Empty Bottle

AURELIA

and my hands aren't clean
maybe they never will be

Aurelia smiled at the laughter that left him in a short burst, happy that she could bring the smile back to his face as he'd done for her moments prior. It was nice. He leaned in to tell her what the Hanged Man and the Halenani were, close enough that she could feel his breath, smell the linger of alcohol in it. "Mm, I see," She hummed, amusement softening her tone, though she grew more serious as he explained his role in the crew, eyes losing that playful, mirthy light. Her head tilted so that she could look across at him as he leaned back. He spoke and she listened, though subconsciously her hands fiddled with the sand, absently letting it run between her fingers over and over.

She felt more relaxed listening to him, letting the focus of her mind and the flow of the conversation turn away from herself. It was beginning to show in the shallowing of her breath and the release of tension from her shoulders, from the muscles running along the length of her arms, the way her eyes were half-open.

For a heartbeat, she felt the weight of her exhaustion. But she swallowed it and blinked her eyes wider in surprise at the cigarette as it drifted towards her. It extended from his calloused hand, worn by years spent in the trades he worked. Perhaps he was always a runner, perhaps in more ways than one. Maybe his hands were soft once. Now they spoke a story in the lines and wrinkles, in the nicks and scars. Did he take pride in them, in each valley and ridge landscaped by a life hard-lived?

Aurelia raised her eyebrows, bringing herself out of the buzz with a lift of her chin. She met his gaze with an awkward clearing of her throat, realizing he'd asked her a question and that the cigarette was still lingering, waiting for her.

"Yeah, um.." she lifted up her hand to brush the cigarette away from his fingers, feeling the resilience for herself. Fumbling for the words, she cleared her throat, glanced up at him and continued, "well, I'm not a runner... I'm not really anything. I've just been doing whatever needs done," she sighed, a defeated motion, "when I first got here I told Jack that this would only be temporary." It was a bitter smile that graced her features then, as she raised her eyebrows and rolled her eyes away, drifting them to some far-off thing, "Naive of me." She brought herself back, though. Her green eyes were brightened by the light of the fire, reflecting that yellow light. She met his rich brown gaze, which was also lit by the ebbing flames beside them. "I've been meaning to talk to him about making more permanent arrangements." Realizing she was holding onto the cigarette, and that it was beginning to decline, she took a distracted puff. Her voice tensed from holding in the smoke, "Maybe he'll let me stay but, I'm not sure. I know nothing about ships, if I'm being honest, and he knows that."

but they can still carry you home
when you're ready to sleep

MILO

this is for the snakes and the people they bite
for the friends i've made, for the sleepless nights

She understands and Milo leans back, letting his explanation color the air around them. Of course, it’s not without an air of fun poked at himself and the rest of it all, but when he goes to hand her back the cigarette, he actually takes a long look at her. There’s relief settled in her shoulders, something that perhaps gives Milo a bit of pride. But she looks tired, and the young smuggler understands that in his bones. He’s tired too. But she’s been through so much more, it makes sense that she would be so exhausted.

A new world to get used to and all that.

But she takes the cigarette regardless, his question hanging in the air between them for a bit longer than he anticipates. And so he studies her face, the way the light flickers against it, how soft her skin and hair look, to the fire that reflects in her eyes that he wonders whether or not reflects in her soul too. But he listens, just as she’s listened to him, letting a crooked smile play on his features, sunkissed skin and the edges of tattoos on his shoulders rolling with a bit of a half smirk at her words. “They all say that.” He’d said it once too, but he’s been doing this a while now without an end in sight.

