What the #?*!

He watched her fingers push into her hair, watched her begin to actually cave in on herself. Part of him wanted to stop, wanted to push it all from his mind, to rid himself and herself of the deepest fucking scars of them all. He wanted to take her, hold her, tell her that he was sorry, that they didn’t need to face the past. The past was the past for a reason, and there was a reason that the assassins didn’t turn backwards. It was a trip down memory lane that could drudge up all of the pain and abuse that their childhoods, that the majority of their lives had been. To journey down memory lane wasn’t a decision that Kalt took lightly, and the reason why was right in front of him.       Her eyes were wide when she looked a him, but he wasn’t himself. He couldn’t feel himself, but everything felt so real. His voice wasn’t his own, he was watching himself from the outside, and he hated the lack of control that he felt then. Kalt took a shaky breath, watching Ashetta dig her fingers into her skin. He tried to reach forward, to take her hands and give her something to hold onto, but he couldn’t. He remained where he was, remained still and cold and statuesque, his expression a broken harshness that he couldn’t get rid of.       He didn’t care that he wanted to reach out, didn’t care that she was being broken by the words he spat at her. But that wasn’t true. He did care. He cared too much, but he couldn’t. He couldn’t care. They had to talk. They had to fucking face this. It was necessary because they were always able to fight together. Any time they fought together they fucking won with flying colors, but the last time... The last time they had the opportunity to fight together, they hadn’t. They hadn’t, and he ended up in a cell, while she ended up on the run like a common criminal. So yeah... They had to fucking talk about this shit. But then...       It felt as though his breathing had stopped with her words. His brows pulled together, and he heard his blood moving through his veins. She hadn’t... She hadn’t told him? Nothing about that? But they had been married! How could she not have told him that major fucking detail of her life? Kalt struggled to understand how she could keep something like that hidden. How much hadn’t she told Alistair, told her mother, anyone? How much did her family actually not know of who Ashe was?       He watched her press her hand to her mouth, her other hand bracing herself against the counter. Still, he remained where he was, unmoving. He didn’t know how to move. Kalt felt as though every muscle in his body had stopped functioning, and yet, he found himself moving forward with numb legs. His arm would slip around her shoulders, pulling her against him, his uninjured hand running through her hair.       His eyes fell closed as they once again began to blur, and his breathing was shaky, but he forced his voice to come out evenly. ”I need you to promise me something, Ashe,” he said quietly. ”And I need you to know that you’re promising it.” He would pull back from her just enough to lock eyes with her, to hold her gaze. ”Don’t hide from me. You know you can trust me. We don’t hide from each other, so I need you to promise... No matter what it is, talk to me, come to me. I don’t care if you think I won’t like it or I won’t approve. Do not hide anything from me. Can you promise me that?” Kalt I  am flesh and I am bone, i rise up, ting ting, like glitter and gold i've got fire in my soul