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It's not exactly difficult to tell when Nephrite is upset. He is not a loud man, by any means, but his emotions are more or less telegraphed by his every action, despite all his efforts to appear stoic and restrained. When he's happy, he moves with a relaxed ease that he otherwise lacks, a satisfied glint in his deeply blue eyes. When he is angry, every muscle in his body is visibly tensed, everything he says is brusque and clipped, and he wears a scowl that could wilt any number of the plants populating his and Makoto's shared apartment. Worry looks quite similar to anger, only he paces to and fro like a caged tiger, muttering to himself and more than occasionally looking towards the sky, even when the stars have not yet begun to shine.
But sadness -- sadness is the most noticeable of all, for the man just disappears into some quiet corner, leaving the world to turn without him. That appears to be the case today, for their home is uncharacteristically empty and has been for some time. A few days ago, Nephrite had been excitedly preparing for a meteor shower that would be visible tonight, talking about it at length with just about anyone who would listen.
But now, the expensive telescope on the balcony stands unattended as dusk begins to fall, and he is instead sitting in the darkness of the apartment bedroom, a bottle of whiskey sitting open on the bedside table, his eyes half-hooded and listless.
At the opposite end of the apartment lies an open book, its pages flapping back and forth in the breeze from an open window, and if the chipping in the nearby wall's paint is any indication, it had been thrown away with some force.
Makoto knows he's here - his shoes are at the entrance, after all - but she expected him to already be fussing with the telescope in preparation for tonight's astronomical event by the time she got home. Finding the apartment instead as still and quiet as if it were empty is... worrying.
She finds the book before she finds the man, left where it was flung against the wall, and she frowns at the dent in the drywall as she bends to pick it up. Skimming a few pages at whatever point it happens to fall open in her hands has her making a face, but even so it's hard to tell just from this what could have upset Nephrite enough to drive him into hiding - with the book still dangling from her hand, Makoto moves on to check the bedroom, and stops in the doorway in dismay and concern at the sight of him there in the darkened room.
"Neph...?"
Mentally, Nephrite knew Makoto would be coming home soon -- they lived together, after all, and though he supposed he could have gone somewhere else if he truly wished to avoid confronting her about the book, he simply did not have the motivation or desire to go out on the town tonight. No, all of that is wrapped up in processing exactly why Makoto had begun to read that book in the first place, why she left it in a place where he could so easily find it. They had gone for so long without touching on the past; he doubts that more than a few sentences have even broached the topic, since all of them were reborn. Perhaps it was inevitable that they would have to talk about it, someday, but he had hoped that he'd be prepared when the time came.
Today, as he saw Masato Sanjouin described in every page of that damnable book, Nephrite learned that he was most certainly not ready. And now, wracked by the shame and guilt of two lifetimes, he does not know if he ever will be.
But all the same, there's Makoto standing at the doorway, and it seems the time has come.
The man looks over slowly at the sound of his name, face still set in a kind of sorrowful blankness, certainly not helped by the amount he has drunk today. "Makoto," he acknowledges softly. His eyes drift down to the book grasped in one of her hands, and his entire posture sinks even more. "I imagine you have much to say to me."
Standing there in the doorway, outlined by the lights turned on in the rest of the apartment behind her, Makoto looks, for a moment, utterly perplexed. "Much to--" she begins to echo, only to stop herself with a shake of her head. Never mind.
Instead, she crosses the room to sit down next to him, absently setting the book on the bedside table next to the bottle of whiskey and forgetting about it almost completely the moment it's left her hand. She's much more preoccupied by the state that Nephrite is in; she reaches out a hand to brush his hair back from his face, watching him closely with her brows drawing together in concern.
"What happened?" she asks softly. Clearly something must've, but she can't imagine what.
Nephrite isn't quite sure what he'd been expecting: an angry declaration of hatred, perhaps, or maybe a simple, quiet statement that the burden of the past was too great for their relationship to overcome. He'd been steeling himself to hear the hateful things he'd said to himself all afternoon come from the mouth of the woman he loved, preparing for all the inner shame to be made concrete. Preparing to be alone once again, in punishment for the evil he had wrought all those years ago.
