I'm not giving up, kicking off the rust
He doesn't flinch at the increased volume or the edge to it. Welcomes it in fact, if it means some color is coming back to her. He'll take whatever she'll give. He wants her frustration, her grief, her mistakes and her explanations. He'll let her place it all into him if it helps lighten her.
Every name she spills wrenches his heart a bit further, so convinced they're all marked with her signature alone. It takes him a moment to steady his own breathing, to quiet the first flash of protest that rises, because he knows she doesn’t need him to argue every point like a sword fight, slicing her grief apart until it’s smaller. She needs him to hold it. To hold her.
So he does.
The leg he's kept anchored next to her withdraws, water dotting the stone edge as he straddles it and faces her. He reaches out with both hands to cup her cheeks now, and this time he won't let her look away. He leans in and presses a kiss to her forehead, then tips his to rest against hers, breathing her in like he needs her.
"Okay," he says, simple and soft, the word feeling far too thin to cover what she’s confessed. "Okay, you made choices and it affected other people. They made choices too though." He draws in a steady breath, letting it out slow, hoping she can feel the calm of it against her skin. "Flora... after every bad choice, every too-loud, too-reckless thing you think you did—they chose to be with you still." His thumb strokes along her cheekbone, as if he could soothe every break in her voice, every place she’s tried to patch herself together with guilt.
He's certain that for every bad decision, she made even more good ones. For every flaw she's got dozens of perfect angles, and that's why she always manages to shine. "I know you think you wrecked everything, but I’m telling you right now, Ro—" he pulls away to look at those water-lined eyes, a fierce edge in his, "—I’d rather be wrecked by you than live clean and safe without you. Every single time."
He wants nothing more than to gather her in his arms and carry her through this, but even as his fingers twitch with the desire, he keeps them still, reminded of the wounds still healing on her back and sides when the scent of ointments drifts in every so often. "I don't know what you're trying to be Flora, but perfect isn't real and I'd rather have the mess of you just as you are." He pulls her faintly towards him, his hands threading into the sides of her damp curls, and he leans back in to lightly seal a kiss on her mouth, full of all the things he can't articulate.
He can't seem to remember what a line even is anymore.
Every name she spills wrenches his heart a bit further, so convinced they're all marked with her signature alone. It takes him a moment to steady his own breathing, to quiet the first flash of protest that rises, because he knows she doesn’t need him to argue every point like a sword fight, slicing her grief apart until it’s smaller. She needs him to hold it. To hold her.
So he does.
The leg he's kept anchored next to her withdraws, water dotting the stone edge as he straddles it and faces her. He reaches out with both hands to cup her cheeks now, and this time he won't let her look away. He leans in and presses a kiss to her forehead, then tips his to rest against hers, breathing her in like he needs her.
"Okay," he says, simple and soft, the word feeling far too thin to cover what she’s confessed. "Okay, you made choices and it affected other people. They made choices too though." He draws in a steady breath, letting it out slow, hoping she can feel the calm of it against her skin. "Flora... after every bad choice, every too-loud, too-reckless thing you think you did—they chose to be with you still." His thumb strokes along her cheekbone, as if he could soothe every break in her voice, every place she’s tried to patch herself together with guilt.
He's certain that for every bad decision, she made even more good ones. For every flaw she's got dozens of perfect angles, and that's why she always manages to shine. "I know you think you wrecked everything, but I’m telling you right now, Ro—" he pulls away to look at those water-lined eyes, a fierce edge in his, "—I’d rather be wrecked by you than live clean and safe without you. Every single time."
He wants nothing more than to gather her in his arms and carry her through this, but even as his fingers twitch with the desire, he keeps them still, reminded of the wounds still healing on her back and sides when the scent of ointments drifts in every so often. "I don't know what you're trying to be Flora, but perfect isn't real and I'd rather have the mess of you just as you are." He pulls her faintly towards him, his hands threading into the sides of her damp curls, and he leans back in to lightly seal a kiss on her mouth, full of all the things he can't articulate.
He can't seem to remember what a line even is anymore.
Kaisel
I keep acting tough but maybe I'm not good enough
Wearing a watery blue, faded and stretched-out sparkling hair tie on his left wrist
