Honey wherever you go, I know
It never seems to matter, what he'd tried to do. "I think it was better...that we talked at the flowers instead of at the party," he manages to get out, because her attempt at humor paints it plain. She even counts that as a thorn between them, and it's beginning to feel like she means to keep them wedged against her skin as a reason to hold him back, scoring them against herself when he even talks to someone else, and all the while she gets to fuck the man that leaves her broken and nearly killed him.
It's not that simple. It never has been for them either.
He thought it finally had become that—simple. That he loves her, that she loves him, that there's no one and nothing else in the way, but it only takes a few words to completely undo a dream. It's always ever been almost. "So...he's had years to make you happy, and you're still—" crying in a street. It's all he can manage around the ash that fills his mouth as surely as the saline beads along his lashes. He tries, gods he tries to catch his breath, but it just keeps leaking out of every hole she's created in his chest instead.
Time does not care for the depth with which he's dragged her into him, unless it's a count for when he might surface, which is feeling like never. She has been threaded into so many moments he has never bothered to wonder where the gold strands came from—it's always been her. Her hair on his clothes, her laugh layering with his, her face behind his eyes every night. Is she really going to tell him length is all that matters?
The sob that chokes out of her makes his hand hesitate, as if startled, before he presses it more firmly, gathering more while fighting back his own. He doesn't have the means to speak now without breaking entirely, so he just closes his eyes for a moment, chases down the gold that always shines behind them and lets the shine of it remain like a lighthouse in a storm. If almost is this hard to survive, perhaps anything more would kill them.
His gaze reappears with his words, with his grip, each dragged out like he's been buried alive in a grave that he doesn't intend to submit to. He can't keep up with her tears now, so they just fall, adding dark spots against their clothes like all the unfortunate stains that had come between them and led them to this moment. Kaisel blinks, glancing around her for the first time, as if aware for the first time since their dance started that there's a world around them still. "Y—yeah." The sounds cracks from barely parted lips, but whether she heard it or not he starts to shift, pulling his knees back under him, lifting her along as he rises, though on her own feet now. He can barely manage his own, he can't risk adding hers to the mix or they'll never make it anywhere.
He doesn't know this place, he moved here for her, but he just starts walking. Away from the music, from the bubbles, from the color of people still caught in joy. He keeps a hand, selfishly unwilling to relinquish her. His stride is uneasy, like perhaps he's forgotten how and every step is a conscious effort, and gods does it ever feel like a walk to the gallows.
It's not that simple. It never has been for them either.
He thought it finally had become that—simple. That he loves her, that she loves him, that there's no one and nothing else in the way, but it only takes a few words to completely undo a dream. It's always ever been almost. "So...he's had years to make you happy, and you're still—" crying in a street. It's all he can manage around the ash that fills his mouth as surely as the saline beads along his lashes. He tries, gods he tries to catch his breath, but it just keeps leaking out of every hole she's created in his chest instead.
Time does not care for the depth with which he's dragged her into him, unless it's a count for when he might surface, which is feeling like never. She has been threaded into so many moments he has never bothered to wonder where the gold strands came from—it's always been her. Her hair on his clothes, her laugh layering with his, her face behind his eyes every night. Is she really going to tell him length is all that matters?
The sob that chokes out of her makes his hand hesitate, as if startled, before he presses it more firmly, gathering more while fighting back his own. He doesn't have the means to speak now without breaking entirely, so he just closes his eyes for a moment, chases down the gold that always shines behind them and lets the shine of it remain like a lighthouse in a storm. If almost is this hard to survive, perhaps anything more would kill them.
His gaze reappears with his words, with his grip, each dragged out like he's been buried alive in a grave that he doesn't intend to submit to. He can't keep up with her tears now, so they just fall, adding dark spots against their clothes like all the unfortunate stains that had come between them and led them to this moment. Kaisel blinks, glancing around her for the first time, as if aware for the first time since their dance started that there's a world around them still. "Y—yeah." The sounds cracks from barely parted lips, but whether she heard it or not he starts to shift, pulling his knees back under him, lifting her along as he rises, though on her own feet now. He can barely manage his own, he can't risk adding hers to the mix or they'll never make it anywhere.
He doesn't know this place, he moved here for her, but he just starts walking. Away from the music, from the bubbles, from the color of people still caught in joy. He keeps a hand, selfishly unwilling to relinquish her. His stride is uneasy, like perhaps he's forgotten how and every step is a conscious effort, and gods does it ever feel like a walk to the gallows.
Kaisel
I'd give up half of forever, just to be with you
Wearing a watery blue, faded and stretched-out sparkling hair tie on his left wrist
