When enemies are at your door, I'll carry you way from war
The suddenness barging in on everything that had just been suspended and uncertain ricochets into him with a flare of goosebumps. Hairs on every part of his body stand on end, even his scalp seeming to fluff up, unnoticeable with the mess of hair he sports, but the crawl of the uneasy sensation felt as it sweeps over his head and settles into a quiet roar of quickened pulse in his ears. "Okay," he says again, more certain, but no less quiet as it attempts to soothe the new disturbance that ripples out.
When she begins to struggle again his own mouth parts, trying to conjire something helpful, a coaxing even, if need be. An assurance, though he doesn't know why she'd need it, that he won't hold whatever this is against her. He already has a guess, at this point, the whirlwind of thought settling on the only logical thing that could be splintering her so thoroughly. He's already begun to brace for it, feigning a strength that is rapidly crumbling away from behind the front-facing display of it, no better than a faded prop left on an empty stage, smiling because it's painted on. Seems all their dramatics have amounted to nothing more than this.
"Jack—"
The name splits the air with such an electric charge that for a moment, Kaisel's eyes lift from the sorrow-puckered shape of her face to warily regard their surroundings, near certain lightning will appear to cleave through them. He breathes in, slow and with a steadier pull than he thought possible.
If Jack did not harm her, as she claims, but he is the root of her current state, which is in such disrepair as Kaisel's ever seen, then he can only conclude that the older love finally won out. That this confession that sits behind her teeth and casually chokes her with sobs and snot, is not what Jack has done, but what she is about to do. Dimly, he glances down at the link between them, her hand still clutching his pocket, weak and meager compared to the tether he feels binds them. He wonders briefly, if she's tucking away the last of her love for him into it. Each promised forever and every laughed dream of a future, balled up like lint and receipts to be discarded later.
He does wish he'd taken the seat now, but somehow he's still standing, though the floor quietly beckons as he blinks down at her grip, edges blurring with assumption and desperate fear. Her grip tightens, which is exactly what you do before snapping something, and patiently he waits for the break. It never comes.
At least, not the line between them. Something in her splits with all the sting of a rubberband finally giving in, sending her across the space, tumbling and bouncing to the sink. He gawks after her, every crumbling piece of peace seizing as her words repeat over and over again. He's thoroughly shocked, but not for the reveal, for what didn't come. He does sit now, not by choice, and not really, but he staggers back and turns in the wake of her retreat so that his ass leans against the table. He reaches for her glass of water and takes two big gulps, eyes never breaking from her as she bends over with vomit. He'd normally be there behind her, helping tug her hair away, but right now his hands shake around the cup as he sets it down.
He folds and unfolds his hands in front of him, fingers curling in right and then smoothing out. He works against a swallow, spit flooding his mouth faster than usual. A palm rises to brush over his forehead, pressure deepening as he tries to smooth out the creases of his mind, as if he could manage it from the outside. His head hands into the curve between his thumb and forefinger, and he drags in a loud breath that releases shortly after with the faintest laugh. "That's...it?"
When she begins to struggle again his own mouth parts, trying to conjire something helpful, a coaxing even, if need be. An assurance, though he doesn't know why she'd need it, that he won't hold whatever this is against her. He already has a guess, at this point, the whirlwind of thought settling on the only logical thing that could be splintering her so thoroughly. He's already begun to brace for it, feigning a strength that is rapidly crumbling away from behind the front-facing display of it, no better than a faded prop left on an empty stage, smiling because it's painted on. Seems all their dramatics have amounted to nothing more than this.
"Jack—"
The name splits the air with such an electric charge that for a moment, Kaisel's eyes lift from the sorrow-puckered shape of her face to warily regard their surroundings, near certain lightning will appear to cleave through them. He breathes in, slow and with a steadier pull than he thought possible.
If Jack did not harm her, as she claims, but he is the root of her current state, which is in such disrepair as Kaisel's ever seen, then he can only conclude that the older love finally won out. That this confession that sits behind her teeth and casually chokes her with sobs and snot, is not what Jack has done, but what she is about to do. Dimly, he glances down at the link between them, her hand still clutching his pocket, weak and meager compared to the tether he feels binds them. He wonders briefly, if she's tucking away the last of her love for him into it. Each promised forever and every laughed dream of a future, balled up like lint and receipts to be discarded later.
He does wish he'd taken the seat now, but somehow he's still standing, though the floor quietly beckons as he blinks down at her grip, edges blurring with assumption and desperate fear. Her grip tightens, which is exactly what you do before snapping something, and patiently he waits for the break. It never comes.
At least, not the line between them. Something in her splits with all the sting of a rubberband finally giving in, sending her across the space, tumbling and bouncing to the sink. He gawks after her, every crumbling piece of peace seizing as her words repeat over and over again. He's thoroughly shocked, but not for the reveal, for what didn't come. He does sit now, not by choice, and not really, but he staggers back and turns in the wake of her retreat so that his ass leans against the table. He reaches for her glass of water and takes two big gulps, eyes never breaking from her as she bends over with vomit. He'd normally be there behind her, helping tug her hair away, but right now his hands shake around the cup as he sets it down.
He folds and unfolds his hands in front of him, fingers curling in right and then smoothing out. He works against a swallow, spit flooding his mouth faster than usual. A palm rises to brush over his forehead, pressure deepening as he tries to smooth out the creases of his mind, as if he could manage it from the outside. His head hands into the curve between his thumb and forefinger, and he drags in a loud breath that releases shortly after with the faintest laugh. "That's...it?"
Kaisel
If you need help, I'll shut down the city lights
Wearing a watery blue, faded and stretched-out sparkling hair tie on his left wrist
