Open Post 002

[2020mod]

• Step one: start a thread in this post!
• Step two: specify who the thread is for (or open) in this post!
• Step three: make people reply to this post!
• AND THAT'S THE WAY YOU DO IT.


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musebox • rules • character list

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[dragony]

Her arms move, wrapping around him a little different, a little tighter, as if that will keep her from shaking, keep him from noticing. His heart's still rattling around inside her, but so's hers, a chaotic mess soothed from sinking into black depths by his borrowed hope.

"You're always stupid."

She pretends she isn't crying.

[crab]

It's more awkward than the heartfelt scenes of long-awaited reconciliation movies and books would spin, where everything always seemed to fall back into place.

He shifts over the carpet, shuffling so he is less off to the side, repositioning himself so she is in the fork of his knees, making it easier to hold her. He clings to her, needy and fumbling, unable to decide where his hands should rest, unsure as to how he fits together with her anymore -- inexperienced and hampered by nerves all over again, as if he'd reverted to being a stupid teenager in the span of a few minutes. He wants to say something meaningful, but the words stick at the back of his throat, refusing to be articulated. He doesn't know what to say. He doesn't know what to do. He's messed this up so thoroughly already.

In the end, what comes out of his mouth is very simple, after a few minutes of struggle; he doesn't think about how it never ended well to say it before, doesn't even really decide that it is what he should say. It slips out, thoughtless as an exhale.

"I love you," is muttered into the side of her neck, against her pulse.

[dragony]

Don't leave me are the words that catch in her throat, the words she wants to say, but can't. Because there's nothing she can say to make him stay, she knows. He has those people he wants to find, wants to protect and save, and even as selfish as she is, she can't force him to sacrifice anyone else just for her.

It isn't fair, how much she needs him, and how much he needs to be everywhere that isn't with her. It makes her hate him almost as much as she loves him, and she can't say a word for either. She couldn't even admit to them until she'd already lost him, and had known he wouldn't be back.

If she says it now, she's afraid he'll disappear again. Her arms shake and her heart races, and she's going to feel so cold when he finally goes again.

She's going to rip holes in that shirt for how tight she's holding on. Anxiety and fear coil in her arms. "I miss you so much," comes out in a rush, and she doesn't even notice it's still in the present tense.

[crab]

She might not be able to say it, but the thing is -- she doesn't have to. Not to an empath. I don't want to, is his silent reply. He never wants to leave her. He doesn't even want to let go of her long enough for them to get up off the floor. Nothing is fair about this, Karkat thinks bitterly as her nails scrape at his back through his shirt, as their bodies shift against one another and he inhales the scent of her hair, rubs his hand up and down her back as if he could soothe away any of the things wrong with their lives. Nothing is fair about them.

He never wanted to love her the way he does, never intended to, sometimes wonders if he was never meant to in the first place. He does, though, whether either of them like it or not, and it's not fair that she won't ever say it back, that she won't ever acknowledge it -- he hates her for that, too, sometimes.

They were better off when they were children. Better off when they took each other and their place in the world for granted, before they could even recognize the value of being able to see one another every day. Better off when they cared less, needed less.

"I don't know how to fix this," he tells her helplessly, not even bothering to keep his voice from cracking. He doesn't know how to fix her, fix himself, fix the world. It's not fair.

[dragony]

The crack in his voice is sharp reminder; the suffering she felt was his, years of his, and how fair was it to force him to carry the burden of her heart when he was already so saddled with the weight of his?

This time it's her hand combing through his hair, sweat-damp and stiff with grime, split-ends, but who cares about something like that? She lifts her head, her hands smoothing into flat palms against his back. She shifts in his arms. "You're here," she murmurs, quiet into the shell of his ear, calmer now. "You're here now. That's enough."

[crab]

No it's not, he wants to tell her. That's not enough at all. They both know he'll leave her again eventually. He'll hurt her and she'll hurt him, and the worst part about it all is it isn't something Karkat can control. The state of the world they live in is out of their hands; what they have now, however screwed up and painful, is the best either of them are able to do. It's not enough.

He doesn't say any of this, though. Merely shivers at the sensation of her fingers brushing against his scalp, her breath against his ear. Deprived of physical contact that wasn't pain for so long as he has been, the reaction he has to the simple touch and affection is almost overwhelming. He doesn't know how to react to it.

He lets out a sigh and pulls back from their embrace -- not by much, mind. Just enough that he is able to look her in the face again, take in the pallor of her face, the tears that cling to her lashes and glisten in streaks down her face, the pull of her brows and curve of her mouth, the shift in expressions. Refreshing everything he'd missed, recoloring his memory. For a while, that's all he does; look at her.

It's gentle and almost hesitant, when he finally leans in to press his lips to hers.

[dragony]

Even that small movement has her heart flickering in mild panic, the one hand tensing on his back. Is he leaving her, already? Is he rejecting her, finally? But he stops, and she freezes, uncertain of what to say or what she said that would cause this now. Her eye skims his face for some clue as to what he's thinking, but she's not an empath the same way he is; proximity isn't enough for her to sense even a fraction of his heart.

The confusion (anxiety fear trepidation) is plain on her face, spiking at movement once more. At contact she freezes for surprise—everything seems to happen so fast, so slow, it's hard to keep herself in the present—but the breath rushes out of her, the tension in her back and her shoulders easing, when she kisses back.

He really is there with her, isn't he? This isn't a dream.

But, she thinks, shifting on pins-and-needles legs and curling her fingers in his hair, that's no guarantee she won't wake up to an empty room, with no sign he'd ever been here in the first place.

No guarantee at all.