It's a feeling we always chase

Maea

And time it waits for no one
It heals them when you die

His voice was quiet when he spoke, but not more than she could hear. Because he was the one who had supernatural hearing, and Maea wondered for the first time what it stemmed from. His shifts? Some other uncanny ability? That earring he had claimed to be special, that she never inquired further about? They had been floating in the sea that time, and her mind had been on all the places where their bodies connected. Now... It screamed of all the places where they were apart.

She swallowed. The things he said... they were sweet, and warm, and made her feel like such an ass. For a long time she lay quiet, back still turned, the silence like armor to shield her soul... then she sighed softly. And when she finally spoke, her voice was quite small.

"I'm thinking... that all I really want is to be here. Yet... I'm scared to be, too. Because... what if I start to believe in the pretend, and think that everything is alright again? And then tomorrow... it wont be, and it will hurt.

"I'm thinking... that I don't know why I keep trying to control how things go, when I have no power to change anything. Does it even matter what I want, when I won't get it?"

Maea felt stiff, frozen in place. Wanted to turn, to look at him, but her body did not obey the silent wishes of her mind.

And soon you are forgotten
A whisper within a sigh

SUNJATA

the flood

anyway, you say you're too busy
saving everybody else to save yourself

Gods the silence. The tension is there and he can almost feel it rebounding, some small pit of regret yawning within his chest. And for a second, he debates just giving her the bed, sleeping at the foot of it in his panther form like he had done once before. Or perhaps the couch — anything to get that silence out of the forefront of his mind.

But then she speaks, and when she does he turns his head from the ceiling to look back at her back. And he understands, perhaps it was foolish of him to have admitted what he wanted, though it was already known. But when she talks about trying to change things, how it doesn’t matter what she wants, he turns his head back to the ceiling.

“Of course it matters what you want.” He offers quietly, softly. “But it also matters what other people want. And sometimes you can’t change that, not right at the start.” A slight frown crosses his face to that and he closes his eyes while facing the ceiling, one arm still propped behind his head. “I’ve found that trying to control any part of my life has lead to disappointment. So I just… Don’t try to anymore.” There was little he could control, anyway. And the things he could he was thankful for. The rest? It was what it was.

and you don't want no help, oh well
that's the story to tell

Maea

And time it waits for no one
It heals them when you die

Maea knew she wasn't making this easy for him. The right thing to do would probably be to swallow all her questions and doubts, to just smile and leap in headfirst, go with the flow. Let herself get swept away by that flood amd just see where it took her, just like she wanted to. But gods, releasing that edge was so hard.

His answer didn't really help either, because it just reiterated the fact that, no, she wouldn't get her way, and no, there was no control to be had. She sucked in a deep breath, and somehow managed to turn, roll herself over on her back. Buried up to the nose in the blankets, her breathing a little choked, a little constricted... like the air just didn't get deep enough into her lungs. She stared into the darkness, to the shadowed corners... and found them foreign. Unfamiliar, like every shadow in every corner of every new room.

"Then... what's left? Fleeting moments of pretend in a lifetime of pain?" It sounded so bleak, so dark, so... empty. What of the fulfillment she'd felt in the past few weeks, when she had dreamed of a future with him? Had that all been pretend too? Just an illusion ready to burst at any moment?

"I'm sorry. I think too much," she whispered. Closed her eyes against the cold indifference of the shadows, ready to turn in on herself again. This was going nowhere.

And soon you are forgotten
A whisper within a sigh

SUNJATA

the flood

anyway, you say you're too busy
saving everybody else to save yourself

He feels her shift, dares a glance over at her before returning his gaze up to the ceiling and lets his eyes close to listen to her speak. He’s quiet for a small amount, past the apology she gives on thinking too much. And in a way, she’s right and in another way she’s completely wrong. Whatever it is currently is just… bleak, cold, unsure. So he inhales a deep breath, sighing out through his nose.

“Not always.” He begins, moving his hand to press it against his forehead and rub at his temples gently. “Life for me has a great way of taking the things I want away from me, as I’ve told you before. So I’ll pretend if I have to, to enjoy what little happiness I can get.” He lets his hand fall from his forehead to run through his hair and prop his head back up. “That doesn’t make it fair for anyone else, but it… Feels safer for me that way.” He’s lost Lusea twice, nearly broken himself each time.

What would happen if he got too close again to get burned? What then?

He doesn’t know how much of himself he has left to give for the inevitable fall.

and you don't want no help, oh well
that's the story to tell

Maea

And time it waits for no one
It heals them when you die

It made her chest ache, with some bittersweet emotion between satisfaction and gratitude, that he would find her to be the kind of happiness worth pretending for. That this... them... was something he wanted enough to run away from it, so that it wouldn't be taken. Better to leave before it broke in your hands? And he was right, it wasn't fair. Because he'd said he wanted to try, and taken her outstretched hand, and now it hurt her, to see him distance himself.