He had not expected her to come over to him and brush the hair from his face, and the gentle kindness is almost more than he can bear. His eyes widen in shock before he turns his face away from Makoto's hand. Her own confusion at the situation would have given his sober mind some pause, but slightly intoxicated and suffocated by dark emotion as he is, the man hardly even notices.
"I found the book," he says. "And reading it was like looking my worst self in the mirror." Nephrite's sorrowful eyes glimpse the criminal tome's spine sitting right next to his bottle of whiskey, and it's all he can do not to bury his head in his hands. "I can only assume the misdeeds of Masato Sanjouin have been on your mind, of late. I'm sorry I did not sense it before...before you had to tell me so indirectly."
That was the reason she left the book out in the living room, wasn't it? So that he would read it and come to this conclusion on his own?
Mako sits back from him a little when he turns away from her, trying not to feel stung by the withdrawal. She listens intently as he speaks, anxious to understand what's hurt him so badly - he's struggled, and Makoto knows he still struggles, with living with himself and the memories of everything that happened under the Dark Kingdom, but in the time that's passed since Usagi's miracle brought them back together, she'd thought that he'd managed to find balance, some kind of peace--
Had she been wrong? Was it only her that had managed to move on, and she just hadn't seen it?
What Nephrite says doesn't clear up very much about what's opened those old wounds; his words only leave Makoto feeling more worried and more baffled yet. "Nephrite," she says, her voice still quiet but slightly more urgent now, and she scoots a little closer to him and places a hand on his shoulder. Her other hand reaches out again to cup the side of his face, to turn him gently but firmly back toward her, if he'll let her, so that she can meet his eyes directly. So that he can see for himself her absolute sincerity when she tells him, "I have no idea what you're talking about. What does that book have to do with Masato Sanjouin?"
She glances back over her shoulder for a moment toward the offending piece of literature, giving it a bit of a stink-eye before she returns her full attention to Nephrite again. "Where did that even come from?"
Nephrite allows Makoto to touch his face now, not resisting as she turns his gaze to meet her own. He isn't angry with her, not by any stretch of the imagination, and his expression says as much: a kind of sadness very close to fatigue is etched in his drooping eyes, the frown lines around his tightly set mouth. This is the sight that greets the girl when the light from the hallway finally illuminates his face, though a note of confusion begins to color it when the sincerity of her confusion finally reaches him.
"I found it on the table in the living room. It was open to a certain page -- there was a bookmark..." he begins to explain, though the addled state of his mind makes it rather difficult to put his thoughts in order. The mentioned bookmark is, in fact, still shoved roughly in between the pages; if Mako were to see it, she might recognize it as belonging to a certain mischievous, blonde friend of theirs. This connection, naturally, had been wholly lost on Nephrite. "I figured it belonged to you. I was curious what you were reading, so I began to read it myself." He brings up one hand to Makoto's on his shoulder, the warmth of his palm meeting hers. "Is it not actually your book?"
Regardless, nothing in life happens without reason -- the book came to their apartment by some whim of fate, and whether Makoto had read it or not, it still spoke an ugly truth that the man had not faced in a long time. His frown deepens once more, no longer heartened by the fact that his loved one hadn't been condemning him indirectly. "If you haven't read it yet -- don't. Putting aside that it is horribly written, the romantic interest of the protagonist is a very bad man."
The hand that's not placed gently atop Mako's begins to clench into a fist as he speaks. "Rich, charming, handsome. An unbelievable success at just twenty-six years old. A Renaissance man if there ever was one. Beguiling and luring the innocent young girl into his clutches so that he can hurt her -- in more ways than one." He is angry now, that much is obvious, but it is a self-directed anger, tinged with more than a little bitterness and guilt. Nephrite smiles ruefully at Makoto, then gives a dry, unhappy laugh.
