02-17-2017, 12:17 AM
He does not react at all to the sound of her voice, to the pressure of her mouth against his chest, his shoulder, his neck. Even when she curls against the curve of his broad chest, he is as still as stone, like carved and gleaming obsidian against the wet gold of the shore. Doubt finds her immediately, tracing long, cold fingers down the length of her spine and deeper, peeling apart a network of veins that carry ice and uncertainty to the deepest parts of her soul. Had he forgotten her after all? Maybe he remembered that night like a dream, fondly and with the echo of a smile, though with no more weight than any other dream.
Her heart thrashed within her chest, caught and terrified like a small bird within the confines of that ugly bone cage. Of course he wouldn’t remember her still, wouldn’t bury his lips in her hair and soothe away the beasts that hunted her each night in her dreams. It had been just one night, one single lonely stretch of dark beneath even lonelier stars.
She flushed, embarrassed, and then pulled away from him.
When he does finally break the stillness, it is not with words, not with lips pressed to the curve of her waiting jaw. Instead he drops his head over her neck and she is confused until she feels the heat of his breath against the mostly healed wound carved into the blue of her neck. Confused that he had found it so easily, so deliberately. Luster. He says and she flinches, startled by the sound of a voice she had been aching for, and she slips out from underneath him with reluctant ease. When her eyes lift to his face, they are dark and wary and full of bruises, enormous glass windows ready to break. How did you know? Those eyes ask, furrowed and uncertain, changed, though she wonders if he will notice.
He shifts to stand beside her, and for one long, glorious moment she is at home again, safe and content within the crook of his dark body. But doubt is ruinous and it is treacherous, and she only remains there for as long as it takes to find the will to leave him. He doesn’t remember you like you remember him. The thought is like acid on her tongue, fire in her throat and she is choking on the truth. She comes to stand a few paces away, close enough to reach out and touch – though she does not, and neither does he. Despite the agony within her breast, the bird that is still beating itself to death within the cage of her chest, her eyes are soft and round and tremulous when they settle apologetically against his face.
“I didn’t mean to intrude.” She says, so soft and quiet, in a voice like shattered silver despite the way she tries to be brave. “I just needed to make sure you were okay.” Her eyes drop from his face, from deep hollows and long lines of strong bone, a stoic expression she had memorized so perfectly she was certain she could draw it in the stars. It didn’t matter that he did not care for her as she had grown to care for him, that he hardly reacted when she curled against his chest and pressed kisses to his skin. It would not change her desire to stay and protect him – he, who is trapped inside and with no walls to keep him safe.
Her eyes return quietly to his face, soft and tentative and with none of the demanding that they had ached with when she first found him lost and gazing at the reflections in the water. “I needed you to know that I keep my promises.” A pause and she does reach out to touch him, traces those pale lips along the curve of his jaw because she is weak and she is broken and he is the best balm she knows. When she pulls away again it is with a quiet sigh, an aching sound, the sound a heart must make when it is torn in two as hers is now. But she hides it with the gentle furrowing of her dark brow, poorly, and with a smile that does not quite fit the shape of that pale, delicate mouth. She had meant to tell him that she would be staying, that Sylva was home, that morning would no longer be a thing that inspired dread. But it feels altogether unimportant now, silly, and so she locks the information away in her chest and turns to go. Then, hesitating, "It was good to see you again, Stillwater."
Her heart thrashed within her chest, caught and terrified like a small bird within the confines of that ugly bone cage. Of course he wouldn’t remember her still, wouldn’t bury his lips in her hair and soothe away the beasts that hunted her each night in her dreams. It had been just one night, one single lonely stretch of dark beneath even lonelier stars.
She flushed, embarrassed, and then pulled away from him.
When he does finally break the stillness, it is not with words, not with lips pressed to the curve of her waiting jaw. Instead he drops his head over her neck and she is confused until she feels the heat of his breath against the mostly healed wound carved into the blue of her neck. Confused that he had found it so easily, so deliberately. Luster. He says and she flinches, startled by the sound of a voice she had been aching for, and she slips out from underneath him with reluctant ease. When her eyes lift to his face, they are dark and wary and full of bruises, enormous glass windows ready to break. How did you know? Those eyes ask, furrowed and uncertain, changed, though she wonders if he will notice.
He shifts to stand beside her, and for one long, glorious moment she is at home again, safe and content within the crook of his dark body. But doubt is ruinous and it is treacherous, and she only remains there for as long as it takes to find the will to leave him. He doesn’t remember you like you remember him. The thought is like acid on her tongue, fire in her throat and she is choking on the truth. She comes to stand a few paces away, close enough to reach out and touch – though she does not, and neither does he. Despite the agony within her breast, the bird that is still beating itself to death within the cage of her chest, her eyes are soft and round and tremulous when they settle apologetically against his face.
“I didn’t mean to intrude.” She says, so soft and quiet, in a voice like shattered silver despite the way she tries to be brave. “I just needed to make sure you were okay.” Her eyes drop from his face, from deep hollows and long lines of strong bone, a stoic expression she had memorized so perfectly she was certain she could draw it in the stars. It didn’t matter that he did not care for her as she had grown to care for him, that he hardly reacted when she curled against his chest and pressed kisses to his skin. It would not change her desire to stay and protect him – he, who is trapped inside and with no walls to keep him safe.
Her eyes return quietly to his face, soft and tentative and with none of the demanding that they had ached with when she first found him lost and gazing at the reflections in the water. “I needed you to know that I keep my promises.” A pause and she does reach out to touch him, traces those pale lips along the curve of his jaw because she is weak and she is broken and he is the best balm she knows. When she pulls away again it is with a quiet sigh, an aching sound, the sound a heart must make when it is torn in two as hers is now. But she hides it with the gentle furrowing of her dark brow, poorly, and with a smile that does not quite fit the shape of that pale, delicate mouth. She had meant to tell him that she would be staying, that Sylva was home, that morning would no longer be a thing that inspired dread. But it feels altogether unimportant now, silly, and so she locks the information away in her chest and turns to go. Then, hesitating, "It was good to see you again, Stillwater."