Ah, but... it helped put some perspective to her own pain, and her own fear, too. It wasn't a competition on who's woes were greater, but... if almost losing him was this bad, then how much worse was it to actually lose him? In the end, he was still there, right beside her. If she allowed herself, Maea would feel the heat radiating from him, and if she just reached out, his hand would be there. Big and warm, a little calloused and a bit scarred... but very gentle. And very real.

Something Weaver had said rose through her mind. That if he kept coming back to her, then she'd won. And it wasn't a competition, but... the ghost he was chasing was gone. And in the end, wasn't her emotions hers? The love she felt for Sunjata, the happiness when she was with him, the sadness when she was alone, even this accursed pain and fear... Was it enough, if she just controlled herself, in the end? If she gave what she could give, and accepted what he could offer, and somehow learned to accept all the rest?

She bit her lip, feeling like she was on the verge of some great epiphany. Right on the edge of finding some deeper truth to fulfillment, of personal growth.

"I... think I'm done with doing what's safe," she admitted quietly. Turning her face towards him, she pushed the blanket down a little. To try and look at him properly. "Before... I asked Loren to fight me. For real. So I could feel what it's like to break. And... and I'm still scared, but.. but I kind of want to know.. what it's like to fall, too."

Scared of pain, scared of regret, of letting go of things she couldn't control, scared of so many damn things... Of knowing that this time, if she threw herself off that cliff, he might not be there to catch her in the end. But part of falling was landing, right? To learn how to scrape yourself off the ground and keep going.

And it was all very pretty, her words, and could mean anything. But the small, trembling hand that searched for his under the blanket... it should be explanation enough.

And soon you are forgotten
A whisper within a sigh

SUNJATA

the flood

anyway, you say you're too busy
saving everybody else to save yourself

It’s true, that he has this uncanny ability to push people away when they get too close. And now at this point he doesn’t know if it’s to protect them so much as it is to protect himself. But it hurts, regardless, of which way it goes. So he lowers his hand back beneath the blanket when she turns to look at him, he keeps his face toward the ceiling, focusing on listening to her voice as it lifts the space between them, watching the light of the candles flicker behind his lids.

She tells him that she’s scared, that she still wants to know what it’s like to fall. And he can’t help the way he begins to chew on his lip, unsure and uncertain, if she wants the answer of what he has experienced. The fall was easy, it was wonderful, it was amazing. It was the landing that was the worst part.

But he does know one thing, that even though it hurt and destroyed him time and time again, he never regrets the feeling of what it was like.

Her hand finds his beneath the blanket, and it’s answer enough for him to try and lace his fingers with hers, turning his head then to look at her with some shadowed steel, swimming and glazed with a hint of alcohol remaining. “It’s a different kind of break.” He says quietly, unhelpfully, but he turns in the bed to face her then. “But at least it’s something in comparison to feeling nothing.” He had been hollow before he found the resistance, following orders and doing what he was told as though he was a machine.

He had never really felt alive before everything changed. And now he’d do anything he could to keep it, to try and refrain from being manipulated when he’d been conditioned from birth to be that way for his father. It was a never ending battle.

He searches her face for a moment, reaching up with his other hand to brush her hair out of her face, to tuck the pale strands behind her ear, fingers brushing against her cheek gently.

and you don't want no help, oh well
that's the story to tell

Maea

And time it waits for no one
It heals them when you die

The difference was that Maea still had hope. That this might not be the kind of fall that broke her. That the pain was temporary, that he would find his answers, that somehow, someday, they would go back to being what they had been, before they stepped into this room. Before they told too many truths and shattered the illusions of happy-ever-after. And maybe they would never quite come back to that place, but she wondered if they couldn't get very close to the flavor of those days... if they tried. And perhaps that hope made it better, or maybe it made everything worse, she didn't know.

All she had to go on was the swoop in her stomach when he took her hand and held it, and the charged atmosphere as he turned towards her, reaching out a hand to brush the hair from her face. A gesture she knew so well... and still felt so very new.

She shifted too. Turned herself onto her side, to face him. Her eyelids fluttered close at the touch, at the light shivers it sent down her spine. Her lashes pale against pale cheeks. White on white.

"Before I met you, everything was gray," she whispered, a little hoarsely. "And now, when you're not around... it goes back to being gray. I just... I just want to see the world in color again. For a little while longer."

Her fingers closed tighter around his, the other hand reaching out from under the blanket to touch his arm, trace the line of inked feathers up towards his shoulder. Inexplicably drawn, unable to resist the temptation of him any longer.

