aldhani | saltburnt

[not neutral at all, as it turns out — but private. that's better, probably.]

I'll be there.

[after that, he doesn't waste any time; he tucks his phone away, and he's on the move.

the route is easy, nearly automatic, so it only takes him about ten minutes. ten minutes of having nothing he needs to focus on except for collecting his thoughts, before he's at their door and turning the knob to pull it open.

he lets out a breath, long and slow.]

[ not neutral, but it's pretty clear that part of this is stemming from being unsure what or who they can trust in this new environment. so maybe it's better to do this somewhere where they're familiar and where things will be as close to private as they can be.

and, in truth, she's exhausted. she'd rather not have this discussion somewhere and not know how to get back if the house decides to switch things up on them.

within the promised time, she's there, the night's chill still coloring her cheeks and clinging to her clothes and hair. she sees him in the room and turns to pull off her jacket and hang it up before turning to him, arms folded over chest. ]

So. You wanted to talk.

[she's there not long after he is, and everything about her, from her posture to her voice, is guarded. it's fair, and he wouldn't expect anything else right now. in turn, he keeps a distance, showing that it's clear that he intends to keep standing on his side of an invisible line.

from there, all he has to do is say what he'd mentally rehearsed all the way up here; this is the chance she's giving him to do just that, the one she didn't have to give him.

his hands are shoved into the pockets of the jacket that he still hasn't taken off, and his eyes are on the floor.]

For a long time, I didn't care what happened to me. Not really. [a halting start, one he almost loses the thread on, in spite of the rehearsing.] Sometimes, I thought that maybe it would be better for people if something did. They'd have peace if they didn't have to worry about me anymore.

[it's after another long exhale that he finally looks up, at her.]

I know that's not true for you, but I acted like it was, because when I didn't know anything else, I knew how to do that. I went behind your back, and made decisions for both of us. I hurt you.

And I'm sorry for all of that.

[ it’s not a surprising reveal, but it’s one that breaks her heart. she’s not sure what it is that keeps magnetizing people who hold this kind of belief about themselves, who would rather make sacrifices and shove people away than let themselves be cared about, because of some sort of guilt for circumstances they could never help. logan. daniel. alec even, to a degree. and now him.

she knows she’s guilty of it, too. alec’s pointed it out more than once, and so had daniel. but her goal had never been -

she stops before she lets herself finish that thought. ]

I hate seeing you do that to yourself. [ her voice is quiet, but her expression is softer, focused on the ground after he’s said what he needs to. when she looks up, the tears are back, but there’s no more anger, just sadness. and imploring. ] You - you know I’m probably not the first or only one that it hurts watching for. Right?

[ but in this case - this is all there is left for him, as far as they know. it hurts all the more knowing that, thinking that he thinks his life matters less because this is all there is of it left. ]

I love you. [ she gives up on trying to hold back from crying any more, a few tears sliding down her cheeks. she wipes at them, letting her arms unfold as she steps closer. ] I don’t want to lose you, even if it doesn’t last.

[when it's all done, hanging in the air, he doesn't know what happens next. she could be furious with him, more than she has been, and she'd have every right to be; he'd managed to not only move straight past her feelings, disregarding what he'd known she hadn't wanted him to do, but also step all over them in the process. if she wants space, he'll respect that, for as long as she wants it.

that's not what happens, though.

her soft voice might as well be a shot to the chest, for its impact. it twinges there, and tightens in his throat, as he looks at her, and she looks back at him, with a sadness that only adds to the ache.

(it's not the first time he's seen it, from her, before her. in another life, more times than he can count, that look had been bix watching him from across the salyard whenever he'd stumbled back to ferrix after an absence, with visible bruises and blood, had been in brasso's eyes as he'd helped him patch up yet another injury and figure out yet another cover story, had followed him home to maarva — and, years after that, had formed his last memory of wilmon. and —)

he nods. says an equally soft:] I know. [that's all he can do in the face of that. nod — and remember this; his life means something, just like hers means everything to him. her life and her happiness.

his next steps, for this moment, are clear. when she comes closer, he does the same, until there's no distance between them anymore. he wraps her in his arms and holds her close to his chest, tucking her into him and resting his cheek against the top of her head.]

I love you. [it's thick, around the lump that's formed in his throat. tears sting in his own eyes.] I don't want to lose you, either. In any way.

Edited 2026-01-08 18:03 (UTC)

[ she closes her eyes, letting him enfold her in his arms, and breathes out against his skin, her face tucked against his neck. it feels like the first time she’s been able to breathe since the ‘gift’ had been discovered. since he’d posted to the network, even. they’re still not out of danger, but he’s not set on refusing her help or facing it alone. a few tears keep spilling forward as she breathes in and out shakily for a few minutes.

she hadn’t quite realized how scared she’s been. for herself, for him. and now for grace. ]

I’m scared. [ if he’s coming clean, she should, too. ] I don’t know what he’s going to do and I don’t want any of us hurt. Or worse.

[what she puts a voice to isn't something he doesn't already know. but it's one thing to know it, and another to actually hear it, especially alongside her shaky breaths and tears that he can feel against his neck; it's not easy to scare max, and it's even more difficult to get her to admit to that fear. it grips him anew, a cold edge to the warmth of their embrace.

tomorrow is less certain than ever. but tonight —

his arms circle around her just a little tighter, a support, even if a shield isn't possible. one hand moves over her back, a soft repeated (and hopefully grounding) motion, while he stays quiet for a time.]

I would've felt better if Grace had stayed with us, but I understand why she didn't want to, [he says, finally.] We have people to talk to. Faith knows his patterns, and maybe she can help us figure this one out before he does something. Buffy, too. Tomorrow, we can reach out.

[ he clings to her a little tighter after she admits what she's been feeling and trying to suppress, up until it wasn't just them he was threatening. it's not like she hadn't been worried about them before, but it's different when it's not just them who's being targeted. especially when grace is innocent and has already been through so much.

but he's right. they have faith. they have alia. buffy's here, even if she doesn't know her anymore. they aren't fighting him alone, if it comes to that. ]

Okay. [ she nods against him, pulling back a little to kiss him lightly, craving the comfort. ] Tomorrow.

[tomorrow, he says, and tomorrow, she agrees. like this, holding her, pulling back just enough to kiss, he's almost convinced he can put it off for both of them. almost.

the moment, in and of itself, has a limit, but he stretches the comfort as long as possible, kissing her gently until he's forced to come up for air. he stays close, touching his forehead to hers.

and, eventually, murmurs,] We should eat something.

saltburnt | inbox

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject