[ of course he knew. kaz is the one person he can never seem to fool, and maybe a part of him prefers it that way. that starkly wounded look of his is too much to take, and he doesn't want to admit that he's been losing himself in his lies lately, worn down by the strain of holding his head up with a smile. perhaps that's why he ended up here tonight despite all good sense, and it's why he's moving in closer as he hangs onto every quiet word uttered between them as if kaz is now the one building him a path of stones to follow.
i'm tired is the answer he wants to give to try again — tired of trying, tired of the chance of not being enough — but stay snaps something to attention, a soft demand, a simple request that he believed he'd broken too much between them to hear. it sparks a dying flame to life, a ragged warmth in his chest. words press to his tongue, words that he swallows back down. the one truth was enough, already leaving him too exposed — but worse, leaving a burden in kaz's hands. there's no way to take back the reality of what he feels, and he already regrets that he knows kaz will think of it in restless agitation, will brood over how to solve it and know that he can't, all the while pretending it isn't on his mind at all. no, better to keep his truths close to his chest. what did he say? even barrel bosses have lovers on the geldstraat and children secreted away. to admit to something more would be giving kaz a lever of his own to be used against him. would he really want that?
but his thoughts are cut short at the soft feeling of kaz's face pressing into his neck, his breath warm where it cascades unevenly against his skin. another thing he didn't expect — kaz pushing himself so hard after everything, and with such success. he holds still, his mind a sudden uproar of all the ways he could ruin this fragile, tenuous connection. it won't survive another dismantling. that much he's sure of. he wants to pull away, wants to stop while they're ahead. they could still be — something. friends. associates. people who look at each other across rooms and wonder forever what might have become of them. but if he stops this now, he thinks kaz might not forgive that, either. and nikolai might not forgive himself.
his fingers glide gently through his dark hair, eyes open but unseeing in the dim room, his breath heavy with — what? nerves. fear. want. he shouldn't do this, shouldn't peg his hopes onto a person like this, but kaz makes him want to try and keep trying, to summon the haggard pieces of himself back into the man he knows is still somewhere inside of him. his eyes press shut at the flutter of lips at his jumping pulse, a softly tentative gesture, maybe all kaz can give. his stained fingers carefully rise, ghosting over kaz's jaw, lifting his chin as he coaxes his face toward his, meeting the bright blue of his eyes. for the longest moment he doesn't move at all, fingertips to his skin, flooded with doubt and arrested with longing. ]
Don't go yet. [ because he knows the end of this pitiful job is near, that kaz can only do so much, that he will have to walk this path of atonement alone. ] I don't know what to say to make them love me again. [ and if kaz ever wondered if he was daft, he just confirmed it without question. people like zoya, kaz, even alina hadn't cared about being adored, but he needs it, craves it, feels bereft without it. it feels like a personal failing, a measure he can't reach. even these long days of bitter silence between the two of them have been hard to contend with for more than just the obvious reasons. he can't bear the thought that kaz might dislike him as a person after the things he did.
he tips his forehead to his, his eyes sliding shut, his breath rushing out of him as his hand cradles the base of his skull, holding him close. it would take just one push for their mouths to brush. he swallows. ] Don't go. I haven't even shown you the lake. I haven't taken you in the water. I haven't done any of the things I said because I just — I haven't wanted to live. But — I want more time with you.
no subject
i'm tired is the answer he wants to give to try again — tired of trying, tired of the chance of not being enough — but stay snaps something to attention, a soft demand, a simple request that he believed he'd broken too much between them to hear. it sparks a dying flame to life, a ragged warmth in his chest. words press to his tongue, words that he swallows back down. the one truth was enough, already leaving him too exposed — but worse, leaving a burden in kaz's hands. there's no way to take back the reality of what he feels, and he already regrets that he knows kaz will think of it in restless agitation, will brood over how to solve it and know that he can't, all the while pretending it isn't on his mind at all. no, better to keep his truths close to his chest. what did he say? even barrel bosses have lovers on the geldstraat and children secreted away. to admit to something more would be giving kaz a lever of his own to be used against him. would he really want that?
but his thoughts are cut short at the soft feeling of kaz's face pressing into his neck, his breath warm where it cascades unevenly against his skin. another thing he didn't expect — kaz pushing himself so hard after everything, and with such success. he holds still, his mind a sudden uproar of all the ways he could ruin this fragile, tenuous connection. it won't survive another dismantling. that much he's sure of. he wants to pull away, wants to stop while they're ahead. they could still be — something. friends. associates. people who look at each other across rooms and wonder forever what might have become of them. but if he stops this now, he thinks kaz might not forgive that, either. and nikolai might not forgive himself.
his fingers glide gently through his dark hair, eyes open but unseeing in the dim room, his breath heavy with — what? nerves. fear. want. he shouldn't do this, shouldn't peg his hopes onto a person like this, but kaz makes him want to try and keep trying, to summon the haggard pieces of himself back into the man he knows is still somewhere inside of him. his eyes press shut at the flutter of lips at his jumping pulse, a softly tentative gesture, maybe all kaz can give. his stained fingers carefully rise, ghosting over kaz's jaw, lifting his chin as he coaxes his face toward his, meeting the bright blue of his eyes. for the longest moment he doesn't move at all, fingertips to his skin, flooded with doubt and arrested with longing. ]
Don't go yet. [ because he knows the end of this pitiful job is near, that kaz can only do so much, that he will have to walk this path of atonement alone. ] I don't know what to say to make them love me again. [ and if kaz ever wondered if he was daft, he just confirmed it without question. people like zoya, kaz, even alina hadn't cared about being adored, but he needs it, craves it, feels bereft without it. it feels like a personal failing, a measure he can't reach. even these long days of bitter silence between the two of them have been hard to contend with for more than just the obvious reasons. he can't bear the thought that kaz might dislike him as a person after the things he did.
he tips his forehead to his, his eyes sliding shut, his breath rushing out of him as his hand cradles the base of his skull, holding him close. it would take just one push for their mouths to brush. he swallows. ] Don't go. I haven't even shown you the lake. I haven't taken you in the water. I haven't done any of the things I said because I just — I haven't wanted to live. But — I want more time with you.