Kaisel
One foot in the ground
One foot in the grave
One foot in the grave
She's asking him for answers he can't really give. Maybe she should be asking the other cousin all this. Kaisel sighs steadily, wishing he has something better to offer than half-notions muddled with his own ideas. "Isn't it all because of indecision?" he asks carefully, wrinkling his nose as he squints against the sun. "You and Soh still love him, despite leaving him before, so isn't it indecision that lets you love him again, now? He's doing the same, just in fewer steps." He loves them both, so how can he decide? They're each different and fulfill some opposing part of Koa. That's why choosing neither, it might be the best option for his cousin, especially with them wound around each other's lives so tight that'll he be forced to stare down his decision all the time. It's reasonable to walk away, even if you don't want to, but the heart is often unreasonable, so he can't say what Koa will finally pick. He doesn't think Koa can either, not yet.
She squeezes back against his fingers, and he smiles faintly at the visible sign of the pulse beating between them, weak in this moment, but there. I gotchu it says, over and over, each of them there for the other. So he thinks at least, until she grows quiet after the whisper of her continued disagreement, until she shuffles away and leaves suddenly. The hand she slips away from leans further back to hold him up as the support of her departs. He watches after her as she ducks below, wondering what misstep he took. His touch—maybe too intimate? Crossing one line too many, which seems absurd given the state of her undress, but there's something to be said about the comfort of being on display rather than the worry of being handled. Maybe what he said? Blaming her a bit for some of Koa's idiocy, or at least reminding her she plays a part in the chaos, which he's sure she already knows, she doesn't need to hear him say it. Stupid.
Huffing out a breath, he leans back fully on the deck. He pulls his pack over and rifles inside for his bottle of sunscreen. Maybe she won't burn, according to her, but he definitely will. He's only managed to squirt a dab on his hand and rub it once over his nose, pale as Maea's ass, before the motion of her return catches his eye. He strains to tilt his head to see her fully—the Sugar Tide ghost.
She's a wraith floating over to him, and he sits back up to better see her, a quiet concern pulling at the corners of his face. She looks, almost worse than she did that night at the Hanged Man, and in a way he can't quite put his finger on. That night, it'd been obvious, she let the wreckage be visible. This? It feels like she's trying to tuck it away under cotton and sunshine, like she can't bear to keep crying over the same damn thing. "You never have to ask me that," he tells her hand as he reaches for it and jumps up, arms wrapping around her tightly, pulling her against his chest. "It'll always be yes."
She squeezes back against his fingers, and he smiles faintly at the visible sign of the pulse beating between them, weak in this moment, but there. I gotchu it says, over and over, each of them there for the other. So he thinks at least, until she grows quiet after the whisper of her continued disagreement, until she shuffles away and leaves suddenly. The hand she slips away from leans further back to hold him up as the support of her departs. He watches after her as she ducks below, wondering what misstep he took. His touch—maybe too intimate? Crossing one line too many, which seems absurd given the state of her undress, but there's something to be said about the comfort of being on display rather than the worry of being handled. Maybe what he said? Blaming her a bit for some of Koa's idiocy, or at least reminding her she plays a part in the chaos, which he's sure she already knows, she doesn't need to hear him say it. Stupid.
Huffing out a breath, he leans back fully on the deck. He pulls his pack over and rifles inside for his bottle of sunscreen. Maybe she won't burn, according to her, but he definitely will. He's only managed to squirt a dab on his hand and rub it once over his nose, pale as Maea's ass, before the motion of her return catches his eye. He strains to tilt his head to see her fully—the Sugar Tide ghost.
She's a wraith floating over to him, and he sits back up to better see her, a quiet concern pulling at the corners of his face. She looks, almost worse than she did that night at the Hanged Man, and in a way he can't quite put his finger on. That night, it'd been obvious, she let the wreckage be visible. This? It feels like she's trying to tuck it away under cotton and sunshine, like she can't bear to keep crying over the same damn thing. "You never have to ask me that," he tells her hand as he reaches for it and jumps up, arms wrapping around her tightly, pulling her against his chest. "It'll always be yes."
It's not the devil at your door
It's just your shadow on the floor
It's just your shadow on the floor
Wearing a watery blue, faded and stretched-out sparkling hair tie on his left wrist
