ISKRA
The burst of water catches him by surprise. He flinches first, instinct braced for something worse, before realizing it came from her. He glances over, finding a small smile, grateful for her addition and the energy that matches Ampere.
Too heavy to do anything more than that though, he sinks to the boat floor, dimly aware as she sits next to him. When her fingers find his hair he stills completely, the breaths he's still fighting to find included. There's no teasing, no chaos, just for this moment. It's only warmth, comfort, her. It’s such a simple thing, casual even, but to him it lands like lightning, soft and searing. Years of missing her, of wanting her, as he always had from the moment he first met her, blaze against him with a warmth that nearly scalds him. His eyes close as she gently drifts through the strands, something in his chest unclenching, something he didn’t even know was tight, and he dares to imagine that this moment could last.
When she speaks, his lips part into a slow, stunned smile, and the tap-tap-tap to his forehead only deepens it. "You are?" he murmurs, eyes cracking open to meet hers, gleaming and soft and suddenly, impossibly close. He should leave it there. Let the tenderness be a gift from her he'll keep, that he'll cherish. Maybe it's the sudden weightlessness he feels though, or the courage from the drink, or just the way he’s alive in a way he hasn’t felt in years and she's right there.
So he shifts, practicing something he's read in the hopes of a moment like this, something she should want, by all his understanding of women and smut. He rolls onto his elbow, and with his other hand at her side, he tries to guide her down, to rise over her—each arm bracing around her head. It's not forceful, it's barely a pin, but it's deliberate. A cage made of breath and warmth and want, the kind that trembles slightly, because he isn't sure what comes next.
He hovers above her, barely breathing, like he’s waiting to see if she’ll move—push him off, pull him closer, laugh in his face. His gaze drops to her mouth, then drags back up slowly, a practiced smolder on full display. It's not heat, it's hope blooming through him. Something he’s kept buried so deep for so long he almost doesn’t recognize it as his own—this fragile, aching thing that dares to imagine there might be something here besides old memories drenched in sun. That maybe this isn’t just kindness, or comfort, or drink. Maybe it's her. Maybe it's them.
His heart pounds in his chest, loud enough he’s sure she can hear it. Whatever she does, he’ll take it. He can play it off as a joke if she refuses, even if it'll wound some deeper part of him. He can blame the bottle, even he's more drunk than this most nights. He can do whatever it takes to make sure he doesn't ruin this by daring to ask for something more.
Too heavy to do anything more than that though, he sinks to the boat floor, dimly aware as she sits next to him. When her fingers find his hair he stills completely, the breaths he's still fighting to find included. There's no teasing, no chaos, just for this moment. It's only warmth, comfort, her. It’s such a simple thing, casual even, but to him it lands like lightning, soft and searing. Years of missing her, of wanting her, as he always had from the moment he first met her, blaze against him with a warmth that nearly scalds him. His eyes close as she gently drifts through the strands, something in his chest unclenching, something he didn’t even know was tight, and he dares to imagine that this moment could last.
When she speaks, his lips part into a slow, stunned smile, and the tap-tap-tap to his forehead only deepens it. "You are?" he murmurs, eyes cracking open to meet hers, gleaming and soft and suddenly, impossibly close. He should leave it there. Let the tenderness be a gift from her he'll keep, that he'll cherish. Maybe it's the sudden weightlessness he feels though, or the courage from the drink, or just the way he’s alive in a way he hasn’t felt in years and she's right there.
So he shifts, practicing something he's read in the hopes of a moment like this, something she should want, by all his understanding of women and smut. He rolls onto his elbow, and with his other hand at her side, he tries to guide her down, to rise over her—each arm bracing around her head. It's not forceful, it's barely a pin, but it's deliberate. A cage made of breath and warmth and want, the kind that trembles slightly, because he isn't sure what comes next.
He hovers above her, barely breathing, like he’s waiting to see if she’ll move—push him off, pull him closer, laugh in his face. His gaze drops to her mouth, then drags back up slowly, a practiced smolder on full display. It's not heat, it's hope blooming through him. Something he’s kept buried so deep for so long he almost doesn’t recognize it as his own—this fragile, aching thing that dares to imagine there might be something here besides old memories drenched in sun. That maybe this isn’t just kindness, or comfort, or drink. Maybe it's her. Maybe it's them.
His heart pounds in his chest, loud enough he’s sure she can hear it. Whatever she does, he’ll take it. He can play it off as a joke if she refuses, even if it'll wound some deeper part of him. He can blame the bottle, even he's more drunk than this most nights. He can do whatever it takes to make sure he doesn't ruin this by daring to ask for something more.
I'm losin' my grip, caught up in the current
I can't swim, I'm startin' to slip
I'm runnin' out of breath, I'm scared to death
I gotta keep my head up, Up above the water
I can't swim, I'm startin' to slip
I'm runnin' out of breath, I'm scared to death
I gotta keep my head up, Up above the water