"Does that remind you of anyone?"
In fact, Makoto hadn't noticed the bookmark, or she would have realized sooner just where the novel came from. Even without that, though, it's becoming increasingly clear to her what must have happened, and she lets out an exasperated groan that isn't remotely directed at Nephrite. "Of course it's not mine. Since when am I into that kind of thing?"
(Possibly an unfair question, given her collection of romance novels and shoujo manga, but never mind.)
The hand that rested warmly against the side of his face slides away so that she can curl her arm around behind his shoulders and half-lean, half-fall into him, ending up draped halfway across his lap with her head tucked against his shoulder. "I am going to murder Minako-chan."
Because of course it had to have been Minako. The bookmark will prove it, when Mako actually sees it, but even without it there's no doubt left in her mind - Zoisite might never miss an opportunity to troll Nephrite, but only the self-proclaimed 'goddess of love' would take it upon herself to 'help out' Mako's sex life by leaving a racy novel lying around her apartment.
It's not even the first time, but the other such stunts were only exasperating. For one of Minako's pranks to hurt Nephrite this much - she probably hadn't made the mental leap any more than Makoto had, but still, it's going too far.
At least now she understands why Nephrite is so knotted up... even if she can't really summon up the same kind of revolted reaction that he's had. "Funny," she murmurs into his shoulder, "I don't remember a torture dungeon in that enormous house you used to live in. Unless there's something you never told me about." It's making light, but her tone is more soothing than flippant.
Even with the tempest of blame and self-hatred raging inside, Nephrite can't help but soften his sarcastic smile into a genuine one as Makoto speaks. He's seen that incredulous exasperation many times before, and he can't help but find it endearing -- even when it is directed towards him. How many people have a kind of anger that's fueled almost solely by how much they care about someone? Her enormous heart always shines through, even when she's unhappy.
It's one of the things he loves most about her.
The man pauses for a second as she adjusts herself...before the inner dam of self-imposed standoffishness breaks, and he pulls her into his arms completely, leaning back against the array of pillows on their shared bed. He doesn't feel like he deserves the closeness -- not right now. But he needs it, needs to have the reminder of what saved him as near to him as possible, while his mind is riddled with ghostly images of the past.
He cradles the back of her head gently with one hand, then rests his chin in her hair as she speaks jokingly about a torture dungeon. The former Shitennou wishes he could laugh -- she'd clearly intended to brighten his mood, and in some ways, she already has. But the mention of torture still makes him go very still, a dour grimace painting itself across his face.
"...I did, though," Nephrite says after a long moment, icy regret rushing through his veins. "Torture you. More than once." Without realizing it, he tightens his embrace around Makoto, his body giving away the pain those memories stir within him. "Lied to you. Hunted you. Broke your heart. Killed you." He spits out the last two words like they're poison, and the soft noise of his heartbeat picks up in his chest. "I have never deserved your love, Makoto."
From the way his body sags around her as he says it, it is obvious that that confession has weighed him down for some time, and though it is almost a relief to finally voice that great fear of his, there is no doubt that he believes it is true.
A sigh of relief, even contentment, leaves Makoto as Nephrite pulls her close. She snuggles in comfortably and closer still, feeling the way his voice vibrates through him when he talks, taking comfort as always in touch, in being held - even if she's not the one who needs to be comforted right now. At least he's not pushing her away. They can sort this out, as they should have long ago, as long as he doesn't insist on drowning in it alone.
"Whether or not you deserve my love is my decision, not yours," Mako points out, mild but firm on this point. Her eyes close as she thinks over her feelings, trying to find the best way to put them into words. She doesn't want to trivialize his hurt by just dismissing the darkness of the past, but... "You didn't hurt me worse than I could get over," she says quietly. "I had Usagi-chan and Mamoru-niisan and the others to help me. Whatever you put me through, you went through just as much in the Dark Kingdom, didn't you?"
