Glory and Gore

Love and Affection

Natsu watched the girl talk, watched the way she paid extreme attention when Gajeel spoke. He blinked, carefully watching how her expression twisted from curious interest into a bright smile. He watched the way her lips twisted up, watched the way she clasped her hands together as she laughed.

Mostly, he watched the calculation in her eyes. She was planning it all—it was a perfectly executed act. And maybe she wasn't aware of it, but that's what it was—an act. She read the room before her and thought before she spoke, before she moved—each laugh was careful, each twist of her body and smirk flashing across her lips was careful.

She was smart. A journalist. She knew how to get answers, knew how to say things and get what she wanted. And she could light up her eyes and flick her wrist and move her lips in just the right way, just the right way to get people to trust her and believe her. So she could get what she wanted.

He wasn't an idiot. He knew better. He knew it was an act—because he'd been taught the same thing. How to speak, how to ask questions, how to pry information out of someone. It wasn't the same for him—he couldn't flash a smile and earn someone's trust, but he could crack their skull and make them bleed until they gave him what he wanted.

They weren't that different, him and this girl. Completely opposite, from different worlds. But at the same time, similar.

They'd been kicked out of the medical ward. The nurses had heard them all talking and laughing and booted them out, saying that Natsu was medicated enough to handle the pain in the comfort of his own room. But, of course, he knew better than to believe them—he could see the anxiety in their eyes when they looked at Lucy. They didn't trust the outsider, just like the rest of the brotherhood didn't.

They didn't approve of outsiders. Especially not ones found on the floor of the shadows' home base.

So, they'd left, and began wandering the halls of the iceberg. And it felt easy, like this, just the three of them—it felt like they were normal. Like they were kids ditching school, just spending time together.

Natsu tried to suffocate the happiness in his lungs. Because something like this—feeling free, feeling normal—was something he'd thought of his entire life.

They walked around for hours, talking about nothing in particular. It was late—late enough that they rarely encountered other members. And when they did, the members would give Natsu a nod—because he was Salamander, their future king—and gave Lucy strange, untrusting looks. She pretended not to notice, and the boys didn't mention anything.

Salamander was quiet. He listened to Gajeel and Lucy talk, occasionally chiming in or laughing at what they were saying. He couldn't help it—there was something awkward in his bones, something uncomfortable that he didn't want to address.

He seemed hesitant—shy, maybe—after revealing such intimate details of his own past. He didn't appear to be comfortable with sharing information like that; even hours after he'd said it, he seemed to shift funny in his seat like he couldn't bear it.

Because he couldn't. His entire life, everyone had been in on the secret. His rough childhood, being pushed so hard by his father, being pushed to be the best—everyone in the brotherhood had witnessed it, but didn't dare speak up because any words spoken against Igneel would end in death. The brotherhood watched Natsu slowly become what Igneel wanted, slowly watched him become a cold hearted killer. They slowly watched him become Salamander.

But out of the entire brotherhood, there was only one person that Natsu had ever talked to about it. He'd made one single friend, one person he could be honest with. He trusted one single person, and that was it.