She meets his gaze and he moves to sit up a bit, close to her – not quite sure what he’s doing – but he lets her keep the cigarette to kill it off. “’m sure there’s somethin’ Jack’ll find fer ya.” He offers her, trying to give her an encouraging smile that only goes so far as a soft edged one along his face. And because Milo’s bold, he always has been, he reaches up with those same calloused fingers and aims to tuck a piece of her hair behind her ear, to let his fingers linger and ghost along her jawline. “Chin up, a’ight? Yer in Torchline. And if there’s one thing I know about her, she takes care’ve her people.” There’s a glint on his brown gaze that’s soft, understanding to an extent, as much as natural born Torcher could understand. But he was trying. His judgement far low on the aspect that she hadn’t asked to come here at all, having been forced here to pick up the remains. "We've got ya, 'Relia." He moves to pull away, to give her some space, but his eyes still scan her face.

for the warning signs i've completely ignored
there's an amount to take, reasons to take more

AURELIA

and my hands aren't clean
maybe they never will be

Aurelia clung to her pessimisms like a bee hoards its honey, unwilling to be hopeful in case she was let down. But her eyes, they peered at him with a glint of belief. She wanted to trust him, wanted to trust all of them. Because she needed them, and she needed them to trust her. Jack wasn't the only one going out on a limb by pulling her into his crew, she was too. She didn't know these people, didn't know this place, but... she was willing to take that risk.

What did she have to lose?

And, as if asking her to prove that sentiment, Milo closed in and brushed a curl of hair behind her ear. Instinctively, alarm made her blood rush to her cheeks and the end of the cigarette fumbled from her grip into the sand. She shifted slightly as that defensive instinct kicked in and, if Milo was paying attention, he'd see the practiced flinch of her fingers as if to make a fist. But, they didn't quite, and she didn't move away. That smile, soft and beckoning, pulled her in and silently she wrestled against it. Pushed back against the panic that put her into fight or flight mode. She only managed to break it by looking away, interrupting the sweet, tempting sizzle of connection.

There. All she needed to do was not reciprocate. She didn't have to react.

Yet his words were gentle and coaxing and she peeked back at him, her brow raised slightly, the uncertainty almost tangible. It was what she wanted; connection, trust. When he leaned away, she felt the absence. It was cold and empty, and she didn't really know what she was doing but she did it anyway, reaching out for the tattoo etched across his shoulder. She leaned towards him, using her grip on him for leverage.

Her eyes glanced down to his lips but, she came up short, stopping herself. A sigh left her own lips, her breath stirring through the air between them. Her jaw clenched and she met his gaze again, seeing the flecks of gold mingling in the depths of brown. Even if it was what she wanted, it certainly wasn't what she deserved. Can't have trust without truth.

"You don't know me."

but they can still carry you home
when you're ready to sleep

MILO

this is for the snakes and the people they bite
for the friends i've made, for the sleepless nights

His hand drops the moment she freezes up, uncertainty glimpsing momentarily in his gaze. Perhaps due to the alcohol and a small fraction of loneliness, the smuggler had misread the night, the way she looked at him, the way they remained in the sand so close to one another, close enough to touch. And so he moves, hand dropping into the sand, shifting himself so he might give her some semblance of space when she puts a hand on his shoulder, and his gaze drifts back to her — that same confusion hidden beneath the earthy tones of his eyes.

She leans toward him and Milo peers back at her, watching her gaze drift along his face, the warmth of their shared breaths crossing the span between them. And he meets her gaze, this close, able to see the way the light reflected in her pale emerald gaze. ’You don’t know me.’ She tells him in a tone that almost has goosebumps rising along his skin. But he doesn’t move, he simply absorbs, feels the warmth of her hand against his shoulder as he figures out what to say back.

“Yeah. I don’t.” He begins, letting his eyes dance around her face. “I could, tho.” It’s a lower rumble, one that vibrates through him as he shifts himself a bit so he can sit more fully facing her, knee to knee, leaned forward still to meet her almost half way. “If ya wanted t‘tell me, that is. If ya don’t that’s fine too.” He offers her, an out should she wish it. But he lingers near, fingertips aiming to brush by her elbow from the hand that rests on his shoulder.

for the warning signs i've completely ignored
there's an amount to take, reasons to take more

AURELIA

and my hands aren't clean
maybe they never will be

Their proximity was intimate and it made her skin warm, her eyes burst with color as they reflected everything - the spit of fire, the doubts, the fear, the hues of his skin and eyes, the want that made her hand flex against the muscle running along his shoulder. She could feel the little goosebumps beneath her palm, and it made her pull back. Even if she thought she was holding back, thought that she was keeping control over the situation, she was sorely losing the struggle. That wall she'd built, tall and stony, it wanted to come undone. It was fucking tired.

