bruised from walking into dead ends

Told you not to worry, but maybe that's a lie

Her eyes narrow by reflex, but they hold something more thoughtful this time, considering Vesper's side of things, starting from that first moment in the Climb. It doesn't conflict with anything she remembers even if she doesn't want to admit it, and a new lens falls over the memories - or rather, the emotions and purple hues fall away to reveal the tender center of each offence. That first day he'd dismissed her without room for understanding or explanation - making her feel like trash, worse than trash as he simply walked away like she'd never meant anything. The next time he'd suggested her goddess had done the same - ripping at the few remaining connections she felt in spite of the Family, clawing away at her dwindling self-worth. And during their last meeting, he'd claimed that Pierce - the one person she'd been unwillingly bound to, the only person her corrupted mind had believed cared - had decided she wasn't worth staying for, and that had hurt the most. 

Yet, amongst all the pain and insecurities he'd managed to stir, Vesper hadn't actually said anything cruel that wasn't true. She wants to release the anger, to let the conflict die into a banking ember, but it doesn't change how he'd treated her, dismissing and cold in a heartless lack of empathy that showed he preferred throwing useless words to fuel her denial rather than finding a way to help - and that tells her all she needs to know.

Pursing her lips, she concedes a point while standing by her experience and the pain that had come with it. "Fine. You didn't taunt me with words; you just showed infected me why I wasn't worth the dirt on your boots and expected me to take it lying down." Thal shakes her head, letting out a sigh that's just as exhausted, a sadness painting its edges in darkness. "Look, I know you didn't owe it to me, and I definitely didn't deserve it, but would it have killed you to show a little compassion instead of pulling away? To tell me the truth without making me feel like the worst human in existence? Sometimes warmth works better to thaw the ice." And they'd seemed to have plenty of that before he turned a cold shoulder to her. 

Somehow, that is what bothers Vesper, the frigid disdain freezing over his smooth voice, achingly familiar to the chill he's come to regard her with. It settles sharp against her chest, a reminder that he still doesn't understand after everything she's said. "And you keep saying that word 'chose' like I wanted to be infected. I may have put myself in that position, but I didn't choose to be enslaved." Her tail flicks, her head tilting in a similar manner as she stands her ground. "I'm an asshole, but I'd at least have the heart to consider helping someone if I knew they were going through that, while you chose to cut ties." She can't blame him, they'd been nothing to each other - not really - but his refusal to own it still bothers her. If he's willing to admit to being an asshole, why can't he admit that he hadn't cared enough or that he'd been selfish?

The silence does stretch, long and quiet as she tries to see it from his point of view. It's not as hard as he might think. She'd once cared about someone enough to sit through yelling and insults, to take the accusations in the face and not walk away, to let the rage run its course without too much judgement, to sit close to the flames despite the heat. But unlike Vesper, she hadn't left, she'd stayed by Maea's side in quiet solidarity, refusing to discard her just because the woman had issues to work out. Even if she couldn't get through with her words or prove that she's delusional, Thal had stayed, supporting, stubborn, and loyal until the day Maea had slammed that door closed. 

Then the claws and fangs are being tucked away, giving his words so much more weight as they sink into her stomach. It's Thal's turn to be confused, the expression unfamiliar on her stoic face, but something she's unable to hide in the face of his explanation. Had he expected her to bare her heart straight off the bat? To give him her deepest darkest secret when she was only just starting to believe the mirror had been his attempt at flirting rather than an insult? He'd been just as shallow with his 'secrets' and she doesn't trust easily - never has. It had taken months for her to begin letting Asta breach those walls, where she spent time gently probing his loyalties, his morals, his trustworthiness; to make sure he wasn't going to take advantage of her weaknesses like people had in the past. Only then did she divulge anything, opening up slowly so he could see the soft, vulnerable interior that she tries to hide. 

And yet, Vesper makes it seem like she'd leapt off some path, blocking the trail behind her so she might never have return - so he couldn't follow. In reality, she'd glanced away in a moment of fear and weakness to find herself in the dark, the trail lost along with her motivation to follow it. Maybe all it would have taken was a soft voice or a hint of warm light in the cold black she'd stumbled into, guiding her back from the edge of a cliff she couldn't see; yet no effort was made - no hands were extended or gentle calls cast into the dark - and Thal is left with the pain of wondering what might have happened if she was shown kindness rather than brutal truth. 

