[The coffee is done. He reaches for toast first, because he doesn't have to do much to it. Eggs, sausage, that requires utensils. A few more moments like this.
He sighs. It is happy, for the most part. That well of sadness, it bubbles up. But it does not overflow. There's something murmured. Hearthfire again, sincere and whispered and too quiet for anyone else to ever overhear.
There are days Alucard thinks of what is deserved and not. It cannot be helped, it is a natural thought to anyone.
He breathes out.]
I love you for that. More than I can find words for.
[What would a Speaker be without words, after all. It's in the very definition.]
You've never needed them to show your love. It helps, of course, but it's like I have said before: you love by doing, through action. And sometimes through inaction.
[She smiles faintly.]
I'm lying on your arm, and you can't eat a sausage one-handed. So you're putting it off, so that we can go a little longer before I have to move my head. Otherwise you would've already had them by now, because your coffee is finished.
[Idly, she licks her fingers once she's finished with her piece of bacon, sucking off the remainder of the grease and delicious fried bits.]
You write notes and hide them for me because you know I love written things, because Speakers don't use them. You leave strawberries out on the counter because you're going to bake with them later and pretend that you always meant to make a half-batch instead of a full one, because half of the berries have gone missing in the interim. You gave me my own whole room in this great big house, even though I never sleep in it and you knew that too, but because I have never had a bedroom or a closet or a desk with little drawers and knobs and that room, it isn't ours, it's mine.
[And she laughs a little, softly.]
Sometimes I don't think you even realize how often you tell me you love me. But I know. You do it without words.
[It's the best and worst part of half your heart belonging to a Speaker: any declaration of love is going to be outclassed in every way possible, and you are going to sit there a total mess.
Which is what Alucard is doing in this very moment, heat in his cheeks, free hand caught up in Sypha's hair, eyes glistening from the sweetness and understanding of it all. That last part though, that last part is the key to it all.
He grew up watching displays of endless affection. It's the easier part for him to follow, because actions come easier than words. Intent, the magic of intent, it translates better for him when he can do something so simple as make sure Sypha has her own room in the house or to always prepare only half a batch of strawberry muffins.
So he can be forgiven at being stunned into silence. And just stuffing his face full of toast rather than trying to reply.]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
[The coffee is done. He reaches for toast first, because he doesn't have to do much to it. Eggs, sausage, that requires utensils. A few more moments like this.
He sighs. It is happy, for the most part. That well of sadness, it bubbles up. But it does not overflow. There's something murmured. Hearthfire again, sincere and whispered and too quiet for anyone else to ever overhear.
There are days Alucard thinks of what is deserved and not. It cannot be helped, it is a natural thought to anyone.
He breathes out.]
I love you for that. More than I can find words for.
no subject
[What would a Speaker be without words, after all. It's in the very definition.]
You've never needed them to show your love. It helps, of course, but it's like I have said before: you love by doing, through action. And sometimes through inaction.
[She smiles faintly.]
I'm lying on your arm, and you can't eat a sausage one-handed. So you're putting it off, so that we can go a little longer before I have to move my head. Otherwise you would've already had them by now, because your coffee is finished.
[Idly, she licks her fingers once she's finished with her piece of bacon, sucking off the remainder of the grease and delicious fried bits.]
You write notes and hide them for me because you know I love written things, because Speakers don't use them. You leave strawberries out on the counter because you're going to bake with them later and pretend that you always meant to make a half-batch instead of a full one, because half of the berries have gone missing in the interim. You gave me my own whole room in this great big house, even though I never sleep in it and you knew that too, but because I have never had a bedroom or a closet or a desk with little drawers and knobs and that room, it isn't ours, it's mine.
[And she laughs a little, softly.]
Sometimes I don't think you even realize how often you tell me you love me. But I know. You do it without words.
no subject
Which is what Alucard is doing in this very moment, heat in his cheeks, free hand caught up in Sypha's hair, eyes glistening from the sweetness and understanding of it all. That last part though, that last part is the key to it all.
He grew up watching displays of endless affection. It's the easier part for him to follow, because actions come easier than words. Intent, the magic of intent, it translates better for him when he can do something so simple as make sure Sypha has her own room in the house or to always prepare only half a batch of strawberry muffins.
So he can be forgiven at being stunned into silence. And just stuffing his face full of toast rather than trying to reply.]
no subject
[Her voice is very soft now, and she closes her eyes as she leans on him more heavily, unguarded and vulnerable in her admission.]
I think sometimes you hear me tell you I love you by the way I understand you, and show it like this.
no subject
[The toast is devoured. So he can find a few words at least.]
And I think you are right.