But she wanted to protect herself, and maybe she wanted to protect Milo too...

Aurelia let her hand drift from his shoulder down the length of his arm absently. It fell back into her lap and she straightened, that gaze wavering against his. She couldn't say anything more before he was turning to face her directly. Knee pressed against knee. And there it was again, pressing closer, the warmth, the faint scent of alcohol, the distinct way he breathed.

Her guard could only steel, a frown on her lips and conflict threading her brows. A distant look fixed in her eye to replace the craving and fear and flush and... Agh! Stop looking at me! She wanted to scream it at him but, for all the heinous things she'd done, she didn't have the heart to. Her, the merciless, stone cold killer, she couldn't tell him to fuck right off. All the rejections and excuses she could think of caught in her throat, where they were snuffed out.

"Yeah well, if you did, you wouldn't be this close to me right now," she challenged him, finally finding her voice again after what felt like an eternity but really was only a few moments of painful silence. She let out a long breath through her nostrils, which flared, "I don't want to hurt you, or anybody else. But I can't pretend I didn't hurt others before. You have no idea, the kind of world I come from. How different it is from here," she pressed her thumb to her lip nervously, pressing the skin before releasing it, "or what it turned me into."

but they can still carry you home
when you're ready to sleep

MILO

this is for the snakes and the people they bite
for the friends i've made, for the sleepless nights

Her hand trails down his arm as he reorients, attention focusing on her and not swaying even despite the way his confusion flares again. They remain close but he doesn’t know how to take it, if he should let his gaze drop to her lips like he wants to, if he should reach out and dare to tuck another rogue piece of hair behind her ear, if he should cut her off with a kiss instead. But he does none of those things, knee to knee and face to face. All he can do is watch her, listen to her, letting the confusion flare in a pinch of his brow as she challenges him.

And he takes a moment of silence, tongue darting along his lower lip as he watches her curiously, letting the confusion flare in his dark eyes, illuminated with the orange glow of a dying fire. “Okay.” He says quietly, withdrawing his hands for a moment so that he might rub at his chin, covered in faint red stubble. “But… that was whatcha were before. ‘R ya still like that?” He asks, the confusion evident in how he’s not following it.

If her previous world turned her into a monster of sorts, why couldn’t she start over differently here? Finally his hands drop into his lap and he turns his gaze away from her out toward the ocean. “Why’s it gotta hurt, anyway?” He asks softly, his mind picking and pulling her words apart and jumbling them as he flits through them, confused as to why it has to be a thing that hurts in the first place, why it has to be something more than a nice moment. “Guess what ‘m askin’ is, d’ya wanna hurt people still?” It isn’t like Milo hasn’t hurt people too.

for the warning signs i've completely ignored
there's an amount to take, reasons to take more

AURELIA

and my hands aren't clean
maybe they never will be

Milo's confusion was clear as glass, reflected through his expressive eyes. Aurelia tipped her head downward, searching them for a moment. He made an attempt at remedying what moment was already lost, and Aurelia felt responsible for that. She pressed her brows together, pressed her lips against each other again, running her tongue over them. Was she still like that? She wanted to laugh, and a bit of it bloomed in her chest, coming out through her mouth in a soft rumble. She wasn't laughing at him, though, no; she was laughing at her own sorry self. Damn it all.

"If only it was that easy," she stated simply. If he didn't understand, if he was naive to these depths, so be it. He would learn, especially if he stuck around her long enough.

Did she want to be different? Yes. Was she, though? She couldn't ignore the gravitational pull of her axis; to calculate her next move, to never fully trust someone that delved in magic, to never fully commit to anything except herself. As generous as she was, as much as she wanted to be entangled with others' lives, to give all she had to them, she was held back by the selfishness of securing her own survival, of falling back into what she knew. She had to be sure about it, and she wasn't sure about Milo.

