LIAM
It's not that we don't talk
It had been years since Liam had felt this nervous sense of trepidation, the wild fluttering of his heart in response to another human being. He’d forgotten what it felt like to want someone, to have them and to hold them, to want to be with them with every waking breath. And maybe he’d always wonder what life would have been like if his past hadn’t happened, if his family had survived, but right now? Right now, he felt only a quiet acceptance. That maybe, despite everything, he would be okay. That his family might understand if he stepped into a new chapter. That they might be happy for him. Just as he’d be for them, were their situations reversed.
Liam chuckled softly at Maea’s uncomfortable experience, warmth in his tone as he said, ”What a treat for the Hanged Man’s patrons. You sang at Fiat Lux, remember? Your voice is lovely.” His fingers resumed their soft caress, his heart beating wildly in his chest at Maea’s breathless little laugh. Gods, what he wouldn’t give to make her laugh like that again and again.
Then she asked what he would do, her head tilting to search his face, and his hand stilled. She was so close, and so warm, and if he tilted his head just so, he could imagine what it might be like to press his lips to hers. He swallowed hard. She was still here, in his arms. She hadn’t yet pushed him away. But he couldn’t quite bring himself to see that as an invitation, terrified that one wrong move might send her running, ruining the one thing that he couldn’t imagine losing.
But nor could he resist the urge to glance down, meeting her gaze for a brief moment, his nose brushing hers and their breaths mingling in the sea air. ”This,” he said simply. He spoke without really thinking, and his cheeks heated at the admission, raw and vulnerable and open to interpretation. He swallowed hard. But he didn’t regret what he’d said. He didn’t regret what she was to him. How could he, when she’d brought such good to his life?
Liam chuckled softly at Maea’s uncomfortable experience, warmth in his tone as he said, ”What a treat for the Hanged Man’s patrons. You sang at Fiat Lux, remember? Your voice is lovely.” His fingers resumed their soft caress, his heart beating wildly in his chest at Maea’s breathless little laugh. Gods, what he wouldn’t give to make her laugh like that again and again.
Then she asked what he would do, her head tilting to search his face, and his hand stilled. She was so close, and so warm, and if he tilted his head just so, he could imagine what it might be like to press his lips to hers. He swallowed hard. She was still here, in his arms. She hadn’t yet pushed him away. But he couldn’t quite bring himself to see that as an invitation, terrified that one wrong move might send her running, ruining the one thing that he couldn’t imagine losing.
But nor could he resist the urge to glance down, meeting her gaze for a brief moment, his nose brushing hers and their breaths mingling in the sea air. ”This,” he said simply. He spoke without really thinking, and his cheeks heated at the admission, raw and vulnerable and open to interpretation. He swallowed hard. But he didn’t regret what he’d said. He didn’t regret what she was to him. How could he, when she’d brought such good to his life?
It's just no one really listens and honesty fades
