// Can we pretend that airplanes in the night sky are like shooting stars //
It'll never happen. Kaisel feels the words settle into him, placed sure and steady, and something in his grip loosens. Not because the risk disappears, not because they're completely safe, but because she says it with the kind of certainty that has carried them through wreckage before. She's more stubborn than the world is hard, and he'll trust in that over anything else. Even if the worst did come to pass, if some cruel twist of this deal stripped her from him, it would not be the end of them. That much he knows. He would feel her absence like a missing limb, and follow that ache until they were made whole again. He would find his way back, forever and then some.
His mouth presses into her hair, a quiet kiss at her crown. “We won’t let it,” he agrees, tone matching hers with the quiet decision of defiance. With it, the sharp edges and salt-burn of Jack finally loosens their hold on Kaisel. It fades with the acceptance and the understanding that she's right, of course. That there'd have been no mercy dressed as compromise, the wound was the point, and all they have to do is not open it up, or survive it if they do. What Jack chooses to do will always be outside their hands, but what's in their hands is this—the way she curls into him, the way he folds around her without hesitation, never letting the other fall alone.
His arm lifts around her as she slips beneath it, settling back across her with a snug hold that keeps her pressed close. He angles his head so his temple rests against hers, his other palm hooking against the knot of her legs, securing her there, anchoring them together against the slow sway of deck and current. Wind threads through the loose strands of her braid, teasing pale gold into the light until it flickers like something spun from sun itself. It tugs at their clothes, urgent at times, but he ignores the demand of the breeze in favor of remaining exactly here, with her. They’re two figures braced at the helm of something that cuts across the world and dives into the horizon without hesitation.
At her question, he leans back just enough to look at her properly. His gaze is calm with thought, the panic peeled away. An improved safeguard, another layer between them and the worst, and there’s something deeply tempting about that. Yet, he thinks of rings not yet forged, of a future they have not even begun properly. His attention drops to the place at her wrist where stardust glints faintly. “No,” he says soft and firm, blinking back up to hold her eyes.
“It'll never happen, remember?” A faint curve touches his mouth. “Besides, we've got other things to do already. Engagement announcements, wedding rings, making sure no one can crawl into our heads ever again.” He sways a bit, bobbing with her. “We build forward, not backward.” There’s no tension left in him, only a warm intent and stubborn faith that whatever they come up against, for better or worse, they will meet it side by side. "What I wanna see," he drawls out, "is how many gummy worms you can fit in your mouth. I think—twenty."
His mouth presses into her hair, a quiet kiss at her crown. “We won’t let it,” he agrees, tone matching hers with the quiet decision of defiance. With it, the sharp edges and salt-burn of Jack finally loosens their hold on Kaisel. It fades with the acceptance and the understanding that she's right, of course. That there'd have been no mercy dressed as compromise, the wound was the point, and all they have to do is not open it up, or survive it if they do. What Jack chooses to do will always be outside their hands, but what's in their hands is this—the way she curls into him, the way he folds around her without hesitation, never letting the other fall alone.
His arm lifts around her as she slips beneath it, settling back across her with a snug hold that keeps her pressed close. He angles his head so his temple rests against hers, his other palm hooking against the knot of her legs, securing her there, anchoring them together against the slow sway of deck and current. Wind threads through the loose strands of her braid, teasing pale gold into the light until it flickers like something spun from sun itself. It tugs at their clothes, urgent at times, but he ignores the demand of the breeze in favor of remaining exactly here, with her. They’re two figures braced at the helm of something that cuts across the world and dives into the horizon without hesitation.
At her question, he leans back just enough to look at her properly. His gaze is calm with thought, the panic peeled away. An improved safeguard, another layer between them and the worst, and there’s something deeply tempting about that. Yet, he thinks of rings not yet forged, of a future they have not even begun properly. His attention drops to the place at her wrist where stardust glints faintly. “No,” he says soft and firm, blinking back up to hold her eyes.
“It'll never happen, remember?” A faint curve touches his mouth. “Besides, we've got other things to do already. Engagement announcements, wedding rings, making sure no one can crawl into our heads ever again.” He sways a bit, bobbing with her. “We build forward, not backward.” There’s no tension left in him, only a warm intent and stubborn faith that whatever they come up against, for better or worse, they will meet it side by side. "What I wanna see," he drawls out, "is how many gummy worms you can fit in your mouth. I think—twenty."
Kaisel
// I could really use a wish right now //
Wearing a watery blue, faded and stretched-out sparkling hair tie on his left wrist
