BRIGADE

Maybe this entire interaction could have gone differently had they just approached it differently.

Maybe they would have found that middle ground and been amazed at the way they could understand each other so well. Maybe he would have found that the rhythm of her heart so perfectly matched his own and she would have traced the edges of his bruises until they mapped the borders of her own. Maybe, maybe, maybe—but it doesn’t matter because they were knives at the throat and poison on the tongue and whatever sweetness may have lived between them has long ago withered into nothing.

He turns his head slightly, the muscles in his jaw working just slightly.

When he looks back, he too has managed to control the blaze in his eye and he is more subdued. He has not completely lost the edge to his voice, but it is more internalized, his gaze no longer a weapon. “I try to stay away too,” he admits, even though that much is obvious. “I don’t think I ever learned how to just be normal,” and this confession is softer as his brow furrows, as he looks down to the ground.

He always loved that he had been raised by wolves.

But now—well, he couldn’t blame it on them, could he?

Brigade shakes the silken red of his mane out against his curved neck, his wings pressing heavily into his sides. “Maybe we can start over,” he offers, even though it feels like lead on his tongue, “or maybe it’s better if I just leave you alone and hope that the next soul you run into is a kinder one.”

There is something that flickers beneath his light grey eyes that looks like regret.

But before anyone could parse it out, it’s gone and his face is carved from stone again.

the world was on fire and no one could save me but you
it's strange what desire will make foolish people do

BRIGADE

The fire that had so quickly flared between them quiets but he cannot help but feel that all they are left with is the ash of what could have been. It causes a sharp pain in his chest, a regret that slices clean through him, and he does his best to grit his teeth and set his jaw so that he does not need to focus on the way that it hurts and the ways that he doesn’t understand why it does. It makes no sense. It makes none—

He cuts his thoughts off, his features as stormy as his thoughts.

“Then you don’t know me,” he says with a bitter bite, turning his head to the side, taking in a deep breath. “Have you ever betrayed your family?” It is almost a relief to say the words out loud and he takes his time turning his gaze back to her. This time, the strain on his face is clear, the grief underneath it apparent as he fights against the churning waters. “Have you stood on the sidelines and watched as a war was waged on your home and did nothing to stop it? Did nothing to stand up to it?” He swallows the fury down.

“I am a coward,” he admits and suddenly all the venom he had poured on her earlier redirects to himself.

His eyes close and his wings by his side transform to the chestnut and ivory of his twin, the grief so palpable as he reminds himself that he still doesn’t know where his parents are—still doesn’t know if his sister is okay. Still doesn’t know and is too scared to find out. What if they are gone? What if they are—

Again, he cuts himself off, unwilling to entertain the possibility further.

The weight of it sits like a stone in his chest as he listens to her, watching as she reaches for him and doesn’t flinch. “I am not afraid of being burned,” he says suddenly and then instantly regrets it.

the world was on fire and no one could save me but you
it's strange what desire will make foolish people do

BRIGADE

Her own thoughts could have been an echo of his own.

How often had he stalked the woods of Beqanna, reminding himself that he was simply not designed to be part of a relationship. He was not meant to connect with others and he certainly wasn’t meant to be loved. It was better if he simply kept to himself. It was better if he guarded others from himself, even if they didn’t understand why. There was no reason for them to know about the depths of his selfish heart, for them to understand just how greedy he could be—how he would gladly destroy something he loved.

Better that they don’t see the cowardice beneath it all.

Better that they don’t unpack the hurt and the anger and the million negative things that make him him.

But she doesn’t leave when he knows that she should. She remains stubbornly rooted. The same mare who had just minutes before been cutting him down to size now defending him against himself. He finds that he prefers the caustic side of her tongue and shuts his grey eyes against the words. It was too difficult to see her try to soothe him, to try and walk back the horrible things that he has done and hasn’t done.

“You have no idea,” he manages, voice thick, throat tight. He presses his lips together before he finally opens his eyes again, trying desperately to pull back on his mask, trying to keep his face impassive. But it falters when her eyes catch his, when her breath catches, and he hates himself—loathes himself.

He wants to reach out and touch her.

Selfishly wants to keep her close.

But looking at her face, so beautiful underneath the bitterness, he realizes he can’t. He shouldn’t. It stings and he is still for a second, fighting against the urge to simply defy her warnings and let himself burn. His mind whirls, wondering at how she must hate herself, at how she would hate him. “You’re right,” he finally manages and he takes a step back, dragging open the space between them again, even though everything within him says that he should be closer and not further away. “What’s the point in trying?”

It’s cruel and mostly aimed at himself as he looks way, biting the inside of his cheek.

When he looks back, his face is carved from granite once more.

the world was on fire and no one could save me but you
it's strange what desire will make foolish people do

BRIGADE

This is exactly why he should keep to himself.

This is exactly why he should know better than to try and find companionship. He has ruined everything that this might have been, he realizes, studying her face, and instead of making her feel better, he has only found every reason why she should feel worse. Self-loathing erupts in his chest when he sees the regret and the defeat in her eyes and thick in her voice and he wants to correct her. He wants to tell her that it’s not her, that it’s him. That he somehow finds a way to poison every interaction, but the words don’t come.

Instead he is quiet, sullen, muscles drawing furrows on his jaw as he tries to think.

But it doesn’t matter because nothing comes.

No matter what he says or how he feels, it won’t change the fact that he has shattered this moment between them and he still wouldn’t be able to touch her—even if he hadn’t. There is a wall that lives between them that he would never be able to surmount; there is a distance that he could never bridge.

Wouldn’t it be better for them both if he never tried?

What good would it do if he forced it and nothing happened?

“There’s no point in wishing,” he says and there’s more grit in his voice than he would have imagined, more anger than he would have wanted. “It’s probably for the best,” he says and, even knowing that there were so many ways that it could be interpreted, he doesn’t try and clarify. Doesn’t try and tell her that it’s for the best because she shouldn’t want someone like him touching someone like her. She shouldn’t want to have someone like him near; she may burn, but he didn’t know how to do anything but destroy.

He takes a step back.

“This has been,” he starts and then his voice dies off. For a second, there is amusement that flashes across his handsome face, transforming his features, but it’s gone before he draws his next breath.

“Goodbye, Brinly.”

And then, without waiting, he turns and runs back into the shadows.

the world was on fire and no one could save me but you
it's strange what desire will make foolish people do