I'm not giving up, kicking off the rust
That tiny whimper stops him cold. His hands freeze where the cloth rests against her skin, breath catching like he’s just been struck. Nothing, nothing, could gut him faster than the idea of hurting her, even accidentally. He wants to pull back, to drop the cloth and call in the practiced attendant who likely wouldn't have summoned such a sound, but she stays, trusting him to manage it, so he remains.
He forces a slow and steady breath and makes himself move again. He reminds himself that healing often means a little pain, and that being touched might ache, but so does being left alone. Kaisel, gods help him, is determined to never leave her alone.
When her hand suddenly finds his, Kaisel stills all over again. He’s certain that he's pressed too hard, that he’s hurt her more than is allowed, that he's reopened something meant to heal. It's when her fingers twine between his, slow and sure, that he realizes it's a reach for their familiar comfort. Her thumb stroking over his knuckle, a gentle and familiar pressure, unties some of the knots his worry had begun to form. His shoulders drop and a softness drifts into his face, because that simple act of them is enough to settle him.
Her words though, they risk stealing every bit of relief he can manage. There’s a part of him that wants to shake his head, to deny it, to tell her she deserves every bit of good that life still tries to give her. But... he's tried that, and it seems to make her more certain in the opposite. The way she says it so full of a raw, unshakable truth that’s been left to rot in her chest for years, that anything rational or real feels too strong for her to handle. So, he doesn’t try to argue with it. He knows he can’t. Flora’s grief is too old, too gnarled, for easy comforts. So he does what he knows best, he lets her place it in his hands, his fingers tightening against hers.
Her touch lands against his cheek like a reminder that she does know him, and he turns into it, grateful. His lips brush the base of her thumb, a soft vow of affection that he presses into her skin. His own palm lifts to cover hers, keeping it in place, making sure she can feel every bit of his steadiness. "I know you would," he says, voice pitched low with the honesty and recognition of it. He'd closed his eyes against the embrace, but he peers across at her now, trying to hold her stare like he can transfer the image of her he sees across. "You're always willing to tear down too much of yourself for the sake of others." He admires that about her, even if it terrifies him in moments like these, where she doesn't seem to have enough left to make herself whole any more. He’ll peel off parts of himself to give to her if that’s what it takes. Maybe when they're both a little more worn and a little more remade, there’ll be enough between them to let her believe in something good again, even if he has to give up some of it to get there.
He forces a slow and steady breath and makes himself move again. He reminds himself that healing often means a little pain, and that being touched might ache, but so does being left alone. Kaisel, gods help him, is determined to never leave her alone.
When her hand suddenly finds his, Kaisel stills all over again. He’s certain that he's pressed too hard, that he’s hurt her more than is allowed, that he's reopened something meant to heal. It's when her fingers twine between his, slow and sure, that he realizes it's a reach for their familiar comfort. Her thumb stroking over his knuckle, a gentle and familiar pressure, unties some of the knots his worry had begun to form. His shoulders drop and a softness drifts into his face, because that simple act of them is enough to settle him.
Her words though, they risk stealing every bit of relief he can manage. There’s a part of him that wants to shake his head, to deny it, to tell her she deserves every bit of good that life still tries to give her. But... he's tried that, and it seems to make her more certain in the opposite. The way she says it so full of a raw, unshakable truth that’s been left to rot in her chest for years, that anything rational or real feels too strong for her to handle. So, he doesn’t try to argue with it. He knows he can’t. Flora’s grief is too old, too gnarled, for easy comforts. So he does what he knows best, he lets her place it in his hands, his fingers tightening against hers.
Her touch lands against his cheek like a reminder that she does know him, and he turns into it, grateful. His lips brush the base of her thumb, a soft vow of affection that he presses into her skin. His own palm lifts to cover hers, keeping it in place, making sure she can feel every bit of his steadiness. "I know you would," he says, voice pitched low with the honesty and recognition of it. He'd closed his eyes against the embrace, but he peers across at her now, trying to hold her stare like he can transfer the image of her he sees across. "You're always willing to tear down too much of yourself for the sake of others." He admires that about her, even if it terrifies him in moments like these, where she doesn't seem to have enough left to make herself whole any more. He’ll peel off parts of himself to give to her if that’s what it takes. Maybe when they're both a little more worn and a little more remade, there’ll be enough between them to let her believe in something good again, even if he has to give up some of it to get there.
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