He turned his face away towards the ocean, to the waves that she knew lapped hungrily at a sandy shore. She didn't need to look at them to know, so she stared at him. His red hair that ruffled along his scalp, the trail of a story written across his body, but most importantly - the tension that pulled him away, that awkward give and take. She accepted it by now, bad as it felt.

She took his question in stride, her gaze softening as she finally followed his out to the midnight ocean. There would always be a part of her that she held close; the killer. "I'll hurt anyone I have to..." she admitted, curling her knuckles against the tough skin of her palm as the salty wind buffeted against her face. "I do what I need to do, what I've had to... to survive," she glanced back at him, peering to gauge his reaction, knowing that she wasn't telling him what he wanted to hear but at the same time she wished she fucking could. She racked her brain for the words that could help him understand.

"Who we are and who we need to be to survive are two different things... and it's not that I can't let go, I want to," she swallowed and her throat felt dry. It hurt with the rawness of speaking the truth that followed. Her voice cracked and her eyes watered in reflection of it, "but I'm afraid to."

but they can still carry you home
when you're ready to sleep

MILO

this is for the snakes and the people they bite
for the friends i've made, for the sleepless nights

Her low rumble only adds to his confusion, clear as day, her comments making his brows furrow and pinch as he tries to fit his mind around what she could possibly be talking about. He almost asks her why it isn’t that easy. Why she can’t just say it. But he doesn’t know her, and that is something that he does understand. Gods knew he wasn’t one to delve into his history immediately. So he works his jaw, the tension flaring in the tendon that slips along his jaw with it.

And he turns his attention away when the silence grows between them, when his question is aired and his eyes land on the black inky ocean waves in the moonlight, lapping against the shore. For a second he wonders if the cold of it would drown out his muddling thoughts, but with the confusion and misreading of the situation, he’s not sure anything could right his mind tonight.

So he waits. He waits for her to speak. And when she does, well, it’s a lot of what he does understand. “I don’ get why that’sa bad thing.” He offers her quietly, finally pulling his gaze away from the water to peer back at her. “That’s exactly what we do here. No hard feelin’s. It’s hard.” But even Milo had the choice to self serve or be selfless. And he did a bit of both. Selfish with the smuggling and keeping it to himself. But there were times when he was selfless – like helping the young kids around the dock when they needed it, like playing games of tag and capturing a ball down the alleys of Haulani in other days.

But she continues and understanding gleam in his gaze as he meets her watery one, hears the crack in her voice. And this time, he can’t help but to not want to reach up and comfort her. “Y’don’t have t’be.” He offers, his voice growing a bit softer. “Might take ya a bit’a time but… I think ya can do it.” There’s a softer, ghosted edge of a smile on his lips with that, some sort of boon he attempts to give the woman to relieve her worries. And he reaches out again, this time instead of reaching to run his fingers along her jaw, his hand reaches out to rest on her own, to try and take her hand into his and smooth it out – his gaze dropping to it. “We’re all surviv'rs at the end’a the day, y’know?”

for the warning signs i've completely ignored
there's an amount to take, reasons to take more

AURELIA

and my hands aren't clean
maybe they never will be

He looked back on her and she could feel his bronze eyes grace across her skin, examining, dissecting, seeking something he understood. She'd always been the pinnacle of strength; keeping her chin up, baring her teeth, shouldering the obstacles. She'd lived life on the highs and the lows of never letting anything get the best of her. Pain was felt in the shadows of her heart, locked away and the key thrown away long ago. Treasured memories existed only in what she'd had left but, now those were corrupted, frayed, fractured... by nothing less than the reality that spread out before her.

But the sand was warm and soft against her skin. It welcomed her to these new oceans and the stars beckoned her to new heights. A bittersweet surrender in the flutter of her jawline as it slacked. Only Milo was there to witness her swallow her tears, blinking the fuzzy glaze away in a futile attempt at keeping some veneer of strength.

The feel of his calloused fingers seeking out her fist, to unravel its hard lines with his own, made her start. Her green gaze, heavy, turned towards their hands. She resisted at first. Although she didn't pull away, she kept clenching her fingers against her palm so that the nails cleaved against her own callouses. She felt the history buried in the scars, envisioned the scraps from school. Kids speaking on things they didn't know, picking at her and her sisters, until she'd had enough. The swing of her hands against their ignorant flesh. The swing of the pickaxe against the walls of the mines. The swing of a blade against...

Her eyes darted up to Milo. We're all survivors. Her fist unclenched and she smoothed her hand along his own, their fingers passing slowly at first. Then, in one swift motion, she grabbed his wrist and gathered him closer so that their arms wound and the tips of their noses leaned toward one another. She didn't leave room for him to resist, the strength in her pull an irresistable surge of energy. It was rough but at the same time a carefully calculated swoop, not meant to hurt or scare but to reign him into her secure grasp.

"Don't run from me?" The words came out in a whisper, ushered delicately against his lips.

but they can still carry you home
when you're ready to sleep

MILO

this is for the snakes and the people they bite
for the friends i've made, for the sleepless nights

His hand covers her own, an attempt to unclench the fist she’s made. And he can feel the way she tenses beneath his own calloused fingers, but he doesn’t stop – he continues, soft as he can despite the way she clenches her hand harder. It’s her choice, after all, he won’t force her into doing anything. And he meets her gaze after she’s swallowed down her tears, though the glassiness remains – something that’s harder to evade.

He doesn’t blame her. It’s got to be so tough. And honestly? She’s handled it so much better than he imagines he ever could. After all, it had taken him how long to venture out of Torchline? Too awkward over the idea of leaving everything he knew behind.

But her hand opens, it smooths against his own and he lets her – lets her fingers explore and pass over slowly, callouses in different places on their hands, telling different stories. And then she’s grabbing his wrist, so abruptly his breath hitches and he’s shifted forward, their noses brushing. And he goes willingly, surprised at her strength and speed. It’s reflected in the honeyed gaze that peers back at her, content to be here with her clutching him close.

His gaze drifts along hers, searching for the lie in her words, but there’s a crooked lift of his lips in a smile as he focuses on her again, his freehand shifting so that it might rest along her side. “Wouldn’t dare.” He hums back to her, softly, breaking that distance – his nose ghosting against her own as he leans in fully, lips pressing against hers with a soft sigh.

It's a tender and gentle kiss, Milo giving her all the reins in how far she wants to take it.

for the warning signs i've completely ignored
there's an amount to take, reasons to take more

AURELIA

and my hands aren't clean
maybe they never will be

She could see the hint of surprise in his eyes and it made a knowing smile tug at the corner of her mouth. She wanted to startle him, to make his heart pound against his chest because deep down, he must've known that the unknown was a little fucking terrifying. It was for her, and now he knew that. She simultaneously regretted and relished that fact, and her brain was frantically trying to decide whether she really wanted this or not - do or don't, trust or push away. Her eyes searched his, too. Then his words split through and centered her, silenced the panic, though it certainly didn't stop it.

Her own blood thundered from her chest as she felt the hum of his mouth until it was pressed against hers. Her eyelids sank down and her grip on his arm softened. The hairs along her arms pricked from the warmth. It cracked, shattered whatever wall she'd tried to resolve against him. In all that time wasted trying to put up a wall to keep everyone out, she'd inadvertantly locked herself in.

Her hand ran up his chest and past his neck to firmly carress his jaw, her thumb making a small dimple in his cheek. It spread, that intoxicating warmth, and she kissed him back, pulling him closer, pressing herself further into a deeper kiss. The terrain of his soft, moist mouth was an uncharted territory that she wanted to explore.

The dying light of the fire burst, tearing through the soot and ash. Deep in the belly of the pit, the wood raucously crackled and snapped vibrantly. Embers flung out from underneath it, soaring into the air to strengthen the fire. Except she'd forgotten how to breathe, so she pulled back with a sharp inhale. The sparks settled but, the fire was brighter.

but they can still carry you home
when you're ready to sleep

MILO

this is for the snakes and the people they bite
for the friends i've made, for the sleepless nights

It is frightening. The unknown being exactly that, out of ones comfort zone, out of anything you could imagine. He finds he doesn’t mind it so much right now, that thick strum of anxiety and worry that lingers in his bones, melding away with the warmth of the fire as he tells her he wouldn’t dare. And he feels her still, his hand coming up to run along her skin gently, softly, while he moves to lean in and kiss her gently.