And soon you are forgotten
A whisper within a sigh

SUNJATA

the flood

anyway, you say you're too busy
saving everybody else to save yourself

Her eyelids flutter closed and his hand finds its place along her neck, thumb stroking her cheek gently while she speaks, his gaze scanning and focusing on her face. And he offers her a small half smile when her hand tightens around his, when her hand trails up to trace familiar lines through his tattoos. He rests his head a bit more into the pillows, savoring the soft and tender touches when so much lately had been aimed for harm.

“It’s unfortunate my colors are only grey and blue.” He tells her with some quiet amusement, a bit of light in the dark. But he grows a bit more softer with it, shifting to angle himself a bit closer to her where his hand at her cheek can stroke gently along her side, over her ribs to the small of her back to pull her closer to him.

“But I can give you some of it.” Even if things go grey, at least there’s a speck of color to dot the shelves, to hide away and keep for later when things were too difficult. It’s the very least he can do while he remains mostly grey himself, searching for a way to live with the ghost of his life.

and you don't want no help, oh well
that's the story to tell

Maea

And time it waits for no one
It heals them when you die

His palm on her neck raised goosebumps on her skin. Down to the shoulders they traveled, and out across her arms, along the spine in a shivery wave that brought sharp awareness of all her body. The way only he'd ever managed. He settled in, and Maea opened her eyes again to watch him, trace the lines of his face just as her fingers touched his feather tattoo. Familiar, yet not. This was a new light, a new setting... a new set of rules to a game that wasn't all that foreign to her anymore.

Maea could have told him that there was so much more to him than gray or blue. Could tell him about the gold in his hair when sunlight fell on it a certain way, and how his eyes sometimes became more silver than gray. How his skin shifted between broze and brown, and seemed far darker when her hand lay over it. She could tell him that he was blue, yes, but what a blue it was! Light as the sky, cold as ice, rich and deep and endless as the dark between the stars at midnight... a blue so deep it was almost purple. And it made all the other colors next to him come to life, as if they had just been waiting for him to start shimmering.

"I like blue," was all she said though, because his hand had begun to trail down her side, and she quivered under his touch. Her breath hitching, even as she obeyed the gentle urging and inched closer. Hher hand eased up from his shoulder, fingers following the feathers up to his shoulder, and down to his back. Touching his skin in a light, almost reverent way. Trembling slightly, because... because though she knew all the lines of ink, every puckered scar and smooth patch of unblemished skin, this was somehow a new Sunjata. Or the old one? The version she had shied away from, run from, until he'd caught up with her at a lighthouse and she couldn't resist letting him sweep her away anymore.

Did that make her weak, or brave? Maea didn't care anymore.

And soon you are forgotten
A whisper within a sigh

SUNJATA

the flood

anyway, you say you're too busy
saving everybody else to save yourself

She trembles beneath his touch, and a part of him relishes with it. But her hand continues to trace his tattoos and he lets her place them wherever she wants, inching her closer to him to share his furnace of warmth with her. He lifts his head on the pillow to fix where it sets, resting his forehead just mere inches away from her own, steel gaze searching her face.

She tells him she likes blue, and he offers her a quiet half smile. “Good.” He agrees softly, because it’s all he can really offer. The rest of him in his mind is completely cold, grey, dull in comparison to the parts with a bit of life.

He unlaces his hand with hers to prop it beneath her pillow, resting on it while she does too. He inhales deeply before he closes keeps his arm around her tightly but loose enough that she can move around if she wants to. He leans into her touch a small amount, eyes shuddering closed slightly with each tracing touch of her fingertips. “I missed you. And this.”

and you don't want no help, oh well
that's the story to tell

Maea

And time it waits for no one
It heals them when you die

The way he approached her was slow and tender, careful like he was afraid she might bolt if he moved too quick. And perhaps the analogy wasn't entirely wrong. Maea was tense, was wary for all that she wanted this, even though she had agreed to be here. She knew he was tired, that accommodating her fears and anxieties probably was the last thing he wanted to do right now, and yet he did it anyway. Like it actually mattered. Like he still cared.

She lifted her head slightly when he tucked his arm in beneath her pillow, easing herself in just a little closer still when she settled back down. Enough to let her forehead touch his, the tip of her nose brushing his. Her breath hitched when his arm tightened around her, pulled her in; a wave of heat washed through her at the simple feeling of his body against hers. Her hand tightened reflexively around his back, hugging him. Her palm stroking the firm muscles of his back; it felt like her palm was on fire from how hot he was compared to her.

He said he missed her. It was all Maea could do not to call 'your own damn fault', the urge strong enough that she had to actually bite her tongue to keep the words down. "I missed you too," she admitted instead. "I always do." Whenever they were apart, with or without fights. Remembering bitter tears shed into cold pillows, where hugging an extra blanket had made the longing for him worse, not better... It always made her question whether leaving his side was worth it.

