[ a heartbeat of hesitation, watchful even from afar, before he replies evenly, ] You’re not just anyone. [ unique not only in his relationship to kaz but to the world. kaz has always liked the one-of-a-kind steal. and you might be the only person in slightly less danger because you know me. even if someone knew that he cared for nikolai — and he’s done telling himself that he doesn’t — what could they do about it? a key ravkan figure is more untouchable than the merchant council. and if kaz can help it, he’d like to give nikolai the tools (the company, the secrecy, the heart) to protect him from himself and the demon for a little while longer.
nikolai offers him the possibility of getting what he wants, in a way, by listing him among those singular people who relieve the loneliness in his life. oh. surprise widens his features slightly. his chest swells with a feeling he doesn’t understand, akin to relief wrapped in affection. though he’s loathe to admit it, nikolai has already helped him a great deal — an acknowledgment that he might reflect some of that light back on him, even as he struggles to find the heart, is better than any shallow compliment nikolai might have paid him. better than all the promises of wanting and having on the beach.
and it terrifies him. ]
You might not like what you find, spinning my gears. There might not be anything there, underneath the skin.
[ what are you most afraid of? old answers form quickly, and they’re true enough. drowning, except he doesn’t mind the water, even the sea. corpses, except killing is easy. touch, except it’s where it takes him, not the thing itself. jordie’s voice in his head, come back to haunt him forever. losing the people who matter, the same as every other pathetic skiv. losing you, a natural permutation of the same fear. having you, well, that’s a new one. he wouldn’t know what to do. doesn’t even know where to put his hands now, sitting there like a goddamn waiter, drinks in hand. he finishes his glass so he can set it on the ground, without knowing where his hand will go after.
he takes a gulp of nikolai’s drink, too, for good measure, already light-headed from the proximity. a little intake of breath, as nikolai’s hands climb. his gaze flits down to look at them before he forces himself to swivel back up. impossible not to think of how he hasn’t had ordinary intimacies like this since he was small. someone to unlace your boots and check your hurts. never wanted for that, exactly, but it’s nice to have. of course it is.
it would be so easy to kiss him. suddenly, it’s much harder not to kiss him, even with the instinctive thrill of fear down his spine and the coldness crawling up his legs, spreading from the exact point where they rest in nikolai’s lap. kaz’s gloved hand encircles his wrist, a light grip. you can sit in a room with him and not kiss him. he did it before, night after night, using hurt as a distancer. his gaze flits down to a line of freckles at the juncture where nikolai’s neck meets his shoulder, and he wonders where they lead. ]
I fear the same thing as everyone else. [ his thumb brushes across nikolai’s pulse, gaze drifting over his shoulder. ] Loss. [ he’d be out of a job, if having and losing didn’t make the world go ‘round. ] And things no one else would, like what happens when you touch me. [ a ritual drag back to the watery halls of the dead. can't say, what happens if you stop, but that's there, too. he covers nikolai's hand with his own, so he knows not to pull away. ]
You spend so much time in your head. [ a sideways glance at nikolai. ] Do you have good memories — ones you go back to?
[ nikolai seems prone to retreading treacherous waters, but inej had been able to find strength and hope in her past. ]
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nikolai offers him the possibility of getting what he wants, in a way, by listing him among those singular people who relieve the loneliness in his life. oh. surprise widens his features slightly. his chest swells with a feeling he doesn’t understand, akin to relief wrapped in affection. though he’s loathe to admit it, nikolai has already helped him a great deal — an acknowledgment that he might reflect some of that light back on him, even as he struggles to find the heart, is better than any shallow compliment nikolai might have paid him. better than all the promises of wanting and having on the beach.
and it terrifies him. ]
You might not like what you find, spinning my gears. There might not be anything there, underneath the skin.
[ what are you most afraid of? old answers form quickly, and they’re true enough. drowning, except he doesn’t mind the water, even the sea. corpses, except killing is easy. touch, except it’s where it takes him, not the thing itself. jordie’s voice in his head, come back to haunt him forever. losing the people who matter, the same as every other pathetic skiv. losing you, a natural permutation of the same fear. having you, well, that’s a new one. he wouldn’t know what to do. doesn’t even know where to put his hands now, sitting there like a goddamn waiter, drinks in hand. he finishes his glass so he can set it on the ground, without knowing where his hand will go after.
he takes a gulp of nikolai’s drink, too, for good measure, already light-headed from the proximity. a little intake of breath, as nikolai’s hands climb. his gaze flits down to look at them before he forces himself to swivel back up. impossible not to think of how he hasn’t had ordinary intimacies like this since he was small. someone to unlace your boots and check your hurts. never wanted for that, exactly, but it’s nice to have. of course it is.
it would be so easy to kiss him. suddenly, it’s much harder not to kiss him, even with the instinctive thrill of fear down his spine and the coldness crawling up his legs, spreading from the exact point where they rest in nikolai’s lap. kaz’s gloved hand encircles his wrist, a light grip. you can sit in a room with him and not kiss him. he did it before, night after night, using hurt as a distancer. his gaze flits down to a line of freckles at the juncture where nikolai’s neck meets his shoulder, and he wonders where they lead. ]
I fear the same thing as everyone else. [ his thumb brushes across nikolai’s pulse, gaze drifting over his shoulder. ] Loss. [ he’d be out of a job, if having and losing didn’t make the world go ‘round. ] And things no one else would, like what happens when you touch me. [ a ritual drag back to the watery halls of the dead. can't say, what happens if you stop, but that's there, too. he covers nikolai's hand with his own, so he knows not to pull away. ]
You spend so much time in your head. [ a sideways glance at nikolai. ] Do you have good memories — ones you go back to?
[ nikolai seems prone to retreading treacherous waters, but inej had been able to find strength and hope in her past. ]