Harper
It's not her that invokes his anger, and he will always - always - handle her gently, but he regrets his outburst if only because it is so easy to misconstrue as exactly that. Easy to be seen as big, intimidating, rageful. All things he had tried to kill and bury in the years before Caido. It had gotten easier in this new world, a world that he has no lived in nearly as long as he did his native one, but sometimes that darkness wells back up and he hates himself anew for its very existence.
When she doesn't pull away, his arms settle back around her; light, not a cage. Still tentative, careful, but not moments away from withdrawing. His hand turns to gently stroke his fingers against her tail, careful not to twist or disrupt her hold on his wrist as he quietly listens. It's only fair when she had done the same for him.
If his grip tightens a little, it's because he's angry on her behalf, and the set of his jaw makes it clear. "It's why I don't like the word try either; but it's because everyone says they will try and stay, but that the world or their herald or their hearts may change. And maybe it's unfair of me to expect more than trying, but I'm too tired to be fair anymore." Not if it's his heart on the line. The heart he has always given freely, entirely, with no reservation or regard for himself. It is battered and broken many times over now, and he cradles it to his chest now, refusing to let anyone see it much less take it into their own hands.
"Communication in Caido seems abysmal compared to where I came from," he mutters disparagingly. "If I love someone, I tell them. I don't hide how I feel, or what I want, or where I see myself in the future should they not want to follow me there." He shakes his head, exhaling roughly. It is a level of vulnerability not everyone is meant for, but to not even communicate basic relationship boundaries? It has vexed him from the start. "And I'm sorry. I'm sorry you weren't afforded that basic respect. And I wish I could take it from you." But it's as fruitless and futile as Maea wishing to take from him all the abandonments he has suffered, the broken hearts and losses. All they are left with is overflowing sentiment, and no font large enough to hold it, causing it to slip between their fingers without actionable change.
Her question opens those doors of vulnerability, and Harper watches her from beneath overgrown curls, wondering if he's ready to do that. Even if he does not hand her the key, it is the first time it will have happened since Maeve, and he isn't sure if this is the right path or if continuing to sleep and drink his way into oblivion is better. One sounds better on paper, but the other is the only proof he has of trying to do something for himself.
"I devote myself entirely to one person," he murmurs, taking the risk, because when has Harper ever not? From the first time he threw himself off a trapeze, he has seized every moment, no matter how it makes his stomach drop or his heart seize. "Monogamy is non-negotiable. I'm old fashioned and prefer ideals such as engagements and marriage, but I've changed that for the right people." It still kills him that he never had the honor of calling Phoebe his wife, but he can at least claim that he respected her wishes to the very end. "I have moved regions for love. Been a house husband, a councilman, a king for love. There is little I won't do, and less I won't abide." If his unblinking eye contact is intense, it is only because he needs her to see exactly what she has asked for with all the clarity he can afford. "But I cannot be abandoned again. I can't wake up one day and you're - they're gone, and I am left wondering whether I need to be grieving or not. Waiting or not." He catches the slip too late, and he can only hope she excuses for forwardness, his assumptions. In the end, it might not matter. They might want all the same things and still be too broken for any of their pieces to align; shattered into incompatible shapes.
When she doesn't pull away, his arms settle back around her; light, not a cage. Still tentative, careful, but not moments away from withdrawing. His hand turns to gently stroke his fingers against her tail, careful not to twist or disrupt her hold on his wrist as he quietly listens. It's only fair when she had done the same for him.
If his grip tightens a little, it's because he's angry on her behalf, and the set of his jaw makes it clear. "It's why I don't like the word try either; but it's because everyone says they will try and stay, but that the world or their herald or their hearts may change. And maybe it's unfair of me to expect more than trying, but I'm too tired to be fair anymore." Not if it's his heart on the line. The heart he has always given freely, entirely, with no reservation or regard for himself. It is battered and broken many times over now, and he cradles it to his chest now, refusing to let anyone see it much less take it into their own hands.
"Communication in Caido seems abysmal compared to where I came from," he mutters disparagingly. "If I love someone, I tell them. I don't hide how I feel, or what I want, or where I see myself in the future should they not want to follow me there." He shakes his head, exhaling roughly. It is a level of vulnerability not everyone is meant for, but to not even communicate basic relationship boundaries? It has vexed him from the start. "And I'm sorry. I'm sorry you weren't afforded that basic respect. And I wish I could take it from you." But it's as fruitless and futile as Maea wishing to take from him all the abandonments he has suffered, the broken hearts and losses. All they are left with is overflowing sentiment, and no font large enough to hold it, causing it to slip between their fingers without actionable change.
Her question opens those doors of vulnerability, and Harper watches her from beneath overgrown curls, wondering if he's ready to do that. Even if he does not hand her the key, it is the first time it will have happened since Maeve, and he isn't sure if this is the right path or if continuing to sleep and drink his way into oblivion is better. One sounds better on paper, but the other is the only proof he has of trying to do something for himself.
"I devote myself entirely to one person," he murmurs, taking the risk, because when has Harper ever not? From the first time he threw himself off a trapeze, he has seized every moment, no matter how it makes his stomach drop or his heart seize. "Monogamy is non-negotiable. I'm old fashioned and prefer ideals such as engagements and marriage, but I've changed that for the right people." It still kills him that he never had the honor of calling Phoebe his wife, but he can at least claim that he respected her wishes to the very end. "I have moved regions for love. Been a house husband, a councilman, a king for love. There is little I won't do, and less I won't abide." If his unblinking eye contact is intense, it is only because he needs her to see exactly what she has asked for with all the clarity he can afford. "But I cannot be abandoned again. I can't wake up one day and you're - they're gone, and I am left wondering whether I need to be grieving or not. Waiting or not." He catches the slip too late, and he can only hope she excuses for forwardness, his assumptions. In the end, it might not matter. They might want all the same things and still be too broken for any of their pieces to align; shattered into incompatible shapes.
I cut my teeth on second-hand sentiments
you can't trust a thing I say
you can't trust a thing I say
