particular.

The scent of Lucy's apartment had long since vanished. It was now filled with dust and abandonment, a hollow sort of touch that weighed heavy on the chest. Lucy's birthday gifts, the ones her father had been delivering, remained on the coffee table, untouched after all these years. Amethyst didn't know the man, hadn't known he existed before, but time and the past brought them close. Jude Heartfilia would tell his daughter's soulmate all about her childhood (and the regret that sits too close for comfort by his heart), and Amethyst Fairy, in return, would tell her soulmate's father all about her life in Fairy Tail (only the parts where she was present, of course). Letters were sent to each other at the end of every month; the content differed here and there, but the two found companionship through words (even if Amethyst wasn't good at putting her feelings down onto paper).

In Jude's eyes, in his whitening soul, he found himself taking care of Amethyst in Lucy's steed. He helped her initially, having stumbled upon her one rainy night, shivering outside Lucy's apartment— Amethyst had only been eight then, tired, exhausted and filled with so much grief. Jude saw himself in her eyes (and it was that feeling that horrified him; how could a mere child feel the same as him, a middle-aged man?). Jude quickly took her in his arms, wrapped his cloak around her trembling body and warmed her up with a hot bath and freshly cooked soup. Lucy's landlord didn't mind the new company, not when Jude paid for Lucy's rent with a yearly payment.

Amethyst stayed in her apartment, and though she protested heavily against Jude paying for everything, the man simply said:

"This is my thanks for loving my daughter. And this is my act of love for my daughter."

Amethyst wouldn't understand his words until after many seasons had passed. Thank you for loving my daughter, for giving her a family and for keeping her happy. And, I regret that I was not there for her in the past. Please let me relieve myself of this guilt.

The love of a father was not something Amethyst would ever know, but she supposed, watching as Alzack took care of his daughter, Asuka, with the greatest affection and care, that not all fathers were the same.

Not all fathers loved the same way; not all fathers cared the same way. It's a dad who lives in a child's heart, not a sperm donor (although i doubt the people in fairy tail have any idea how the body works, to be honest).

"How do you do it?" Amethyst, at twelve years old, wondered. She was sitting in the park with Alzack by her side; Asuka and Bisca were off looking at the flowers and the bugs (much to the latter's disgust).

Alzack turned to look at her. His eyes were shimmering with a tender warmth— it was love, Amethyst realised (the first of many). His eyes shimmered with love.

"How do I do what?" he asked. Alzack's voice was always soft when he spoke to her, she also realised. It was the same tone he used with Asuka, and Amethyst didn't know why her chest felt a little bit tighter.

"Love your child," she clarified. "Why do you stay?"

"I love them," Alzack said, as if it was the simplest thing anyone could ever ask him. "I would do anything for them. Is there a reason why I need to leave?"

Amethyst pursed her lips. "Huh."

Her head dipped down as a sudden weight sat atop her hair. Alzack's hands were warm (it was the third thing she realised that spring day); it was warm, and it was comfortable. 

His fingers ruffled her hair with a carefree nature, digging into her scalp with a softness that Amethyst could only remember being gifted to her after she was saved from that place she called hell.

"I love you, too, Amethyst," Alzack told her.

Her attention snapped over to him. "Me?" she asked. "But I'm not your daughter. Why would you love me?"

"Because, even if we are not connected by blood, we're connected here." 

His other hand, the one not occupied with her head, moved to his chest, his finger pointed right above his left pec.

In our hearts, were his unspoken words.

And if Amethyst cried that day, well, that was for only her and Alzack to know. You see, the fourth thing Amethyst realised that lovely spring day was how much she missed hearing those words (and how much she missed hearing the voices of those who used to say them to her religiously).

Those memories, the single, rare moments of happiness, were ones that Amethyst would forever cherish in her heart. These past six years have been fogged with grief and a grey sort of numbness. It washed Amethyst's world with a mundanity she would rather not associate herself with, and yet, like the sheep following the herd, Amethyst allowed it to swallow her whole. She did not have the strength to fight back.

Amethyst simply needed to move forward.

If the weight holding her back got too heavy, Amethyst simply got stronger to carry it all. She didn't dare let it go. She was afraid that letting go meant forgetting.

And Amethyst would rather die than forget.

Curled up under the sheets of Lucy's bed, basking in the chilliness of it all, Amethyst remembered the warm arms that would envelop her. She remembered the fingers that would trail across her upper arm in slow, tranquil movements. She remembered the lullabies that were sung to her. She remembered the soft breaths escaping one pair of parted lips and the harsh snores leaving another pair. She remembered it all.

Amethyst remembered it all. Would always remember it all (even if the corners seemed to weather away with time and the faces slowly began to fog up).

As the darkness of the night crept across the world, seeping through the windows with an accompaniment of argent moonlight, shadows came forth. They slipped right beside Amethyst (their friend, their companion) and manifested the forms of her greatest, most sacred memories.

Amethyst fell asleep that night with no nightmares, for she was surrounded by the people she loved most.