Thinking of it, she curls herself around him a little more, almost protectively. "I'm not saying it wasn't wrong, but... everything that happened back then is part of the reason we're here now. Some of it's hard to think about, but it's over and done with. You don't have to keep beating yourself up over it."
With his chin resting against her hair, she can't look up to see his face. Makoto smiles against his shoulder instead. "And, you know," she says, "even though you hurt me, you made me happy back then, too."
But sadness -- sadness is the most noticeable of all, for the man just disappears into some quiet corner, leaving the world to turn without him. That appears to be the case today, for their home is uncharacteristically empty and has been for some time. A few days ago, Nephrite had been excitedly preparing for a meteor shower that would be visible tonight, talking about it at length with just about anyone who would listen.
But now, the expensive telescope on the balcony stands unattended as dusk begins to fall, and he is instead sitting in the darkness of the apartment bedroom, a bottle of whiskey sitting open on the bedside table, his eyes half-hooded and listless.
At the opposite end of the apartment lies an open book, its pages flapping back and forth in the breeze from an open window, and if the chipping in the nearby wall's paint is any indication, it had been thrown away with some force.
Makoto knows he's here - his shoes are at the entrance, after all - but she expected him to already be fussing with the telescope in preparation for tonight's astronomical event by the time she got home. Finding the apartment instead as still and quiet as if it were empty is... worrying.
She finds the book before she finds the man, left where it was flung against the wall, and she frowns at the dent in the drywall as she bends to pick it up. Skimming a few pages at whatever point it happens to fall open in her hands has her making a face, but even so it's hard to tell just from this what could have upset Nephrite enough to drive him into hiding - with the book still dangling from her hand, Makoto moves on to check the bedroom, and stops in the doorway in dismay and concern at the sight of him there in the darkened room.
"Neph...?"
Mentally, Nephrite knew Makoto would be coming home soon -- they lived together, after all, and though he supposed he could have gone somewhere else if he truly wished to avoid confronting her about the book, he simply did not have the motivation or desire to go out on the town tonight. No, all of that is wrapped up in processing exactly why Makoto had begun to read that book in the first place, why she left it in a place where he could so easily find it. They had gone for so long without touching on the past; he doubts that more than a few sentences have even broached the topic, since all of them were reborn. Perhaps it was inevitable that they would have to talk about it, someday, but he had hoped that he'd be prepared when the time came.
Today, as he saw Masato Sanjouin described in every page of that damnable book, Nephrite learned that he was most certainly not ready. And now, wracked by the shame and guilt of two lifetimes, he does not know if he ever will be.
But all the same, there's Makoto standing at the doorway, and it seems the time has come.
The man looks over slowly at the sound of his name, face still set in a kind of sorrowful blankness, certainly not helped by the amount he has drunk today. "Makoto," he acknowledges softly. His eyes drift down to the book grasped in one of her hands, and his entire posture sinks even more. "I imagine you have much to say to me."
Standing there in the doorway, outlined by the lights turned on in the rest of the apartment behind her, Makoto looks, for a moment, utterly perplexed. "Much to--" she begins to echo, only to stop herself with a shake of her head. Never mind.
Instead, she crosses the room to sit down next to him, absently setting the book on the bedside table next to the bottle of whiskey and forgetting about it almost completely the moment it's left her hand. She's much more preoccupied by the state that Nephrite is in; she reaches out a hand to brush his hair back from his face, watching him closely with her brows drawing together in concern.
"What happened?" she asks softly. Clearly something must've, but she can't imagine what.
Nephrite isn't quite sure what he'd been expecting: an angry declaration of hatred, perhaps, or maybe a simple, quiet statement that the burden of the past was too great for their relationship to overcome. He'd been steeling himself to hear the hateful things he'd said to himself all afternoon come from the mouth of the woman he loved, preparing for all the inner shame to be made concrete. Preparing to be alone once again, in punishment for the evil he had wrought all those years ago.