But now he was here. She could feel his breath on her as he spoke, his arm around her... and though she burned to be so close after such a long time - it felt like ages - Maea just held him back. Closed her eyes, and breathed him in. Found that she relished this tension, the electricity flowing in the air between them. She imagined... that it wasn't just her who felt it.

And soon you are forgotten
A whisper within a sigh

SUNJATA

the flood

anyway, you say you're too busy
saving everybody else to save yourself

That’s where it differs. He does still care. He hadn’t stopped caring since the time he’d agreed to try. And perhaps in the end it was him doing exactly what he always did when they got too close, pushed away and away to save himself under the guise of saving them. It was a repeated cycle and yet Maea was still here — just as Hotaru had been for him before, when he’d pushed her away and crawled back, pushing away and crawling back again and again.

At least, before the marriage, when things ended for good.

At this moment? He doesn’t think of her, doesn’t think of Phoebe. He doesn’t even think of Lusea, not with Maea within his arms, real and soft and silky smooth skin to run his calloused hands over. But he’s not sure how much he can get away with, not wanting to push her away when he was so comfortable with her here right now.

Her forehead touches his and her nose brushes by his own as well, and he hums a quiet sound to her in response to it, head tilting up slightly to brush his nose by hers again — smelling hints of whiskey and snow, parchment and ink. Something so steady compared to himself. He opens his eyes again, steel gaze shifting from her pale eyes to her lips briefly, lingering — something longing in them but unsure.

Unsure if he can replace the feeling of the forced kiss with one of his own tenderness. Unsure if she’d even let him. And so he remains quietly shifting his gaze along them again before his eyes focus on her own again. “You’re cold.” He says quietly, not like it bothers him, but he shifts enough to pull the blankets up over their shoulders, keeping her near, nose brushing against her own. “Come here.” He adds, just as gently, shifting that arm beneath her head to pull her up against him now, shifting his head to rest his cheek against her own, sharing as much warmth as he can, trying to keep his eyes from lingering on those lips more than necessary.

and you don't want no help, oh well
that's the story to tell

Maea

And time it waits for no one
It heals them when you die

She knew nothing of his internal ponderings, just like he knew none of hers. It was perhaps the fault between them. This inability to truly share what was going on inside. Words could only carry so far before they became constricting. Such a simple word as 'love' could be both sweet and suffocating, beautiful and ugly all at once, but the feeling? That would always be pure. Genuine.

Maea opened her eyes again to look at him, and found his gaze flitting from her eyes and down, to her mouth. Lingering, tangible as a caress, and for a moment she thought he would kiss her. It thrilled her, terrified her, because she didn't deserve kisses from him. Not when she'd stolen one from him, made it ugly and crude and full of anger. How could that ever be forgiven? She certainly couldn't forgive herself for it.

But he didn't kiss her. Didn't even try to; instead he raised the blanket up over them, and pulled her in tight, until her chest was pressing against his and she felt his hard body against her stomach. Again that wave of heat rose up inside, and without meaning to she shuddered, her free arm digging in under him so she could be truly close, without any barriers. His cheek was warm against hers, his arms were warm; he was a furnace, and she might be cold on the surface but it was only skin deep.

"You're warm," she whispered, no more than breath colored with words, voice unsteady. "It feels good." Her eyes fluttered half closed, brushing against his cheek, feather light. Maea's breath was uneven too; she tried to steady it, steady herself, but it was impossible like this. Slowly, almost shyly, she trailed her fingers up his spine, along the back of his neck, to touch his hair. Threading her fingers into it, to feel the coils run through her fingers.

And soon you are forgotten
A whisper within a sigh

SUNJATA

the flood

anyway, you say you're too busy
saving everybody else to save yourself

She moves her arm too, closing in the distance between him and her, and he smiles lightly when she shudders. He tries to share as much warmth as he can, feeling the way she speaks lightly and still loud enough for him to ear, her lips near enough to his ear. And he can feel her eyelashes as they brush against his stubbled cheek, sighing contently into it as he nuzzles himself in closer.

Her hand that trails along his spine causes him to shudder lightly too, goosebumps unraveling along his shoulders and neck as she finds her way to his hair, trailing and threading her fingers into his dark hair. He sighs contently, one hand trailing up her back as well to run through her pale hair, smiling against the feeling of the silky strands within his fingertips.

And finally, he decides he can’t quite stand the tension within him more, burying his face into her a bit more – like he used to, only this time it’s tentative and restrained. “I think I’d like to kiss you.” He says, voice barely above a whisper, unsure and uncertain if she'll let him – but he can't just let it lie, this thought for another thought, to let it pretend that he doesn't want to, that he only wants to hold her tonight when she's this close and this tangible to being near.

To pretend, like it should have been, like it might have one day been had things been different.

and you don't want no help, oh well
that's the story to tell