No matter what, Vesper's made it clear he doesn't deal in compassion or good deeds, and whatever fun they'd had wasn't worth a moment of sympathy even now. It's why her walls reluctantly begin to reform, regret lacing every familiar brick, reaffirmed beliefs mixing with the impenetrable concrete to ensure they'll never be breached again. It's why she takes the smallest step back, spine straightening to meet his cold gaze with a blue that looks eerily similar to the last rain of Flowerbirth, heavy with its imminent departure but too warm to be biting or cruel. "You're right. And I guess now we'll never know if that's all it was." 

This time, her smile is bitter and pinched in fake acceptance, the half shrug of her shoulders attempting to shove away the regrets and could haves because she's not desperate enough to see what second rate prize her secrets might buy her now. So she gives an encompassing nod, like she might have actually let him win for once as she says, "But at least you've made your perspective clear." And it's equally as clear that nothing that occurred will blemish his conscious, leaving him guilt-free and innocent in his own eyes, with Thal to deal with the aftermath of his choices.

Thalassa

Honey, what's your hurry? Won't you stay inside?

VESPER

The only reason Vesper doesn’t walk away the moment Thal speaks is that trace of sadness behind her eyes; the kind that doesn’t cry for pity, doesn’t beg, just lingers, worn and quiet like something left out in the rain too long. For all the sharpness she’s wrapped herself in, it still flickers through in the way her shoulders settle, in the shape of her mouth when she stops trying to win. 

So he stays, just long enough to breathe her words in, to let them settle and sift and crystallize in the back of his throat like frost. "No," he says at last, the word dragged through his chest on a sigh, soft and flat and final. "It wouldn’t’ve killed me." And maybe that’s the truth she wanted, some small concession to prove he hadn’t been made of stone the whole time. But it doesn’t buy her much. His hand lifts to his mouth, thumb pressing lightly to the corner as he exhales again, eyes tilted upward toward the firelit ceiling like it might have the patience he doesn’t.

"But tell me, what exactly about anything you'd done or said or did up until that point between us, made you think compassion was gonna be what you got from me?" His gaze finally drops back down to her, slow and deliberate, like drawing a curtain. "You were hardly anything more than teeth and daggers with me before of all of this. I get why you wish I'd tried for you, but gods Thal, the only person you get to blame for how small your circle of saviours is, is you." She couldn't have it both ways in this world, no one could. If she acted like she didn't need anyone in her life, there was gonna come a time she found out whether or not that was actually true, and based on the resentment still ebbing off of her in waves, she'd discovered an island of one was perhaps lonelier than she gave it credit for. 

Vesper's breath deepens again, this time all the way to the soles of his feet, and when it leaves him, so does the rest of it; the brittle tension in his shoulders, the last thread of hoping she might see it clearly. "You cuddled up to the enemy," he says, and there’s no heat in it anymore. Just fact. Just the line she drew, whether she meant to or not. "That’s the choice I care about." As a man, as a demigod, as the son of a man gutted by Pierce. What came after, whether she did or didn't explicitly ask for the infection, was already too far.

There’s a moment where his expression shifts; not softens, not entirely, but the line of his mouth loses its edge, the glassy calm in his eyes turning contemplative. Vesper really had liked her. Not in the fumbling way some men like danger, like it might sharpen them to brush against something bright and bloody, he’d liked her for what she was. All the difficult, calculated fire of her thoughts, the push and pull of someone who needed to be chased but wanted to be caught, if only by someone who’d put in the work to do it right. She had wanted effort. And he hadn’t minded giving it.

She’d felt good. Not just in the ways that heat and skin collide, though that had certainly been worth remembering, but in the way her mind moved; restless, sharp-edged, full of dark corners he couldn’t see around, but wanted to. She was one of the few who’d ever surprised him, and he didn’t offer that lightly. But a few fucks and one half-spun date weren’t enough to make him step off the line drawn by gods and stars alike, not when the only reason he was alive and breathing was because of the blight that the Family had brought to Caido.

If Thal didn’t understand that, if she truly believed she’d offered enough to be worth the fight, then maybe mind was still more distorted than she thought, and Vesper was finished trying to explain himself to people who wanted the story to end differently but refused to write a better chapter.

As Thal takes a step back, the demigod watches her. He doesn't move, or chase, but there's a version of him that does. A version that walks across the firelight, reaches for her cheek, and says the words he already knows she wants to hear, because they’re loud in her thoughts even when she’s pretending otherwise. But that version of him died the moment she stayed in the orbit of the man who had gutted his father.

"Guess not," he murmurs, and the disappointment in his voice is real. It sits behind his tongue like sea salt, quiet and dry. And still, she can’t help herself. One last barb, one more dig wrapped in fake serenity. He huffs a breath through his nose, not quite a laugh. Just tired. "See, that’s exactly what I mean." His head tilts, not scornful, not smug. Just thoughtful. "You keep waiting for people to tear down your walls, like it proves they care—but then you lace the top with broken glass and act surprised they didn’t come running."

