// Ring around the rosie - Pocket full of posie //
His own smile responds to the hum of her voice against his face, spreading rapidly into a glowing thing with each brush of her lips. Shadows still linger at the edges, but this embrace between them, it ignites a hope far too hot and bright for the fringe of miserable things to reach in for long. As long as they always find their way back to this, they can survive all the storms.
That she doesn't promise him like he asks, not really, doesn't escape his notice. He doesn't press on it though, not for now, because a coerced promise isn't worth a thing. He'd asked, she'd have to decide if, or when, she'd answer. It does add another crease of darkness onto the edges though, because withholding Jack from him might be considered kindness, but what else would she find kind enough to keep, and what would it do to her to hold them?
"Mm, can't say I'll ever disagree with that," and though he tries to say it lightly, he can't quite keep the twitch from the edge of his lips, the one that threatens a frown like an involuntary tic at this point at the name. "Although, maybe it'd be easier to talk about if we started calling him something else." That twitch comes back, but this time with the ghost of a smirk. He suspects she won't agree to most of the names that he's got in mind. "Boaty McBoat Face, for example." Maybe if they were nearly laughing every time they talked about him, it'd improve the whole ordeal. Could always turn him into Voldemort and just never name him again. He who left Torchline, or He who sails around. Many options other than Captain Shit Stain if Kaisel bothered to try.
The ideas quiet though as her hand finds his face, drawing his gaze to her as his smirk falters into the gentle wonder that is always present for her touch. He quirks his mouth to the side to sneak a kiss to her thumb before it moves on, a hum of agreement vibrating against her words. His breath goes with her as she moves, eyes closing for a moment as he tilts into her, lips brushing her collarbone with idle affection as her fingers unfurl over his heart. What she says sinks into all the places of him that have the tendency to be hollow. He hopes that might help preserve the echo of it, but too often the good and the gold don't stick as long as the cruel and the bloody. Maybe with enough repetition, the reminder will just become truth, and he'll manage to love her without the worry that it's not what she actually wants, that half her heart can be enough if it's all she can give. For now, it fills the space with her brilliance, and he grips her tighter, thankful for it.
"I wish you'd say the same for yourself," he tells her gently, because while she might not be measuring herself to Jack, or Caly, she's somehow always determining that she's come up too short. "And stop looking for the twenty percent." Even in this, she's found a way to fit blame on, bundling up for depression like guilt is the latest scarf. "You're more than enough." Maybe the same as it is for him, if she just keeps hearing it, one day it'll stay.
The explanation she delivers is one that makes sense, although there's something to be said about just getting bowled over for one night rather than picked apart over several. He just wishes he'd known about the Jack bomb—might have saged the house ahead of time, or at least met her at the door with something more interesting than sweatpants. He tucks her in closer as she nestles in deeper, his legs hugging around her now too, fingers curling into her sides, pressure like a constant reassurance that he's got her. "That is a lot," he mumbles into her hair, lips drifting at her temple. "That's why there's also a lot of pasta, and wine, and pillows." Well, the pillows were a holdover from her time here, so she had herself to thank for that. Even with as many as she'd packed, plenty more were left behind. "Just like I love you, a lot." One hand rises to tilt her head towards him, angling his own to press a kiss into her lips. Nothing overly claiming or light either, just the simplicity of warmth and affection among the mess of the world.
That she doesn't promise him like he asks, not really, doesn't escape his notice. He doesn't press on it though, not for now, because a coerced promise isn't worth a thing. He'd asked, she'd have to decide if, or when, she'd answer. It does add another crease of darkness onto the edges though, because withholding Jack from him might be considered kindness, but what else would she find kind enough to keep, and what would it do to her to hold them?
"Mm, can't say I'll ever disagree with that," and though he tries to say it lightly, he can't quite keep the twitch from the edge of his lips, the one that threatens a frown like an involuntary tic at this point at the name. "Although, maybe it'd be easier to talk about if we started calling him something else." That twitch comes back, but this time with the ghost of a smirk. He suspects she won't agree to most of the names that he's got in mind. "Boaty McBoat Face, for example." Maybe if they were nearly laughing every time they talked about him, it'd improve the whole ordeal. Could always turn him into Voldemort and just never name him again. He who left Torchline, or He who sails around. Many options other than Captain Shit Stain if Kaisel bothered to try.
The ideas quiet though as her hand finds his face, drawing his gaze to her as his smirk falters into the gentle wonder that is always present for her touch. He quirks his mouth to the side to sneak a kiss to her thumb before it moves on, a hum of agreement vibrating against her words. His breath goes with her as she moves, eyes closing for a moment as he tilts into her, lips brushing her collarbone with idle affection as her fingers unfurl over his heart. What she says sinks into all the places of him that have the tendency to be hollow. He hopes that might help preserve the echo of it, but too often the good and the gold don't stick as long as the cruel and the bloody. Maybe with enough repetition, the reminder will just become truth, and he'll manage to love her without the worry that it's not what she actually wants, that half her heart can be enough if it's all she can give. For now, it fills the space with her brilliance, and he grips her tighter, thankful for it.
"I wish you'd say the same for yourself," he tells her gently, because while she might not be measuring herself to Jack, or Caly, she's somehow always determining that she's come up too short. "And stop looking for the twenty percent." Even in this, she's found a way to fit blame on, bundling up for depression like guilt is the latest scarf. "You're more than enough." Maybe the same as it is for him, if she just keeps hearing it, one day it'll stay.
The explanation she delivers is one that makes sense, although there's something to be said about just getting bowled over for one night rather than picked apart over several. He just wishes he'd known about the Jack bomb—might have saged the house ahead of time, or at least met her at the door with something more interesting than sweatpants. He tucks her in closer as she nestles in deeper, his legs hugging around her now too, fingers curling into her sides, pressure like a constant reassurance that he's got her. "That is a lot," he mumbles into her hair, lips drifting at her temple. "That's why there's also a lot of pasta, and wine, and pillows." Well, the pillows were a holdover from her time here, so she had herself to thank for that. Even with as many as she'd packed, plenty more were left behind. "Just like I love you, a lot." One hand rises to tilt her head towards him, angling his own to press a kiss into her lips. Nothing overly claiming or light either, just the simplicity of warmth and affection among the mess of the world.
Kaisel
// I'ma fucking blow all the ashes down //
Wearing a watery blue, faded and stretched-out sparkling hair tie on his left wrist