Lost in the kiss as he is, he notices distantly how her hand softens around his wrist, breathing through his nose as he gives into her under the moonlight beside a dying fire. And he can’t help the shiver that runs up his spine as her hand lifts, moving along his chest and up his neck, to his jaw – his own hands moving to run along her skin too as she pulls him in closer. The kiss deepens and Milo burns with it, giving her whatever she wants, a hand lifting along her side and over her clothes, lifting up and up until he reaches a space where he can cup the back of her head.

It isn’t until she pulls back with the sharp inhale – all sense of the dying fire being brighter beside him lost as he focuses entirely on her. But there’s no words, just the gentle heaving of his chest, spending the moment of catching his breath to readjust how he sits, no longer cross legged but simply on his knees before her. And he leans in again, hoping to trail a few kisses along her jawline, to blaze a trail down her neck as his other hand moves to splay along the small of her back.

for the warning signs i've completely ignored
there's an amount to take, reasons to take more

AURELIA

and my hands aren't clean
maybe they never will be

She felt his involuntary shiver beneath her palm, felt it echo through his body like a silent cry. She smiled into the kiss at that, though it faded as his hand floated across her skin, over her clothes, til it wound up the tender spot behind her neck. There was an audible hitch of her breath, a flinch of her own body as the tingle spread out across her shuddering shoulders.

Then they broke apart, and the fire was ablaze beside them. She gave it a cursory glance for just a moment before she felt the shift of movement in front of her. His gaze of honey, warm and sweet, was enough to melt away the disquiet in her own green eyes - though only for a moment. He was oozing with an aura of someone that was confident in what they were doing. As much as Aurelia wanted to mirror it, she could only sweat, feeling the perspiration start in her hands.

A soft gasp beckoned her lips back open as he pressed that second kiss to the smooth line of her jaw and worked down to her neck. She looked down at his heaving chest as he leaned towards her but, she didn't give in. Not yet. Her arm came up to tentatively interrupt him.

But he was still close when her hand relaxed, curving around the muscle that extended between his neck and his shoulder, because she didn't really want to push him away. She lowered her forehead against his other shoulder and rest it there, closing her eyes in the hopes of letting her mind blank again, to stop swimming and churning and swirling. Maybe it was the combination of it all mixing in with the alcohol.

Her nose shifted to gently nuzzle the soft material of his shirt, breathing in his unfamiliar scent, wanting it to calm her nerves. "I think, I think too much," she murmured, the words muffled against him. There was a guilt expressed in them, as though it was an apology.

but they can still carry you home
when you're ready to sleep

MILO

this is for the snakes and the people they bite
for the friends i've made, for the sleepless nights

He was confident in what he was doing – having spent enough time doing exactly this, having grown up in Torchline, after all. But he’s careful, attuned to her shifts, to her movements, to the breath that slips from her lips. But her hand lifts to pause him, and he concedes, pulling away just enough but lingering in her space, head tilting lightly as her hand lifts to run along his neck and shoulder.

The weight of her head on his other shoulder has his head nuzzling in against it, red melding with the dark hue of her hair as he closes his eyes, his hand splayed along her lower back shifts to rub up and down her spine – softly and gently at first of course – testing boundaries in a sense. The other hand wraps around her shoulder to keep them close, to share warmth despite the fire that still lingers beside them.

“There’s lots t’think ‘bout.” He murmurs, an edge of a smile crossing his face that he’s sure she can feel, the stretch and pull of a cheek pressed against her head. But his hand aims to continue its slow and steady rubbing, a massacre of sorts as he considers everything, brown gaze opening as he stares over her shoulder to the shadows along the beach.

He doesn’t know how long it’s been, but he takes a deep inhale, letting the air puff out of him in a scent of alcohol and smoke. “Whatcha thinkin’ ‘bout?” He asks after a moment of settling himself.

for the warning signs i've completely ignored
there's an amount to take, reasons to take more