[ nikolai’s laugh aches all the more for being something he wants in a way he never wanted it: the sound incredulous enough to burn his tender skin. another dismissal of the possibility that kaz has anything to offer him. you knew he felt this way. that nikolai only came to him because zoya sent him away. the truth picks at the wound opened by the monster and deepened by nikolai’s words. kaz knew nikolai enjoyed the idea of fixing a broken thing like him, but he’d thought there was opportunity for an exchange. it wouldn’t be so terrible to let nikolai touch his most vulnerable parts, if only kaz could do the same to him.
it's clear that nikolai isn't ready for that. might never be, in fact, with him. kaz listens in silence, hating how nikolai stumbles over his first attempt at assurance and then scolding himself more for caring. hurt has become an old friend to you. his gaze affixes to a spot on the wall beside nikolai’s bloodied hair. it isn’t wrong to be afraid, he soothes, and there have been times when he might have let nikolai convince him that were true, but sat apart, he knows it to be false. fear and shame are what make a weakness fatal.
there's no beginning or end cuts into him before he can erect new protections. letting nikolai inside has done irreversible damage. the hatch at the back of his mind is now cracked permanently, light streaming into long-dark corners. it just is. despite everything, kaz wants to discard his gloves and take nikolai's face in his hands. you can’t, even though there's more than room — there’s a damned cavern inside him. he’ll have to fill the space with something, someone, anything else. ]
Those are pretty words. [ but if nikolai truly felt differently, he would say what the demon holds over him instead of elegantly dodging that thread. he wouldn't insist on facing this alone. enough. kaz decides that wanting nikolai to be okay and wanting him can no longer coexist. they're oppositional impulses, telling him to hold firm and let go. ]
The price of your pride will be the nearest merchling’s head. [ and then nikolai’s heart in turn. there aren’t many houses near here, but he knows of enough. lotte’s boys play in the woods no matter how harshly she punishes them for it. ] Every time I slacken my grip, you escape. [ flashes of half-drowned desperation on the sand, promises made with taction in fjerda — pretty words. ] And you’re starving. What makes you think you have the control to hunt? My blood sent you into a frenzy yesterday, Lantsov. [ he slides a knife from his boot and guides it along the pulse in his exposed forearm, resting the point of blade at the crook of his elbow. kaz imagines gutting his arm and feeling fangs at his throat, a strange relief at the thought of this ending for one of them. ] Unless something has changed overnight.
[ if it has, he’ll gladly test nikolai’s resolve. there’s nothing like a high stakes gamble to keep the pain at bay. adjusting his grip on the handle, his thumb pushes down enough for the knife to make a divot in his soft flesh, skin not yet broken. the odds aren’t terrible, with dimitri likely already moving at the sound of his ricocheting heart. nikolai may yet fold. he still cares for kaz — like a child cares for a beloved and broken toy, unwilling to part with the ragged thing even when it no longer functions as intended. ]
no subject
it's clear that nikolai isn't ready for that. might never be, in fact, with him. kaz listens in silence, hating how nikolai stumbles over his first attempt at assurance and then scolding himself more for caring. hurt has become an old friend to you. his gaze affixes to a spot on the wall beside nikolai’s bloodied hair. it isn’t wrong to be afraid, he soothes, and there have been times when he might have let nikolai convince him that were true, but sat apart, he knows it to be false. fear and shame are what make a weakness fatal.
there's no beginning or end cuts into him before he can erect new protections. letting nikolai inside has done irreversible damage. the hatch at the back of his mind is now cracked permanently, light streaming into long-dark corners. it just is. despite everything, kaz wants to discard his gloves and take nikolai's face in his hands. you can’t, even though there's more than room — there’s a damned cavern inside him. he’ll have to fill the space with something, someone, anything else. ]
Those are pretty words. [ but if nikolai truly felt differently, he would say what the demon holds over him instead of elegantly dodging that thread. he wouldn't insist on facing this alone. enough. kaz decides that wanting nikolai to be okay and wanting him can no longer coexist. they're oppositional impulses, telling him to hold firm and let go. ]
The price of your pride will be the nearest merchling’s head. [ and then nikolai’s heart in turn. there aren’t many houses near here, but he knows of enough. lotte’s boys play in the woods no matter how harshly she punishes them for it. ] Every time I slacken my grip, you escape. [ flashes of half-drowned desperation on the sand, promises made with taction in fjerda — pretty words. ] And you’re starving. What makes you think you have the control to hunt? My blood sent you into a frenzy yesterday, Lantsov. [ he slides a knife from his boot and guides it along the pulse in his exposed forearm, resting the point of blade at the crook of his elbow. kaz imagines gutting his arm and feeling fangs at his throat, a strange relief at the thought of this ending for one of them. ] Unless something has changed overnight.
[ if it has, he’ll gladly test nikolai’s resolve. there’s nothing like a high stakes gamble to keep the pain at bay. adjusting his grip on the handle, his thumb pushes down enough for the knife to make a divot in his soft flesh, skin not yet broken. the odds aren’t terrible, with dimitri likely already moving at the sound of his ricocheting heart. nikolai may yet fold. he still cares for kaz — like a child cares for a beloved and broken toy, unwilling to part with the ragged thing even when it no longer functions as intended. ]