There's no anger in his words now, just a shake of his head, slow and faint, like someone closing a book they know they’ll never finish. And then, with a brow lifted—not in challenge, but in parting—he turns toward the dark mouth of the cave. "I’m sure I’ll see you around."

wake me when it's over like a bad dream

Code blatently stolen from queen of codes, Sky!

Told you not to worry, but maybe that's a lie

"No. It wouldn't've killed me."
 

The words grip at her, sharp and telling, evidence that he could have been kind, he could have been soft, he could have helped, but that she hadn't deserved that from him. She'd pushed too hard, been too sharp, again. She has to look away for a moment, finding the truth hard to swallow and finding it hard to look at him without wishing things could have been different. 

Maybe it was how he'd stuck around despite it all, how he'd seemed to care enough to clarify his intentions when he'd offended her then implied she was something worth admiring, how he'd offered the clothes he was wearing for her injury and gave her the space she needed to preserve her pride, how he'd somehow started taking more space in her thoughts. None of it screamed kindness or compassion, but it had been enough to make her hope, to hint at what more might lie beneath his nonchalant exterior.

But he speaks and she knows that any compassion he has isn't for her - that it never will be. It hurts, a knife stabbed between her ribs, knowing that her hand is the one on the hilt with no one to pull it out. She hides the majority of the wince, but the sharp blink is too forced, her voice tight around the agreement. "You say that like I don't know, but I know that better than anyone." It's why she's willing to rip the world apart for the few friends she has, and why losing even one of them pains her all the more. 

His heavy sigh draws her, bringing clarity with it now that she's beginning to understand the rest. Things finally click, the realization that her avoidance had cost much more than the trauma riddling her thoughts, that it would have ruined everything even if she hadn't been infected; but no matter how much she regrets it - no matter how much she hates herself for every weakness it exposes - nothing will change what she'd done or the choice she'd made in seeking Pierce out. It puts an ashen taste on her tongue, the excuse weak and fragile as her tail falls gently behind her. "I didn't have a reason to hate him at the time." The words are quiet, filled with the rare admission of naivety and the possibility of things having been different if she'd known, almost an apology even if she can't bring herself to say it. If she'd known more, if she'd learned of the connection to Vesper, if she'd stopped to think beyond the need to escape whatever was brewing, maybe she'd have made a different choice, maybe she'd have found a reason not to seek him. But alas, Vesper doesn't seem to care why or how she'd come to her decision, having already drawn the verdict regardless, and she doubts apologizing now will be worth the embarrassment. So she tucks it away, something only she'll be able to see in the darkness when no one is watching. 

For a moment, there's only sadness between them, the weight of his gaze and the words she leaves unspoken like smoke drifting into images of something that could have been, various futures they might have had, but it clears with her broken smile and a huff of his breath. She blinks. "I didn't - " she fails to find the words and settles for a sigh that pulls at her shoulders, too emotionally raw to continue arguing the same points she's already admitted to when it hadn't even been her intention. Shaking her head of whatever accusations she might have thrown, Thal finally says, "I only meant that you've said your piece and I get it." Vesper didn't need to worry about whether she understood or 

Part of her wants to give a biting response, to feel angry that he's leaving her again, but the emotion suddenly feels out of reach, replaced by the sorrows and regrets that have taken its place, knowing she's the reason. Instead, she gives a numb nod of her head, trying not to think about what next time might look like. Her voice tries to hide the internal struggle, coming out empty and flat as she watches the distance between them grow, "Yeah." She fights the urge to follow, knowing it wouldn't change anything beyond showing a desperation she doesn't feel. The only thing she offers him is a soft whisper, one she knows he won't hear, one broken and filled with the vulnerable parts of her. "Bye, Vesper."

She waits a moment longer, listening carefully for his departure and the return of her heartbeat. When she can think beyond his retreating silhouette, her feet are padding softly through the blood streaked water towards the discarded bottle. Thal takes a few deep chugs of the alcohol, wiping at her face when the burn of the liquor moistens her eyes. Then, when she feels the ache retreat enough to make room for something stronger, she faces the room where it all began. 

"I hope you're suffering wherever you are, and if you dare to ever show your face here again" - she throws the bottle across the room, crashing her flames against the glass to watch it shatter in an explosion of sparks and shards - "I will be the one to end you." It's a promise to the universe, her eyes glowing in the blazing fire like they might carry the message across the stars, the words written in violence and scorched betrayals, a warning sign sealed in flames and blood as they devour the evidence. 

[FIN]

Thalassa

Honey, what's your hurry? Won't you stay inside?