Koa
We are young supernovas
Her answer isn't far from the answer he would have given if asked, and while Koa wishes he could be surprised at how little thought Soh seems to have given to her own needs, he can't say that he is. The needs of others have always overshadowed her own; it's a trait they share, really. Perhaps that's how they would up where they are: each so afraid they'd hurt the other that they'd never dared to risk the thing they could have been.
Now as Koa looks at Soh he cannot help but wish that he could undo it all. Go back to before and before and before, to every moment when his fear and concern for the Luminary cast another shadow in her silver eyes. He wishes he could have been braver then; that he'd risked more, reached further. Yes they might have become silver scars, slices in each other's hearts that bled until time kint them closed.
But gods that would better than what they are: a series of abrasions not bold enough to rupture, but harsh enough to create a web hypertrophic tissue so thick and dark between them as to obscure any light.
"And who's helping you? Soh..." Stepping toward the Luminary, Koa reaches for her hand, momentarily cursing the once-blessed coffee that keeps him from taking both. With all the boyish earnestness he can muster the Dragoon gazes down into her eyes, willing his expression to convey the things he knows his tongue cannot. "I know I haven't been... that I've fucked up. A lot. And I know we need to talk - really talk - and that this isn't the right time. But I want - I need-- ugh." Frustration at his own leaden tongue clouds his handsome features; his fingers fidget anxiously across the backs of her. "I just... I'm here for you, okay? Whatever you need. Even if it's someone to yell at, or hit, or carry heavy boxes.
"And... if what you need right now is for me to go, I'll go," he adds, not wanting to force her to endure him if she doesn't want it, to be another burden on her slender shoulders. The ball is firmly in Sohalia's court; gods know Koa's dropped it enough times to be firmly in the penalty box.
Now as Koa looks at Soh he cannot help but wish that he could undo it all. Go back to before and before and before, to every moment when his fear and concern for the Luminary cast another shadow in her silver eyes. He wishes he could have been braver then; that he'd risked more, reached further. Yes they might have become silver scars, slices in each other's hearts that bled until time kint them closed.
But gods that would better than what they are: a series of abrasions not bold enough to rupture, but harsh enough to create a web hypertrophic tissue so thick and dark between them as to obscure any light.
"And who's helping you? Soh..." Stepping toward the Luminary, Koa reaches for her hand, momentarily cursing the once-blessed coffee that keeps him from taking both. With all the boyish earnestness he can muster the Dragoon gazes down into her eyes, willing his expression to convey the things he knows his tongue cannot. "I know I haven't been... that I've fucked up. A lot. And I know we need to talk - really talk - and that this isn't the right time. But I want - I need-- ugh." Frustration at his own leaden tongue clouds his handsome features; his fingers fidget anxiously across the backs of her. "I just... I'm here for you, okay? Whatever you need. Even if it's someone to yell at, or hit, or carry heavy boxes.
"And... if what you need right now is for me to go, I'll go," he adds, not wanting to force her to endure him if she doesn't want it, to be another burden on her slender shoulders. The ball is firmly in Sohalia's court; gods know Koa's dropped it enough times to be firmly in the penalty box.
and the heat's about to break
