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Thomas buried his nose in Justine’s white-blonde hair. “You know,” he mumbled, and dropped off talking. Instead, he inhaled her scent, simply breathing her in.
Justine cuddled into his arm, volume on the TV muted once Thomas had joined her on the couch. She wanted that; to hear his heartbeat. “My love, I’d like to imagine I can know everything in your mind, but I don’t think I do,” she said. She loved hearing him talk, and so needing to actually communicate was no bother.
“They say that a white court vampire with a soulmate is cursed,” Thomas replied. His voice had gone distant.
Justine snorted. “Of course they do.”
Thomas hugged her tighter against his side. “Do you ever . . . regret. That we’re not.”
His voice had gone soft, gentle. So as to not spook her, his human partner.
“Do I ever regret that you’re supernaturally repelled by love, my love?” Justine returned. She had zero shirts with short sleeves that she’d wear while here in Thomas’ apartment. The risk of her touch burning him, like sunlight would other vampires, was enough to turn her stomach.
Thomas waited patiently for her answer, stroking her arm above a layer of fabric.
“Not at all. My name may not be on your body, the sight of me doesn’t add more colors to your life,” and what a bunch the white court were, always seeing things in monochromatic shades of black, grey, white. And shining silver when their hunger saw something it could consume. “We’re not tied together by some vibrant and never faltering string that only we two can see. But I know you love me anyway.
“And,” Justine added, voice gone softer than Thomas’ low baritone, “you were free to grow up without another burden on your shoulders. Without a target. I could never regret that.”
It was Thomas’ turn to laugh in disbelief, the sound restrained. “Oh, believe me. If I had had a soulmate, all my siblings would have all too readily disregarded me as a real threat. It would’ve been brilliant. Even Lara would have been so incautious.” There was genuine longing in her lover's voice. Growing up with those piranhas, swimming in a different tank than them must’ve been appealing.
Justine, ever so lightly and with hope that Thomas would see the parallel, asked him: “Do you regret it, then?” She closed her eyes, wanting to catch every nuance of her answer and the bright colors from the television occasionally hurting her eyes.
“Never.”
“Then we’re bound together by choice.” There was a smile that Justine could hear in her own words, stronger even than the determined and stony resolution that had accompanied Thomas’ one word.
Love was a soft thing, a thing of comfort. One just had to decide to take it.