06-09-2021, 08:39 PM
She is glad when he doesn’t or can’t finish his sentence about where his children live, and maybe it is purely selfish but she does not press him to continue. Maybe a friend would have encouraged him with a warm smile and bright eyes, but she is made of neither of those things, and in her friendship she only has her flaws to share with him. She doesn’t want to think about someone who is his and while it isn’t entirely jealousy that aches inside her chest, it is still something she shies from, something she refuses to look into the eyes of lest it recognize exactly who she is and who she isn’t.
In the quiet that follows his half explanation, she tries very hard not to look over at him. She isn’t sure if it’s because there is something written in the contrast of her too-quiet eyes that she does not want him to find, or if it’s because she does not want to see the softness in his expression that comes from missing someone you love. But when his wing catches and a curse falls from his lips, she cannot help but to glance sideways at him and make sure he’s okay. It is the expression on his face that stills her tongue though, one she has seen on her own reflection on the days where she is lost in the turmoil of wondering at the goodness of her own heart. If she is good like her mother or wrong like her father. It is pain and understanding, and she wonders without asking, if this is the shade loathing takes when it settles on his face, or if it is just hers.
It is too intimate a thing to ask, though, and so instead she reaches out wordlessly to touch her lips to his neck in silent understanding of what it is to wear storm clouds forever in your eyes.
I’ve never met a no one before. He says a while later, and she is not unaware of the teasing in his tone or the way his eyes flush brighter. “How lucky for you that I’m your first.” She says back, and though she is not quite as deft as he is at this, there is still some secret laughter shining mutely in her mismatched gaze.
She does not understand that he wants her name, cannot fathom a single reason why anyone would ever think they’d like to know her.
“You’re welcome.” She says, but the acknowledgement makes her feel uncomfortable, and it’s even worse when he alludes to what might have happened if she hadn’t been in the right place at the right time. “I got lucky.” She says, and she’s trying to brush off the attention his gratitude brings because she doesn’t want him to notice the pain in her face as she considers what that other outcome might have been like. If she came too late, came to a body already cold and empty. If she had never met this male with summer green eyes and laughter in the lines of his face. It is a physical kind of pain that makes it hard to breathe.
“I need,” but she cuts off again, looking not at his face but up into the sky as though it isn’t dark and there are constellations she can trace like paths across a midnight kingdom. “I need to never have to know how much darker this world could be without you in it.” She says it with such quiet, with such unspoken pain in her eyes that when she looks back at him his presence is a relief she cannot explain. “That’s all I need. Just keep yourself safe, yeah?” She hates this ache inside her chest, this yearning to step closer in the dark and learn what it is to find comfort in the curve of his shoulder, to know what it would feel like to matter to someone as good as him. Is this how her father felt about her mother? Probably, because that had been something doomed, too.
“You did more for me than you know.” She says, and her voice is the quiet of summer nights, of cool air whispering against the underbellies of leaves in the greenest trees. But she does not elaborate further, doesn’t even pause to look at him, to see if his face changes at her strange confession. “Thank you, Nashua.”
In the quiet that follows his half explanation, she tries very hard not to look over at him. She isn’t sure if it’s because there is something written in the contrast of her too-quiet eyes that she does not want him to find, or if it’s because she does not want to see the softness in his expression that comes from missing someone you love. But when his wing catches and a curse falls from his lips, she cannot help but to glance sideways at him and make sure he’s okay. It is the expression on his face that stills her tongue though, one she has seen on her own reflection on the days where she is lost in the turmoil of wondering at the goodness of her own heart. If she is good like her mother or wrong like her father. It is pain and understanding, and she wonders without asking, if this is the shade loathing takes when it settles on his face, or if it is just hers.
It is too intimate a thing to ask, though, and so instead she reaches out wordlessly to touch her lips to his neck in silent understanding of what it is to wear storm clouds forever in your eyes.
I’ve never met a no one before. He says a while later, and she is not unaware of the teasing in his tone or the way his eyes flush brighter. “How lucky for you that I’m your first.” She says back, and though she is not quite as deft as he is at this, there is still some secret laughter shining mutely in her mismatched gaze.
She does not understand that he wants her name, cannot fathom a single reason why anyone would ever think they’d like to know her.
“You’re welcome.” She says, but the acknowledgement makes her feel uncomfortable, and it’s even worse when he alludes to what might have happened if she hadn’t been in the right place at the right time. “I got lucky.” She says, and she’s trying to brush off the attention his gratitude brings because she doesn’t want him to notice the pain in her face as she considers what that other outcome might have been like. If she came too late, came to a body already cold and empty. If she had never met this male with summer green eyes and laughter in the lines of his face. It is a physical kind of pain that makes it hard to breathe.
“I need,” but she cuts off again, looking not at his face but up into the sky as though it isn’t dark and there are constellations she can trace like paths across a midnight kingdom. “I need to never have to know how much darker this world could be without you in it.” She says it with such quiet, with such unspoken pain in her eyes that when she looks back at him his presence is a relief she cannot explain. “That’s all I need. Just keep yourself safe, yeah?” She hates this ache inside her chest, this yearning to step closer in the dark and learn what it is to find comfort in the curve of his shoulder, to know what it would feel like to matter to someone as good as him. Is this how her father felt about her mother? Probably, because that had been something doomed, too.
“You did more for me than you know.” She says, and her voice is the quiet of summer nights, of cool air whispering against the underbellies of leaves in the greenest trees. But she does not elaborate further, doesn’t even pause to look at him, to see if his face changes at her strange confession. “Thank you, Nashua.”
ILLUMINAE
we can't dream when we're awake,
or fall in love with a heart too strong to break
@[Nashua]