bottom line, we made it out the first time still in love and half alive
The Ark’s smile turns sharp and jackal-bright at his words, her eyes flicking to him with a glint that borders on wicked. "I’m not just anything," she murmurs before her teeth flash in a grin. A small shrug follows, careless and unbothered. "But I don’t mind being bait." The thought settles easily into her, not as something new but as something remembered; the early days between them when she hadn’t yet become something people recognised on sight, when he’d let her drift quiet and unassuming with her sails slackened and her presence dulled just enough to invite the wrong sort of attention. Ships would close in then, greedy and unsuspecting before they ever realised their mistake, not knowing they'd been played. It had never been about weakness; it had always been about knowing exactly what would draw them close.
The Ark nods slightly as he voices the same hesitation she’d already tasted in the air around them, her gaze sliding briefly over the harbour where attention still clings in threads that haven’t quite broken. When she glances back over her shoulder, it isn’t with any effort at all that a few of those lingering eyes scatter, the weight of her look enough to remind them that staring comes with its own risks.
As for going off on her own, it isn’t that she wants to leave him behind, it’s something quieter than that, something she doesn’t bother to dress up in words. The simple, pressing curiosity of what she might be when she isn’t anchored to him in plain sight. For so long her existence had been measured in his presence and absence, in the moments he stepped aboard and the long stretches where she waited for his return, alive in a way no other hands had ever quite managed to summon.
She nods once more before rising from the bench in a smooth motion. "I’ll see you at the meeting later, then," she announces loud enough for straining ears to hear. Her fingertips trail lightly along the back of his arm as she steps past him, before she moves on, slipping back into the flow of the harbour with an easy, unhurried stride, leaving behind a wake that’s anything but subtle and which will be all too easy for a telepath to follow.
The Ark nods slightly as he voices the same hesitation she’d already tasted in the air around them, her gaze sliding briefly over the harbour where attention still clings in threads that haven’t quite broken. When she glances back over her shoulder, it isn’t with any effort at all that a few of those lingering eyes scatter, the weight of her look enough to remind them that staring comes with its own risks.
As for going off on her own, it isn’t that she wants to leave him behind, it’s something quieter than that, something she doesn’t bother to dress up in words. The simple, pressing curiosity of what she might be when she isn’t anchored to him in plain sight. For so long her existence had been measured in his presence and absence, in the moments he stepped aboard and the long stretches where she waited for his return, alive in a way no other hands had ever quite managed to summon.
She nods once more before rising from the bench in a smooth motion. "I’ll see you at the meeting later, then," she announces loud enough for straining ears to hear. Her fingertips trail lightly along the back of his arm as she steps past him, before she moves on, slipping back into the flow of the harbour with an easy, unhurried stride, leaving behind a wake that’s anything but subtle and which will be all too easy for a telepath to follow.
we didn't die, but no guarantees this time, but fuck it lets do it again
Siren's Wake | After she leaves a space, traces of her presence linger briefly: a faint scent of salt, the sound of distant water, a restless feeling in the chest. People rarely notice it consciously.
