Rumor Hasn't

"It\'s about time you were home."

"I don\'t want to hear it."

"You\'ve been gone nearly all day – "

"And I\'ve been busy. There is no discussion here."

"Cerulean – "

"Don\'t. Don\'t call me that."

"It\'s your name isn\'t it?"

"A name," he corrected, standing up. The table was bare, the seats were simple. "Not my name. Not any longer."

"You can\'t cast it away that easily!"

He turned, his hands stopping inches away from her face. "And what would you know?" he demanded. "All you have ever carried was a title; have you never wished to cast it off yourself? Have you ever wanted to be alive?" He began to pace, legs stretching and contracting, carrying him back and forth across the kitchen. "You\'ve never wanted to shake loose the chains; or if you once did, you\'ve since lost the drive. What ambitions carry you now? There is nothing for you – nothing for anyone in this life! Why throw time away on monotony?"

Her hands were warm on his arm as she caught at him. "There is something here for everyone," she soothed. "Cerulean – "

"Don\'t call me that!"

Nails dug into his wrists. "It\'s your name," she hissed back, voice lowered and angry. "I\'ll call you it until the day you\'re through, just as you will call me by mine. Get used to it."

"Let me go," he growled back. "I am not going to listen to your lies. It\'s not my name – I gave it up years ago, and you know it."

"I know nothing of the sort," came the expected retort.

He spun and struck, open palm connecting with her arm. It would bruise, he supposed, but there were things more important than small injuries. There were things that were better to focus on. For too long, in his own opinion, he had born the name \'Cerulean\'. For too long, there had been a niche carved out of the stone, one he was expected to fit in, and so he had done as all expected, and followed his Clan\'s steps. Father, brother, grandfather, cousin. The whole clan of leaders, rivals, fighters and peacemakers. And now this…because he could no longer exist as he was.

"I\'m leaving you," he said softly, pulling her into his arms and holding her close. She fought him, but only halfheartedly. "I\'m never coming home again. Will you miss me?"

"What kind of question is that?" Her voice was rife with tears. "Of course I\'ll miss you. But you will come back one day, won\'t you? You have to come back."

"I can\'t promise it," he said gently, softly, running his fingertips under her chin to tilt it up, pushing her back from him slightly so her face was visible. "I will try – you know I will…I\'d never abandon you willingly - but I cannot make any promises to you."

"When?"

"When what?" he asked softly, running fingers over the skin of her cheeks.

"When do you leave?"

"I\'m already gone," he murmured. "You missed it…I left when you started screaming."

She shook her head. "When?" she pressed, and closed her eyes for a moment to ward against tears. When she opened them, he was gone, but phantom hands still seemed to rest on her skin, holding her close.

I leave you, his voice whispered. Don\'t forget.