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Soul walks into the living room and almost walks right back out.
Heart is splayed out on the couch. He’s on his stomach, his head buried into the armrest, laying on his left arm while the right is hooked over the top of the couch, one of his legs dangling off the side. His wings are spread out as far as they go, one grazing the top of the couch and the other hovering above the floor.
Soul shouldn’t be surprised, but he stumbles back a step, his grip tightening on his trident when his knee twinges with pain.
There’s a twitch in Heart’s wings - a slight shift against the fabric - that’d be impossible to notice if the entirety of Soul’s attention wasn’t aimed directly at him.
Soul’s not surprised.
He’s…
Soul strains his ears to hear the soft sound of Heart’s breaths, but they’re smothered against the armrest. Soul can’t hear his heartbeat, which is a good sign that he didn’t notice Soul, but it doesn’t satisfy.
Soul doesn’t leave - he comes closer. He steps through the border between the living room and the hallway. His knee pops, accompanied by the metal thud of his trident, and Heart’s pulse picks up.
Well.
“{Heart.}” Soul leans on his trident in front of him, and Heart sits up quickly.
“(What is it, Soul?)”
He sounds awake and well. Soul’s glad - the last time Heart tried to kill him was when Soul accidentally woke him up. Heart can get touchy.
“{I just…}”
Soul doesn’t know either. He saw Heart and he wanted to come closer. That’s all.
He deflects, exactly like Heart might if the question was directed towards him. “{... well, do you always have a reason for every single thing you do?}” It’s half-hearted - ha - and they both know it. Instead of questioning Soul further, he pats the spot to his right. It’s a clear invitation.
Soul takes it.
He unsummons his trident, and Heart glances at him questioningly, so Soul makes a show of relaxing into the couch.
He doesn’t touch Heart, though. He clasps his hands together. Soul doesn’t want to hurt him.
There are bruises on his neck. They’re only a few days old.
{Soul could do it again.}
Soul doesn’t want to hurt him.
Both of them are silent. There’s nothing to say. Soul’s close enough to catch the smell of Heart’s hair, fresh shampoo and flowers. His hair does look clean. It must be a good day for him.
{At least before Soul walked in.}
Heart scoots closer to him. He’s a line of warmth against Soul’s shoulder. “(Wanna watch something?)”
“{Why not?}” Soul asks back, and reaches for Heart’s hand. Heart’s fingers entwine his, and Soul lets slip a rare, genuine smile.
Heart puts on a movie that they’ve both watched before too many times to count - a long time ago, whenever they would gather in the living room and sit on the couch as far away from each other as possible and make stilted conversation. Soul doesn’t remember enough to predict what happens next, but every plot point has a vague half-familiarity that means he’s never surprised.
Soul doesn’t bother to pay much attention. He settles into Heart’s side and closes his eyes. He listens casually but not enough to have a full grasp of what’s happening.
“(You know,)” Heart murmurs, and Soul jolts, but doesn’t bother to look at him - “(I’m glad that we can put everything aside, sometimes. This is nice.)”
Something cold digs into his chin.
“(I just think that you don’t deserve it.)”
Heart squeezes his fingers. They’re still holding hands.
Soul should summon his trident. He should stop Heart from whatever he’s going to do.
He shouldn’t have let himself do this in the first place.
Soul doesn’t move.
“{...why?}” Soul whispers.
He can’t look down at their joined hands and want to retaliate. He can’t. Soul is still warm with Heart’s body heat and he can’t process that it’s all over, let alone that there was no ‘it’ to concern himself with. Heart didn’t mean it. Soul was an idiot to think he did: he deserves this.
“(Really?)” The gun trembles as Heart laughs, sharp and desperate, until his eyes glisten with tears. He drops Soul’s hand. “(Soul, I can’t sleep at night because I’m awake thinking about you. The way you breathe into my ear. The way your hands skim over my wings. The way you smile when you want to hurt someone. The way you laugh when you want to hurt yourself-)”
Heart gasps.
“(I can’t stop thinking! I can’t! You haven’t done a single good thing. Me and Mind talk about what you’ve done and how we can’t stop remembering the look on your face!)”
“{You think about me too?}” Soul understands what Heart’s saying - he understands what Heart might do whenever he finishes his preamble. Nonetheless, his question is soft. Awed.
Soul thinks of Heart. Soul struggles to sleep because his thoughts are entangled in Heart. Soul remembers the way Heart laughs before his gun meets Soul’s head.
Heart reciprocating…
Heart braces his hand on Soul’s shoulder and climbs into his lap. “(Of course I do. Look at what you’ve done to me.)” Heart’s voice is hoarse, barely above a whisper, and wet with the tears streaking silently down his cheeks. He bares the line of his neck, exposing a ring of dark bruises.
Soul’s hand raises, unbidden, to caress them. He can’t force the wish down. If he touches, Heart will…
Feather-light, he brushes his knuckles against the damaged skin. Heart’s breath catches.
“{Are you going to kill me?}”
Heart catches Soul’s wrist, his grip as gentle as when they were holding hands. He gazes into Soul’s eyes and says, quietly, “(I wish I was.)”
He takes his gun off Soul’s chin and smiles, stiff and sad. “(It’s a good thing I’m forgiving.)”
A crack. Something hits Soul’s shoulder. He’s bleeding.
Heart’s knees push into Soul’s stomach. He traces a bloody line from Soul’s shoulder to his cheek with his thumb, and the rest of his fingers follow to cup Soul’s face.
“(Maybe this time you’ll learn, and we can watch that movie again. For real. Okay?)”
Soul can’t gather himself enough to talk. Heart grasps his thigh to steady himself, and Soul thinks he whines more at the absence of Heart’s weight than he does at the first burning throb. Heart sends him a glance over his shoulder, and then he goes, and Soul is left alone.