[ panic strikes immediately, wanting to reach out and clamp his hand over kaz's mouth to keep those words from coming — words he shouldn't say, words he's longed to hear — but then they're free, spilled out between them like ink that can't be bottled back up, and nikolai hasn't the faintest clue what comes next. his heart might explode, thudding too violently with i've thought of you, i've dreamed of you, i'll stop, i'll go, i want to stay. that kaz wants this confounds him when he's hardly been present, when having him means nothing good at all, when kaz could have anyone, now.
the fragile blossom of love is always stained with death. it sounds like bad poetry, perhaps something he once wrote himself, but it's the truth of what he knows, and to explain it would be to utter aloud the end of dominik's story after years of keeping it hidden in his heart. it would be to finally give up on this, to admit defeat to the monster, to wave his white flag and definitively say that his mind and body will never again be his own. should he? it isn't lost on him that kaz has provided a coward's exit, should he need it — or the implication of the hurt it would cause if he took it. ]
You sound so sure that there's a path here at all. [ he desperately wants there to be. he wants there to be something other than the looming dark before him, the loneliness of looking and not feeling, but nothing feels certain anymore. his confidence has dwindled to nothing but a flimsy charade he can’t bring himself to let go of. forward feels — improbable, at the very least, when he’s capable of so little now, when the most he feels like now is a weight shackled to kaz’s limbs, too pitiful to be cut off in the way he deserves.
he looks at him in silence, knowing he should speak, knowing there is a right thing to say here and he should puzzle it out and say it. this is likely — extremely likely — the first time kaz has uttered these words since being thrown into the reaper’s barge, since all of his softness had been cruelly bled out into the sea, and nikolai, above all else, has an obligation to shelter his fractured heart. not an obligation. a want. he’ll always want to do this for him, to hold him in his arms, to be the steady port for him to house his halting wants and needs. relinquishing his grip on one hand, he brings his gloved fingers to kaz’s cheek instead, his rabbitting heart threatening to leap into his mouth. ]
I can’t bear this. [ which part? the part where kaz brekker loves him? the part where he can’t touch him? the cold grip of darkness squeezing the notches of his spine at all hours of the day? can’t explain any of it. he misses his home and he misses the boy floating before him in equal measures. he doesn’t even remember what life felt like when it wasn’t crashing down around him at every moment. at least that’s familiar. he draws in a ragged breath, so close that their mouths nearly touch. a catastrophically bad idea. yearning fills him. he’ll die if he doesn’t have this, and he’ll die if he does, because it could spell the end for both of them.
his fingers curl at kaz’s cheekbone, his mouth parted and unsteady. ] I’m not strong like you, Brekker. I can’t bear this.
[ bridging the meager distance, he pushes into the wet heat of his mouth. there’s a moment — half a moment — of crystal clear clarity, of rain and warmth and a comfort so familiar that nikolai believes for the barest measure of a breath that they can have this — and then a howl explodes in his head, blood rushing up his throat and soaking his tongue, his limbs locking with cold. he doesn’t know if his eyes are open or not, but he can plainly see kaz lifeless in the water, his blue eyes icy and lips pale. the monster uncoils and nikolai rushes back, darkness fragmenting his skin and his eyes wide and dark and unseeing, caught in his own cage and terrified he’ll lock kaz in with him. ]
Don’t come near me. Kaz — don’t follow me. Go back. Go back to the ship.
[ a harried breath, and he plunges downward into the water, swimming deep until he feels pressure all around him. the monster shrieks in his chest but he refuses to let it out, stubbornly holding out even when his iron lungs begin to protest. flashes of blood dance behind his eyes, but still he stays even as he grows weightless, holding onto the tatters of his own sanity. ]
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the fragile blossom of love is always stained with death. it sounds like bad poetry, perhaps something he once wrote himself, but it's the truth of what he knows, and to explain it would be to utter aloud the end of dominik's story after years of keeping it hidden in his heart. it would be to finally give up on this, to admit defeat to the monster, to wave his white flag and definitively say that his mind and body will never again be his own. should he? it isn't lost on him that kaz has provided a coward's exit, should he need it — or the implication of the hurt it would cause if he took it. ]
You sound so sure that there's a path here at all. [ he desperately wants there to be. he wants there to be something other than the looming dark before him, the loneliness of looking and not feeling, but nothing feels certain anymore. his confidence has dwindled to nothing but a flimsy charade he can’t bring himself to let go of. forward feels — improbable, at the very least, when he’s capable of so little now, when the most he feels like now is a weight shackled to kaz’s limbs, too pitiful to be cut off in the way he deserves.
he looks at him in silence, knowing he should speak, knowing there is a right thing to say here and he should puzzle it out and say it. this is likely — extremely likely — the first time kaz has uttered these words since being thrown into the reaper’s barge, since all of his softness had been cruelly bled out into the sea, and nikolai, above all else, has an obligation to shelter his fractured heart. not an obligation. a want. he’ll always want to do this for him, to hold him in his arms, to be the steady port for him to house his halting wants and needs. relinquishing his grip on one hand, he brings his gloved fingers to kaz’s cheek instead, his rabbitting heart threatening to leap into his mouth. ]
I can’t bear this. [ which part? the part where kaz brekker loves him? the part where he can’t touch him? the cold grip of darkness squeezing the notches of his spine at all hours of the day? can’t explain any of it. he misses his home and he misses the boy floating before him in equal measures. he doesn’t even remember what life felt like when it wasn’t crashing down around him at every moment. at least that’s familiar. he draws in a ragged breath, so close that their mouths nearly touch. a catastrophically bad idea. yearning fills him. he’ll die if he doesn’t have this, and he’ll die if he does, because it could spell the end for both of them.
his fingers curl at kaz’s cheekbone, his mouth parted and unsteady. ] I’m not strong like you, Brekker. I can’t bear this.
[ bridging the meager distance, he pushes into the wet heat of his mouth. there’s a moment — half a moment — of crystal clear clarity, of rain and warmth and a comfort so familiar that nikolai believes for the barest measure of a breath that they can have this — and then a howl explodes in his head, blood rushing up his throat and soaking his tongue, his limbs locking with cold. he doesn’t know if his eyes are open or not, but he can plainly see kaz lifeless in the water, his blue eyes icy and lips pale. the monster uncoils and nikolai rushes back, darkness fragmenting his skin and his eyes wide and dark and unseeing, caught in his own cage and terrified he’ll lock kaz in with him. ]
Don’t come near me. Kaz — don’t follow me. Go back. Go back to the ship.
[ a harried breath, and he plunges downward into the water, swimming deep until he feels pressure all around him. the monster shrieks in his chest but he refuses to let it out, stubbornly holding out even when his iron lungs begin to protest. flashes of blood dance behind his eyes, but still he stays even as he grows weightless, holding onto the tatters of his own sanity. ]