He had not expected her to come over to him and brush the hair from his face, and the gentle kindness is almost more than he can bear. His eyes widen in shock before he turns his face away from Makoto's hand. Her own confusion at the situation would have given his sober mind some pause, but slightly intoxicated and suffocated by dark emotion as he is, the man hardly even notices.
"I found the book," he says. "And reading it was like looking my worst self in the mirror." Nephrite's sorrowful eyes glimpse the criminal tome's spine sitting right next to his bottle of whiskey, and it's all he can do not to bury his head in his hands. "I can only assume the misdeeds of Masato Sanjouin have been on your mind, of late. I'm sorry I did not sense it before...before you had to tell me so indirectly."
That was the reason she left the book out in the living room, wasn't it? So that he would read it and come to this conclusion on his own?
Mako sits back from him a little when he turns away from her, trying not to feel stung by the withdrawal. She listens intently as he speaks, anxious to understand what's hurt him so badly - he's struggled, and Makoto knows he still struggles, with living with himself and the memories of everything that happened under the Dark Kingdom, but in the time that's passed since Usagi's miracle brought them back together, she'd thought that he'd managed to find balance, some kind of peace--
Had she been wrong? Was it only her that had managed to move on, and she just hadn't seen it?
What Nephrite says doesn't clear up very much about what's opened those old wounds; his words only leave Makoto feeling more worried and more baffled yet. "Nephrite," she says, her voice still quiet but slightly more urgent now, and she scoots a little closer to him and places a hand on his shoulder. Her other hand reaches out again to cup the side of his face, to turn him gently but firmly back toward her, if he'll let her, so that she can meet his eyes directly. So that he can see for himself her absolute sincerity when she tells him, "I have no idea what you're talking about. What does that book have to do with Masato Sanjouin?"
She glances back over her shoulder for a moment toward the offending piece of literature, giving it a bit of a stink-eye before she returns her full attention to Nephrite again. "Where did that even come from?"
Nephrite allows Makoto to touch his face now, not resisting as she turns his gaze to meet her own. He isn't angry with her, not by any stretch of the imagination, and his expression says as much: a kind of sadness very close to fatigue is etched in his drooping eyes, the frown lines around his tightly set mouth. This is the sight that greets the girl when the light from the hallway finally illuminates his face, though a note of confusion begins to color it when the sincerity of her confusion finally reaches him.
"I found it on the table in the living room. It was open to a certain page -- there was a bookmark..." he begins to explain, though the addled state of his mind makes it rather difficult to put his thoughts in order. The mentioned bookmark is, in fact, still shoved roughly in between the pages; if Mako were to see it, she might recognize it as belonging to a certain mischievous, blonde friend of theirs. This connection, naturally, had been wholly lost on Nephrite. "I figured it belonged to you. I was curious what you were reading, so I began to read it myself." He brings up one hand to Makoto's on his shoulder, the warmth of his palm meeting hers. "Is it not actually your book?"
Regardless, nothing in life happens without reason -- the book came to their apartment by some whim of fate, and whether Makoto had read it or not, it still spoke an ugly truth that the man had not faced in a long time. His frown deepens once more, no longer heartened by the fact that his loved one hadn't been condemning him indirectly. "If you haven't read it yet -- don't. Putting aside that it is horribly written, the romantic interest of the protagonist is a very bad man."
The hand that's not placed gently atop Mako's begins to clench into a fist as he speaks. "Rich, charming, handsome. An unbelievable success at just twenty-six years old. A Renaissance man if there ever was one. Beguiling and luring the innocent young girl into his clutches so that he can hurt her -- in more ways than one." He is angry now, that much is obvious, but it is a self-directed anger, tinged with more than a little bitterness and guilt. Nephrite smiles ruefully at Makoto, then gives a dry, unhappy laugh.
"Does that remind you of anyone?"
In fact, Makoto hadn't noticed the bookmark, or she would have realized sooner just where the novel came from. Even without that, though, it's becoming increasingly clear to her what must have happened, and she lets out an exasperated groan that isn't remotely directed at Nephrite. "Of course it's not mine. Since when am I into that kind of thing?"
(Possibly an unfair question, given her collection of romance novels and shoujo manga, but never mind.)
The hand that rested warmly against the side of his face slides away so that she can curl her arm around behind his shoulders and half-lean, half-fall into him, ending up draped halfway across his lap with her head tucked against his shoulder. "I am going to murder Minako-chan."
Because of course it had to have been Minako. The bookmark will prove it, when Mako actually sees it, but even without it there's no doubt left in her mind - Zoisite might never miss an opportunity to troll Nephrite, but only the self-proclaimed 'goddess of love' would take it upon herself to 'help out' Mako's sex life by leaving a racy novel lying around her apartment.
It's not even the first time, but the other such stunts were only exasperating. For one of Minako's pranks to hurt Nephrite this much - she probably hadn't made the mental leap any more than Makoto had, but still, it's going too far.
At least now she understands why Nephrite is so knotted up... even if she can't really summon up the same kind of revolted reaction that he's had. "Funny," she murmurs into his shoulder, "I don't remember a torture dungeon in that enormous house you used to live in. Unless there's something you never told me about." It's making light, but her tone is more soothing than flippant.
Even with the tempest of blame and self-hatred raging inside, Nephrite can't help but soften his sarcastic smile into a genuine one as Makoto speaks. He's seen that incredulous exasperation many times before, and he can't help but find it endearing -- even when it is directed towards him. How many people have a kind of anger that's fueled almost solely by how much they care about someone? Her enormous heart always shines through, even when she's unhappy.
It's one of the things he loves most about her.
The man pauses for a second as she adjusts herself...before the inner dam of self-imposed standoffishness breaks, and he pulls her into his arms completely, leaning back against the array of pillows on their shared bed. He doesn't feel like he deserves the closeness -- not right now. But he needs it, needs to have the reminder of what saved him as near to him as possible, while his mind is riddled with ghostly images of the past.
He cradles the back of her head gently with one hand, then rests his chin in her hair as she speaks jokingly about a torture dungeon. The former Shitennou wishes he could laugh -- she'd clearly intended to brighten his mood, and in some ways, she already has. But the mention of torture still makes him go very still, a dour grimace painting itself across his face.
"...I did, though," Nephrite says after a long moment, icy regret rushing through his veins. "Torture you. More than once." Without realizing it, he tightens his embrace around Makoto, his body giving away the pain those memories stir within him. "Lied to you. Hunted you. Broke your heart. Killed you." He spits out the last two words like they're poison, and the soft noise of his heartbeat picks up in his chest. "I have never deserved your love, Makoto."
From the way his body sags around her as he says it, it is obvious that that confession has weighed him down for some time, and though it is almost a relief to finally voice that great fear of his, there is no doubt that he believes it is true.
A sigh of relief, even contentment, leaves Makoto as Nephrite pulls her close. She snuggles in comfortably and closer still, feeling the way his voice vibrates through him when he talks, taking comfort as always in touch, in being held - even if she's not the one who needs to be comforted right now. At least he's not pushing her away. They can sort this out, as they should have long ago, as long as he doesn't insist on drowning in it alone.
"Whether or not you deserve my love is my decision, not yours," Mako points out, mild but firm on this point. Her eyes close as she thinks over her feelings, trying to find the best way to put them into words. She doesn't want to trivialize his hurt by just dismissing the darkness of the past, but... "You didn't hurt me worse than I could get over," she says quietly. "I had Usagi-chan and Mamoru-niisan and the others to help me. Whatever you put me through, you went through just as much in the Dark Kingdom, didn't you?"
Thinking of it, she curls herself around him a little more, almost protectively. "I'm not saying it wasn't wrong, but... everything that happened back then is part of the reason we're here now. Some of it's hard to think about, but it's over and done with. You don't have to keep beating yourself up over it."
With his chin resting against her hair, she can't look up to see his face. Makoto smiles against his shoulder instead. "And, you know," she says, "even though you hurt me, you made me happy back then, too."