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It is the end of the world, and Eda is in love.
It’s something that veers sporadically between a minorly inconvenient pang rattling around her ribcage and an Actual Problem that could have Actual Ramifications on this very crucial mission.
But wild hearts have never really had a thing for timeliness or reading the room, and she is no tame thing, even now. And Raine is a lovely as ever, in all ways. Softer than they used to be, somehow, but then again, Eda is too. Age has been kind to the two of them, harsh at times, but gentle too. They are tougher for it and kinder for it, she bets.
Luz would go starry-eyed and call it sweet. She’d say something silly about destiny and the Great Witch Azura (she loves a backstory story). Luz would tell her to go for it too, with that determination she carries like a torch in an outstretched arm. And she’d cite herself and her little girlfriend as evidence of gutsiness paying off, as if Eda isn’t the one who prodded her towards actually asking Amity out in the first place.
But Luz is young still, and innocent. And Eda wouldn’t change that, of course, but her vision is clearer. She knows there’s a ticking clock at their backs, and that the lives of every person in the Boiling Isles are more important than Eda’s annoyingly persistent urge to shove Raine against a wall and kiss them.
Speaking of, Raine stands beside her, resting their chin on their hand, staring out at the sky and occasionally Eda, though they both pretend not to notice that second part.
“Long ride,” Eda says, attempting to sound nonchalant despite the thrum of nerves humming along with her pulse.
Raine looks at her indiscernibly. “Yeah.” They chew their lip in the silence. The wind blows Eda’s hair back, makes the tips of her ears cold. She doesn’t know what to say. There isn’t anything she can say, really. This is too huge, even for them. She feels like a fire bee facing down a titan.
She feels small.
“You know,” Raine says, voice pushing gently through the quiet. Their hands rest inches apart and Eda for the life of her cannot stop thinking about it. “That human kid of yours is something else.”
“Luz?” She relaxes a bit, loosens up. Her kids are easy to talk about, even as her stomach turns with worry for them. “Yeah, she’s great. Did you know she discovered glyph magic all on her own?” She brags without thought. “Creative little thing.”
Raine gives her a soft look. “You’ve mentioned.”
She bristles. “I suppose I do talk about her a lot.”
“It’s funny,” Raine cocks their head to the side, their eyes tracing her. “I never pictured you as a mother.”
“Titan,” Eda puffs a laugh, turns her face to the horizon, hazy blue and pink. “I didn’t either. When we were kids, every future I imagined had you and Lilith in it, and essentially no one else,” she admits, cheeks getting a bit hot. She runs a hand through her hair. “I never thought I’d be responsible enough to care for other people, I couldn’t even care for myself.”
“I think you’re doing a pretty good job,” Raine says quietly, like they’re thinking of something. “She’s a good kid.”
Eda smiles. “The best.”
Raine hums thoughtfully (even their voice is beautiful, Eda thinks helplessly, even lost in thought they make music). “You talk more than you used to,” they say, catching her off guard.
She raises an eyebrow. “What do you mean?”
“Just that,” Raine meets her eyes. “When we were younger, you’d always shut me out.”
She blinks.
Here’s something about Eda: She is very used to being alone.
There are years after Lilith and Raine, before King and Luz and every other bright thing that buzzes around her house these days.
There are years of Eda by herself, heaving from nightmares and coughing up feathers, wrapping her arms around her body and refusing to cry.
It was better that way, that’s what she always thought. If you run, they can’t run first. If you take care of yourself, you’re not just a thing to be worried about.
She knows more now than she used to. Luz and King dragged her away from the loathing and the hiding.
But change doesn’t make the past go away.
“I guess I was pretty good at that,” she laughs, edging on hollowness.
Raine is looking at her again, with that twist to their mouth. “Things have changed, though,” they point out.
“Yeah,” she flips her wrist and looks at the sigil pressed into it. “A lot of things.”
“But not all of them.” They bump their shoulder against Eda’s, half playful. “Right?”
Eda smiles a bit, feeling airy and heavy in the same moment. “Right.”
Raine turns away from her, out towards the clouds. Their face is painted the color of the sky, a mirror catching its reflection. And they’re right. Things are different. But not all of them.
All at once, Eda’s choking on words.
When I met you, there were years where I thought I’d never breathe easy again, she thinks, looking and looking and looking at Raine. There’s been a knot in my chest since you first shook my hand. My sister told me I made of fool of myself just to get you to look at me, but I told her it was worth it to meet your eyes. And I’m a wreck, publicly, I’m a mess and everyone knows it. But you’re here, after everything, as the world we live in corrodes.
We were seventeen when you kissed me.
But there’s nothing she can bring herself to say. Her lips can’t part, her jaw is frozen shut.
So she just stares holes into Raine, silently. She’s never been as brave as she boasts. Her strength is thin and make-believe. She’s a coward in almost all ways. She just looks at them and hopes that they understand, through some act of mercy from the Titan.
“What are you looking at, dingus?” Raine says, like an echo of themself.
“I—“ Eda stutters. “You.”
Their face goes screwy. “Why would you—“ they blink. “Oh,” they say dumbly. “Oh.”
Eda chuckles dazedly. Because Raine gets it. And maybe now isn’t really the time, but that makes nothing any different.
Their eyes go ever-so-slightly wider and their cheeks go ever-so-slightly pinker.
“Eda,” they say, like her name is melting in their mouth, like the world around them is jagged and cruel and even the ground beneath their feet is uneven and quaking, because it is. But they stand here despite it, and they are together.
Raine takes her hand, laces their fingers together carefully.
It is the end of the world and Eda is in love.
And maybe that isn’t some horrible thing, maybe it’s one of the only good things to come out of this whole mess. Maybe she’s being handed things to fight for, and to hold onto. It’s Luz and King, of course, inherently. And it’s Hooty and all of his ridiculous antics. And it’s Lilith who she’s spent her whole life fighting for.
And it’s the bend of Raine’s mouth, the curve of their jaw, the way they still laugh like they used to, and make Eda laugh like she used to. Raine and their pretty hair and their selflessness.
Raine’s eyebrows knit together. “Eda,” they start, “Are you sure—”
“Course I am,” she says. “Do I ever do anything I don’t want to?” She teases.
Raine gives her a flat look, runs a thumb over the inside of her wrist. “You’ve got a sigil mark.”
“Only for you, Rainestorm,” she says. “You and the world.” Her throat is tight and she can’t make out why. But she can make out the way Raine’s whole face softens. The way they sigh, long and slow, and reach out to hold her face.
For a moment, they breathe. She shuts her eyes.
They kiss her like no time has passed at all.
Now, they are nose to nose, and the air smells like salt and wind. Eda’s heart is racing and full.
“Eda,” Raine’s voice is low, their thumb brushes over Eda’s cheek, “I—”
“Save it.” She says. “Tell me when this is over, okay?” Her eyes feel stingy. Raine glances down.
“Okay.”
It’s the end of the world and Eda is in love.
And the sky is white and scattered with rubble.
She doesn’t know where her kids are, and the thought clogs her throat, fills her eyes.
There is a voice booming in the air, warping and echoing.
Beyond them there is an expanse of bodies.
And Raine is. Well.
(They’re breathing, at least, their head resting in Eda’s lap. Their skin is cracked and duly glowing. She presses her forehead against theirs).
She doesn’t know.