i'm the only one who'll walk across a fire for you. || warrick

[Ellyse]

Ellyse

I'm the only one who will walk across a fire for you.

it's only fear that makes you run, the demons that you're hiding from.

  He was different.

  With any other, she might not have the patience, nor the wherewithal to withstand the ache in his chest, the melancholy glimmer in his eyes – the trembling of his tight and rigid muscle, unbending and unyielding even beneath the warmth of her touch. Yet with him, she is quiet, gentle – as much as she is able while in possession of a short fuse, a hot temper and a sharp wit – but alas, it is almost impossible for her to feel any ire with him (small bursts of frustration aside).

  Though he is a fragile and broken thing, he does not attempt to sheath it in a cloak of strength, nor does he feign indifference to his own anguish and grief – and it coaxes out a deep, primal instinct to protect him. Even as his dark mouth presses against the gold of her cheek, her mind is elsewhere (though only for a moment – the way his lips touch the crease where her neck and her jaw meet nearly causes her knees to buckle), wondering to what depth his heartache is felt.

  She does not press him, not now – the moonlight is soft and gentle, bathing their skin beneath a glimmering, celestial sky, and his breath is warm against her cheek, and his presence is enough. Where doubt and uncertainty had lingered moments ago, now lay a longing deeper than she had felt in so long – a longing for his comfort, for the solace of his company, and she does not shy away from it.

  Gently, she presses her mouth to his jaw line (the faintest semblance of a kiss) before the long bridge of her nose tucks itself beneath the crook of his jaw, lifting his head up towards the dark, but glittering sky above. Quietly, her own gaze searches the constellations with him, while idly her teeth tug and pull at a haphazard knot entangled with his tousled tresses. Her tears are dried with the tepid warmth of evenfall, or caught by the stray threads of his mane – where they hang precariously before dribbling off onto the dry soil below.

  Her heart is warm, and whole beside him – she had not felt it in so long, and it is an emotion that is almost difficult to swallow. She can feel the thrumming of his pulse just below her eyes, and for a moment, her breath is held still within the broad expanse of her longs – just listening. His breathing is still ragged, and not mellow like her own, but she touches another soft, feather-light kiss to his throat, knowing all too well that she shouldn’t.

  She shouldn’t.

  I’m not asking you to love me, and she wouldn’t.

  I need you, too, he softly says, and that is enough for her.

  Beneath a starlit sky, they stand - each of their breathing slowly leveling into a soothing rhythm, and their heartbeats beating in time.

  You are my anchor, and he is hers, with you I will not become lost at sea.

  And neither will she.

when all your promises are gone, I'm the only one.

@[Warrick]