[ it doesn’t take him long to figure out what nikolai is doing — that he doesn’t mean to initiate something like what they’ve had before. it’s a strange, tender thing, clotting his throat. another drink fails to clear the blockage has he liked everything so far? nikolai has little reason to lie, but it still seems a bold claim to make. he hasn’t seen your worst, even half-drowned and delirious on the beach or pointed in his cruelty at the inn. the waters only serve to make him broken, something he suspects nikolai finds appealing in some way, drawn both to a puzzle and a challenge. it sounds unkind when he thinks of it like that, but it’s only logical, when they’ve connected and reconnected at low, fragile points in their journeys. if nikolai weren’t burdened with monstrosity, if he really were prince perfect — kaz wouldn’t be able to bear him, let alone understand him.
yet for all his unpleasantries, kaz has never given himself over to his wounded rage in nikolai’s presence. the anger makes him formless, taking oomen’s eyes for harming inej and tearing through every associate of pekka rollins. kaz might regret the calculating and awful things that led him here, if only he were less good at them. unfortunately, he’s been capable from the start and only gotten better with practice. that’s what his poison tongue and clever hands are for. not this.
kaz tells himself all that. and then he doesn’t pull away, considering nikolai’s request as he talks. the admission pulls his focus, narrowing it back to the present moment. what did he sneak out to find? no, who? suddenly, he cares very much whether nikolai has had someone else. that someone must have mattered a great deal, if nikolai hadn’t mentioned them earlier, if he won't name them now. ]
Your profile has better lights. [ than mournful. his mouth quirks, as if he knows it’s surprising that he commented on one of nikolai's little distractions at all. ] Inej finds strength in her memories — good and bad. [ a simple statement, the tell of his admiration tucked in the faraway flit of his eyes.] I don’t know how. [ dismissive as the roll of his good shoulder, a shrug, although he’s anything but towards her. speaking of inej contextualises his question; that’s all. for kaz, the measure of love will always be loss. you can’t keep people. they’re not things.
as he prepares to answer nikolai’s question (despite the cheap reply he received, on his turn) his spine straightens. he ungloves his right hand with a flash of teeth and assesses nikolai for exposed skin, fingers fanning out at the side of his neck, cupping the pulse in his throat. a hitch of breath, at the first step into the icy water. his rasp pitches a note higher even as his features tighten into a controlled mask. ]
It’s as if — your hand is just a hand, touching me, but it feels — cold like the corpses. Or hot like the fever. [ he shudders, the worst of the shake in his arm. only by force of will do his eyes stay open. ] I’ll be looking at you, and then you won’t be you — you — you’ll be dead. [ a long inhale. ] Most have seen death. I know you have. [ an apology of a kind, for things he said to nikolai previously. shuttering his eyes, he reaches deep inside himself and opens the hatch. quieter, then. ] But I was with the dead for a long time. [ how long had he been passed out, buried? how long had he been in the water, shriveling? ] And death — it advances quickly. On the body. Colonises it. The eyes — [ that used to look at you with warmth empty into nothing, unfocused, stuck open forever. his mouth twists, lashes twitching against his cheek. he should have closed jordie’s eyes, the ones they share, blue as the summer sky. was that how the ghost slipped out? it takes mere hours for rot to steal the rest, years of life replaced with bloating muscle, decaying skin, protruding bones.
he turns his head, eyes settling on a blank wall when they finally open again. his hand drops to his lap, fingers curling so nikolai can’t study the worst of the dark scars decorating his skin. ]
I think about your luck running out almost as much as you do. [ a callback to the cave. every person he touches, dead in his arms. wouldn’t that frighten anyone? somehow, kaz musters a sideways glare, borderline haughty when he adds, ] You should be grateful I want to kiss you at all. [ with the general morbidity of his romantic personality, atop his own visions of corpses. ]
Will you tell me their name? [ even after giving him jordie and rietveld, after forcing himself to say the unsayable — he doesn’t deserve an answer because no one deserves anything, but he wants one badly. it edges into his voice. ] The person you would sneak away to see.
no subject
yet for all his unpleasantries, kaz has never given himself over to his wounded rage in nikolai’s presence. the anger makes him formless, taking oomen’s eyes for harming inej and tearing through every associate of pekka rollins. kaz might regret the calculating and awful things that led him here, if only he were less good at them. unfortunately, he’s been capable from the start and only gotten better with practice. that’s what his poison tongue and clever hands are for. not this.
kaz tells himself all that. and then he doesn’t pull away, considering nikolai’s request as he talks. the admission pulls his focus, narrowing it back to the present moment. what did he sneak out to find? no, who? suddenly, he cares very much whether nikolai has had someone else. that someone must have mattered a great deal, if nikolai hadn’t mentioned them earlier, if he won't name them now. ]
Your profile has better lights. [ than mournful. his mouth quirks, as if he knows it’s surprising that he commented on one of nikolai's little distractions at all. ] Inej finds strength in her memories — good and bad. [ a simple statement, the tell of his admiration tucked in the faraway flit of his eyes.] I don’t know how. [ dismissive as the roll of his good shoulder, a shrug, although he’s anything but towards her. speaking of inej contextualises his question; that’s all. for kaz, the measure of love will always be loss. you can’t keep people. they’re not things.
as he prepares to answer nikolai’s question (despite the cheap reply he received, on his turn) his spine straightens. he ungloves his right hand with a flash of teeth and assesses nikolai for exposed skin, fingers fanning out at the side of his neck, cupping the pulse in his throat. a hitch of breath, at the first step into the icy water. his rasp pitches a note higher even as his features tighten into a controlled mask. ]
It’s as if — your hand is just a hand, touching me, but it feels — cold like the corpses. Or hot like the fever. [ he shudders, the worst of the shake in his arm. only by force of will do his eyes stay open. ] I’ll be looking at you, and then you won’t be you — you — you’ll be dead. [ a long inhale. ] Most have seen death. I know you have. [ an apology of a kind, for things he said to nikolai previously. shuttering his eyes, he reaches deep inside himself and opens the hatch. quieter, then. ] But I was with the dead for a long time. [ how long had he been passed out, buried? how long had he been in the water, shriveling? ] And death — it advances quickly. On the body. Colonises it. The eyes — [ that used to look at you with warmth empty into nothing, unfocused, stuck open forever. his mouth twists, lashes twitching against his cheek. he should have closed jordie’s eyes, the ones they share, blue as the summer sky. was that how the ghost slipped out? it takes mere hours for rot to steal the rest, years of life replaced with bloating muscle, decaying skin, protruding bones.
he turns his head, eyes settling on a blank wall when they finally open again. his hand drops to his lap, fingers curling so nikolai can’t study the worst of the dark scars decorating his skin. ]
I think about your luck running out almost as much as you do. [ a callback to the cave. every person he touches, dead in his arms. wouldn’t that frighten anyone? somehow, kaz musters a sideways glare, borderline haughty when he adds, ] You should be grateful I want to kiss you at all. [ with the general morbidity of his romantic personality, atop his own visions of corpses. ]
Will you tell me their name? [ even after giving him jordie and rietveld, after forcing himself to say the unsayable — he doesn’t deserve an answer because no one deserves anything, but he wants one badly. it edges into his voice. ] The person you would sneak away to see.