❛ 𝐋 » lucian

@❛ ? » lucian hwang。 In the quiet that follows Lucian’s forlorn admission, Howl's demeanor subtly shifts. The protective stance softens, and there's a minute adjustment in his posture as his shoulders slacken. His usually unreadable eyes reveal a touch of concern, a rare vulnerability of his that surfaces only in response to Lucian's unraveling emotions.

Eventually, he decides to break the silence. "I understand," he responds, a low, steady cadence. The room envelops them in a quiet intensity, heightened by the soft hum of rain outside. Howl's dark gaze remains fixed on the tumult within Lucian's expression, flickering now with a blend of understanding and a trace of sadness.

With the subtle grace of a shadow, Howl eases away from the wall, crossing the room in a few long strides. The floorboards gently creak underfoot as he rounds the coffee table and settles into the space next to Lucian on the couch.

“Oh, Lulu, you have nothing to apologize for,” Howl says, his voice a quiet reassurance. "Missing someone is never silly. It's just human." His gaze shifts once more to the paintings. Each brushstroke seems to capture a moment frozen in time, immortalizing a love that has since been lost. For a moment, he wonders if the woman in those paintings is currently experiencing something similar. If she, too, was as wrought by a longing so deep it sought to cloud all sense of rational thought as the one sitting next to him now. “Sometimes, the past has a way of catching up with us. It doesn't make you weak to feel its weight."

A moment of silence passes before Howl turns the conversation, as if gently steering a battered ship into quieter waters. “Do you want to tell me a little bit about her?”

@❛ ? » howl lee ashwood。 Never before that fateful night, wherein Lucian laid destruction to his own life, had he succumbed to neediness. He, who held onto pride white-knuckled, clawing upon its edges until destitution oppressed him into submission, into seeming as weak as he did, to a helping hand. Howl had seen him amid absolute calamity. Vulnerable, impotent. He had seen him in sooty corners and dodgy London alleyways, a criminal in pathetic deprivation. It was the first night he had chosen to cast his pride aside and implore, deeply, deeply implore any form of aid. From that moment onwards, Howl never failed him. Never gave him reason to plead, nor scrape to survive.

He was a brother Lucian neither deserved nor could repay. Particularly at the speed with which he came to his aid, ever willing to drop the world at that distinctive cry for help. Yet, the more Lucian thought of his cause for distress tonight, the less significant it all seemed to appear to him. He was tremendously ashamed, to be affected so painfully by the mere sight of a woman so elusive. “I—“ Was the only syllable to slip past his lips for a few moments, exhaling dejectedly before he resumed. “My— ex lover. I haven’t seen her in many years. She was there at the arena tonight. At least I think she was." His gaze met Howl's with furrowed brows, rubbing at his forehead to quieten his racing thoughts. "I know I haven't exactly forgotten her." With a certain degree of irony, he motioned towards the paintings, as though they were a testimony to his lingering love. "But seeing her brought everything back. It's like I've been holding myself together with a thin thread and it just snapped." Frustration laced itself in his strained voice, giving way to emotions long suppressed. Following Liena's departure, he was far too agitated to concentrate and Luminara had lost, sustaining grave injuries from the battle. He was thus sent home, exasperated and lost in thought. "I'm sorry Owlie, this seems quite silly. I just— miss her."

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@❛ ? » lucian hwang。 It isn't very often that Howl receives a message from Lucian. His phone's alert cuts through the eerie aftermath of his latest job. At his feet, his latest victim lies in a mangled heap, struggling to breathe through failing lungs.

Howl glances at his phone, the screen casting a cold glow on the cruel detachment etched across his features. As his eyes scan over the message, however, his expression briefly falters, brows furrowing in concern. The panicked unease of that message is like a warning siren.

His response is a swift one, fingers dancing across the screen with the same cold efficiency as that of the killing curse. The victim extends a trembling hand, desperately reaching out for mercy. Unmoved, he crushes their hand beneath the heel of his boot before he turns away and disapparates. Their dying plea hangs in the air like a haunting melody.

Navigating through the dark currents of magic, Howl arrives at Lucian's apartment. The door swings open without a sound, revealing the gallery of portraits within. Recognition sparks in Howl's eyes as he looks upon them. These portraits, all of them, depict the face of a woman he is quite familiar with. At the far edge of the room, he finds Lucian collapsed on the sofa. A troubled frown makes a home for itself on his lips.

"It isn't very often that I receive a message from you. And for you to sound so frantic? This isn’t just a casual social call.” Howl rests himself against the nearest wall and crosses his arms. "What happened?"

@❛ ? » howl lee ashwood。 In soft, steady thuds, rain fell upon the translucent surface of his shielding charm. What began as a patchy drizzle, swiftly escalated into a consistent pour, dripping down the rim of his umbrella and onto the wet ground. Lucian had sought to reflect on the path home, rather than simply apparate within the apartment. Only, his stream of thought was exacerbated by the downpour, mirroring its bullet-like quality with flashes of invading memory. It was a moment, a few blinks of the eye which left his mind plagued in their wake. The more he thought of it, the less certain he was of his own sanity. Perhaps she was a mere vision, a fabrication of the mind. Perhaps such a deduction was a form of alleviation. It was certainly easier to swallow than witnessing her after three years, unwilling to acknowledge him.

Amidst the misty rain, his head grew hazy. In the perturbation of his troubled state, Lucian contacted the only person he could turn to in times of need. His chest felt as though it was on the brink of caving in, unable to take a painless breath. And he could, could flee these emotions and the countless recollections of her exquisite face and stupid smile. But his apartment, in complete likeness to his mind, was full of it. Paintings and sketches and pages, loaded with the irrepressible presence of his past lover. "Good lord, have mercy on me." He whispered under his breath, collapsing on the sofa with shut eyes and a palm covering them.