I need your hand but I don't want to burn it
The look Colt gives him makes it plain she isn’t buying the distinction, and while Vesper could argue the point, he’s seen enough of what happens when a telepath tries to remain inside a relationship to know that wanting to stay isn’t always reason enough to do it. He’d watched Flora accept what Jack was, at least for a while, only for the knowledge to seep into every seam between them until communication became something warped and uneven. His father’s ability had somehow made him responsible for every thought he overheard, obligated him to understand what wasn’t said and answer needs that never reached the air, while Flora had come to rely on being known without always doing the work of making herself clear. Understandable as it might have been, it had still hollowed Jack out for a time, and Vesper has never suffered from the delusion that the apple landed especially far from the tree. He thinks Colt is made of considerably sturdier material than Flora, but that doesn’t mean he’s any better equipped than his father had been to keep another person’s doubts from becoming his own wounds.
Even so, picking apart the finer points of it now won’t change where they’ve ended up, and so he only hums beneath his breath, offering a slight shrug instead of another argument. There are too many possible versions of what might have happened if he’d trusted her with the truth sooner, and every one of them is polished by hindsight into something cleaner than either of them had been at the time.
When her eyes close, the shape of her awareness changes, and Vesper feels each sensation rise with greater definition until she looks at him again and the world settles back into its usual proportions, though the tenderness of what passes between them remains fragile enough that he hardly dares shift his hand. "It’s fine," he mutters, giving his head a small shake and lifting one shoulder as though the journey north had been no more inconvenient than crossing camp. He nods when she admits where she’d gone instead, already having heard enough to know she’d spent LongNight in King’s End, but he leaves the rest alone. Questions about where he’s been living and what his life has looked like since the Grounds drift near the surface of her mind, yet he doesn’t reach for them, nor does he offer up answers simply because he can feel their shape.
"I do, though," Vesper says quietly, watching the catch of her teeth against her lower lip while the memory of the desert reforms around them in heat, blackened sand, and a creature bent into the shape of something neither of them had understood. "You called because you needed help, and I didn’t end up doin’ a damn thing." His brow furrows as the creature takes form again through her recollection, every crooked limb and violent movement as unpleasant now as it had been while standing in front of it. Whatever else had gone wrong between them, being unable to put himself between Colt and the thing that frightened her still sits badly beneath his ribs, duty and affection wound too tightly together for him to pretend it was merely wounded pride.
Her admission sends a small pressure through his hand before he realizes his fingers have tightened around hers. Vesper looks down at her, and for a moment his blue eyes tour over the familiar lines of her face before finding the amber of her gaze again. "I’ll always come when you call," he says softly, the words leaving without calculation or any attempt to make them safer than they are. His thumb shifts once against her hand, and though the promise already feels dangerously close to everything he’d tried to cut away, he holds her gaze as he adds, "even without channelin' me."
Even so, picking apart the finer points of it now won’t change where they’ve ended up, and so he only hums beneath his breath, offering a slight shrug instead of another argument. There are too many possible versions of what might have happened if he’d trusted her with the truth sooner, and every one of them is polished by hindsight into something cleaner than either of them had been at the time.
When her eyes close, the shape of her awareness changes, and Vesper feels each sensation rise with greater definition until she looks at him again and the world settles back into its usual proportions, though the tenderness of what passes between them remains fragile enough that he hardly dares shift his hand. "It’s fine," he mutters, giving his head a small shake and lifting one shoulder as though the journey north had been no more inconvenient than crossing camp. He nods when she admits where she’d gone instead, already having heard enough to know she’d spent LongNight in King’s End, but he leaves the rest alone. Questions about where he’s been living and what his life has looked like since the Grounds drift near the surface of her mind, yet he doesn’t reach for them, nor does he offer up answers simply because he can feel their shape.
"I do, though," Vesper says quietly, watching the catch of her teeth against her lower lip while the memory of the desert reforms around them in heat, blackened sand, and a creature bent into the shape of something neither of them had understood. "You called because you needed help, and I didn’t end up doin’ a damn thing." His brow furrows as the creature takes form again through her recollection, every crooked limb and violent movement as unpleasant now as it had been while standing in front of it. Whatever else had gone wrong between them, being unable to put himself between Colt and the thing that frightened her still sits badly beneath his ribs, duty and affection wound too tightly together for him to pretend it was merely wounded pride.
Her admission sends a small pressure through his hand before he realizes his fingers have tightened around hers. Vesper looks down at her, and for a moment his blue eyes tour over the familiar lines of her face before finding the amber of her gaze again. "I’ll always come when you call," he says softly, the words leaving without calculation or any attempt to make them safer than they are. His thumb shifts once against her hand, and though the promise already feels dangerously close to everything he’d tried to cut away, he holds her gaze as he adds, "even without channelin' me."
No I don't deserve it, I don't deserve it
☆ has a pale star tattoo beneath his left eye, and freckle-sized constellations move across his skin
☽ hair changes from bleached blonde to brown
☆ telepathic: Sunlit Shadows | The user can read the surface thoughts and emotions of those within a 60ft radius. Control is excellent. Note: "Thoughts and emotions" include anything written in a character's narration in a post.
☽ hair changes from bleached blonde to brown
☆ telepathic: Sunlit Shadows | The user can read the surface thoughts and emotions of those within a 60ft radius. Control is excellent. Note: "Thoughts and emotions" include anything written in a character's narration in a post.
