madhavi

He tells her it's not that bad but the way her gaze turns downcast signals that Madhavi feels... differently. She's too warm in her cheeks, her finger hurts, and the feeling of her hand in his makes her nostalgic to the point that her vision begins to swim. If it wasn't 'that bad' then why did it feel like the beginning of the end of her carefully crafted world?

Had they always been so rough? she wonders to herself and the words echo like a dream. They had never been smooth, that much she remembers, but the were-leopard finds that such a simple connection -- touch -- sends her thoughts whirling into soft whispers of quandaries she's not entirely conscious of. The majority of it is idle wonder about his life; the cause of such callouses, the nature of his work, what his day-to-day looks like now. What kind of job does he have? Does he like it? She hopes the person he's touching with these fingers savors each and every moment and remembers every detail. There'd been a time, after all, where she tried so, so hard to forget. Never in her life did she think she'd have another chance to experience it again.

...But this wasn't really her moment to do so, was it?

No. Not really.

Tetradore tugs her towards the bathroom and Madhavi follows without protest. Even if she'd wanted to she's pretty certain the words would be swallowed by tears before she had the chance. But the running water is cool and undeniably soothing; the dot of blood washed away and the sensation of cold running liquid grounding in a way she didn't know she needed. Her eyes close while Tetradore busies himself with sorting through cabinets and bottles, content to let him look while she focuses on breathing.

But breathing is hard when all she can see is a certain boy so many years ago, in a bathroom just like this, while she was the one looking for something to stop the bleeding.

It's too late now. Madhavi simply can't stop the tears as they fall in waves, silent and strong, even as he wraps her finger and asks after her name. But she can't answer him. Not in the way he's hoping for. Madhavi's eyes are distant when they finally open and her voice is small.

"Why are you bleeding in my bathroom?" she breathes in a shaky whisper. Tetradore can tell instinctively it's not a question for him. Well... not this him. But the boy all those years ago? The boy who had snuck in so terribly hurt and angry? The boy who had ransacked her bathroom and ruined all her towels? The boy she'd watched turn into a panther and back? It was a question for him. The same one she'd asked him all those years ago.

And that was more telling than a name... wasn't it?