// Can we pretend that airplanes in the night sky are like shooting stars //
Her words don’t land on him—they sink in, deeper, like cold through bone, winter settling in his chest. The stars that flicker around her feel less like light and more like shrapnel caught in the air—sharp, suspended reminders of all the harm he never meant to cause. Each truth she names cuts with purpose, deliberate and clean, no wasted edge. He takes them in unflinchingly. He’s always been able to take hits, especially when he thinks he deserves them. They hurt though, and he presses his teeth together until they ache, bracing against each splinter that drives under his skin. He doesn’t argue, because he gets it. That might be the worst part—how much of it is honest.
Her blade not only scores him, it pulls back each layer of good intention he's built up, like armor he wears to feel strong enough, good enough. Beneath it all, he realizes... he still isn't.
His gaze drops. Not in shame, at least not just, but in thought. He sifts through it, and as he's starting to gather up the shards and sit with them, Safrin speaks again. Another requirement, that he promise Caly comes first, always, unquestionably. That her heart become the axis he turns around. He grows very still.
Something in him… resists.
He doesn't do anything for a moment except draws in a slow breath. When he finally speaks, it's with the careful quiet of something thought about at least three times. "I didn’t come here to make a vow like that." His hands fist into his pockets, balling tight with concern he's trying not to show. Boundaries, isn't that what Sunjata told him? The warning makes a bit more sense now. "I came to build something thoughtful. Something that might help her. Something that might bring her joy. A kite, not a crown."
He looks up again, and though the fear is still there in his eyes—fear of her judgment, of failing again—there’s a flicker of resolve. "You’re right in a lot of ways," he admits, sincerity pulled tight through a clenched jaw. "But I don’t think you know what Caly wants. Not if this is how you think you'd help me fix things." He wanted her help making something better than he could on his own, because Caly deserved that. He'd come to her specifically because her touch would carry the most meaning for Caly.
What Caly wants... he thinks she wants something real, something honest. He cares about her, a lot. Enough to want to do it right—that's real. He doesn’t know yet if he loves her though, or if she loves him, they're still figuring it out, and that's real too. So no, he’s not going to nod and act like turning her into his one and only sun is the right call, just because it might be the easiest thing to do right now. And it does sound easy—to agree with Safrin, to pledge everything to Caly and call it fixed. It doesn’t feel honest though, or warm. Loving someone should feel like stepping into the sun, not whatever cold hell this is.
"So, no... I won’t make that promise. Not like this." It feels like stepping onto ice too fresh in the season, saying no to Safrin. This could very well be the moment that undoes everything he came here to mend. Still, he can't find it in him to say anything else, all her terrible love and fury aside, his punishments aside, this isn't what Caly would want. Of that, he is at least certain. "That doesn’t mean I’m walking away. I’m still going to make the kite. I’m going to find the colors she loves. I’m going to think about her—only her—when I sit in the sun. I'm going to build something real, even if it's all on my own."
Her blade not only scores him, it pulls back each layer of good intention he's built up, like armor he wears to feel strong enough, good enough. Beneath it all, he realizes... he still isn't.
His gaze drops. Not in shame, at least not just, but in thought. He sifts through it, and as he's starting to gather up the shards and sit with them, Safrin speaks again. Another requirement, that he promise Caly comes first, always, unquestionably. That her heart become the axis he turns around. He grows very still.
Something in him… resists.
He doesn't do anything for a moment except draws in a slow breath. When he finally speaks, it's with the careful quiet of something thought about at least three times. "I didn’t come here to make a vow like that." His hands fist into his pockets, balling tight with concern he's trying not to show. Boundaries, isn't that what Sunjata told him? The warning makes a bit more sense now. "I came to build something thoughtful. Something that might help her. Something that might bring her joy. A kite, not a crown."
He looks up again, and though the fear is still there in his eyes—fear of her judgment, of failing again—there’s a flicker of resolve. "You’re right in a lot of ways," he admits, sincerity pulled tight through a clenched jaw. "But I don’t think you know what Caly wants. Not if this is how you think you'd help me fix things." He wanted her help making something better than he could on his own, because Caly deserved that. He'd come to her specifically because her touch would carry the most meaning for Caly.
What Caly wants... he thinks she wants something real, something honest. He cares about her, a lot. Enough to want to do it right—that's real. He doesn’t know yet if he loves her though, or if she loves him, they're still figuring it out, and that's real too. So no, he’s not going to nod and act like turning her into his one and only sun is the right call, just because it might be the easiest thing to do right now. And it does sound easy—to agree with Safrin, to pledge everything to Caly and call it fixed. It doesn’t feel honest though, or warm. Loving someone should feel like stepping into the sun, not whatever cold hell this is.
"So, no... I won’t make that promise. Not like this." It feels like stepping onto ice too fresh in the season, saying no to Safrin. This could very well be the moment that undoes everything he came here to mend. Still, he can't find it in him to say anything else, all her terrible love and fury aside, his punishments aside, this isn't what Caly would want. Of that, he is at least certain. "That doesn’t mean I’m walking away. I’m still going to make the kite. I’m going to find the colors she loves. I’m going to think about her—only her—when I sit in the sun. I'm going to build something real, even if it's all on my own."
Kaisel
// I could really use a wish right now //
Wearing a watery blue, faded and stretched-out sparkling hair tie on his left wrist
