3.1 | six ways to sunday ✓

09

RECOVERY IS A SLOW PROCESS. It's a bit draining on his human body (the Inner Court deemed it fair for Julian to remain in this weaker form until the wounds closed), and Clarke thinks he's going fucking crazy as he feels anxiety wake beneath his skin.

Yesterday morning, Julian had knocked on their door, and Clarke had flung it wide open with his heartbeat stuck in his throat only to see the angel absolutely drenched in blood. Even as a human, Julian's blood was darker than most, a hint of silver mixed in almost as if his angelic side demanded to be seen by the outside world. There were gashes all along his thigh, a patterned cut carved into his side, pretty fingernails ripped and torn at the tops; sweat matted his glorious curls to the nape of his neck, a watery tragedy underneath a thin veil of glistening snow. Clarke hadn't had time to think—just dropped to his knees and felt the tears stream down his face because this was his husband—his angel—and all he could think about was how much pain Julian was suffering and how he looked so beautiful even then and how he couldn't stop it—couldn't stop the torture.

He couldn't stop it. Couldn't.

He washes the dishes a little harder, hands almost burning underneath the hot temperature of their faucet. June's currently sleeping next to Julian in his bedroom, but Clarke knows she has to leave for work soon, and he's both dreading and preparing for her exit all at once. The words from the day before wash over him, all broken words and delicate stutters of breath: "I'm looking for Clarke Del Rosario—my husband? Maybe you might know him. He's prettier than all of the daisies in our garden and so, so handsome that sometimes, I think I'm dreaming. When he smiles, there's a single dimple that pops out on his cheek, and if you kiss him, he'll make you never want to stop. My husband feels like velvet and honey, and I love him. I'm so in love with him that it hurts."

Clarke drops the cup he currently holds and feels his throat close up, the realization that Julian loves him back too much to handle. He figures he isn't worth loving if Julian has to go through that punishment again, and Clarke doesn't understand how Kit manages to stay so strong even as Soren's punished to walk through Hell to atone for his sins. He's not sure if... he's not sure if he's able to watch Julian cough up blood and wipe it away only to smile and say I'm okay, I'm really okay, angel.

He's not okay. Far from it.

"Clarke," he hears June whisper from the hallway, hair tied up as she walks over and snags a bagel he toasted for her before slipping on her shoes. "Clarke, I have work, okay? I have to go, but I'll race back soon after my shift ends." The girl comes over and gives him a hug, slender arms a comforting weight against his shoulders. "He's okay," she tells him, voice sounding like summer. "He's been asking for you, you know. Why don't you go in?"

Something in him cracks. "When did you grow up so fast?" the demon whispers, tucking back a strand of hair and smoothing it down. "I don't remember any of it."

She kisses his cheek. "I'm going now," June laughs, squeezing his hand as she tells him she loves him so much and that he's so strong and he's so brave, and Clarke hangs his head because he's none of those things. "Please eat something, Clarke. It looks like you're wasting away."

He hugs her one more time and lingers for a bit, reminiscing on the times where the girl who saved her life didn't have to work and instead climbed into his bed asking for waffles with too much maple syrup.

He breathes in, out, and closes his eyes.

Clarke lets go.

***

After ten minutes, he convinces himself to stop avoiding literally every single problem and walks into Julian's room, eyes instinctively running over the thick, white bandages to check if they're in need of changing.