"But the dream, the echo, slips from him as quickly as he had found it and as consciousness comes to him (a slap and not the gentle waves of oceanic tides), it dissolves entirely. His muscles relax as the cold claims him again, as the numbness sets in, and when his grey eyes open, there’s nothing but the faint after burn of a dream often trod and never remembered." --Brigade, written by Laura
The fan of his breath across her skin when he laughs sends a pleasant shiver across her skin and Mazikeen only has a moment to smile to herself before her breath catches at his reply. She lies there quietly, feeling her heart ache as its pulse quickens while he speaks.
And then when she can feel the soft tremble where their skin connects, when Firion tells her he would try for her, Mazikeen moves. She slowly shifts her weight, rolling just enough that her back is no longer to him - and while this means his head won’t be draped over her anymore, it allows for other things as she faces him. Like how her tear-bright eyes find his gaze and all of what she is feeling is shining there to see. And how, this time, she doesn’t hesitate when she reaches out to touch her muzzle to his cheek. And as Mazikeen holds it there for a moment as her eyes close, it is so easy to wonder if this was just some lovely dream. Or perhaps she had died for good when she had torn at her own skin.
She’d lived a lifetime of denying herself any sort of comfort, of hiding her hurt under anger - it made sense that an afterlife paradise would involve finally knowing what it felt like to face those things. And finally having Firion this close with neither of them pushing the other away. A few years ago, she would've thought he'd preside over her hell instead - but a different face reigned there now. One she cannot think about yet or she will crumble again.
So she focuses on what is happening here and now, on enjoying this moment for as long as she can, whether it is a dream or not.
With her lips against his golden skin, she replies quietly “I’d like you to.” To stay, to try. Whatever he had to offer. In this moment, it does not occur to her to doubt his words - she is too raw, those ways of shielding her heart are utterly spent. She believes everything he is saying and even her thoughts of how she does not deserve this offer from him are quiet as she lightly traces a dark spot on his skin.
“We…” For a breath, she stutters over that wonderful word. She feels the way it shines through her, bringing a light to her orange eyes when she pulls her head back enough to look at him. A very old flutter of nerves stirs in her stomach, born the day they had met. She’s pretty sure that’s the last time she let herself think anything we when it came to Firion.
Now, there’s a small smile despite that flutter - now Mazikeen doesn’t let herself look away as she dares to hope that word means as much to him as it does to her. “We could go somewhere else, if you'd prefer not to stay in Hyaline.” For now, Mazikeen doesn’t think about the logistics of this offer. She doesn’t think about anything at all because if she thinks, she might lose her nerve to add the next words she wants to say to him. “Anywhere or nowhere, I would stay - or run - with you, Firion.”
He makes a sound of protest when she shifts away from him, something instinctual and in the back of his throat, but whatever this is between them is too new for him to say much, so he relents. There is a spark of something in the back of his gaze, something playful and reminiscent of the boy he might have grown to be had life been different, but it fades quickly—a flicker of flame that grows more serious when she reaches out to touch him. He leans into the touch, unashamed of how quickly he responds to her.
His breath catches at the nearly casual use of the word ‘we,’ at the way she has grouped them together, and there is an age old instinct that flares to life in him. A fear of the damage he could bring. A fear of being cornered with no escape. It threatens to rear its ugly head, but he squashes it violently, draining the life of that insecurity before it has room to breathe into life. There is no time for that. Not here. Not now.
“I’ve spent my whole life running,” his breath is hoarse as he voices the truths they both know, the ugly way that he has always run so quickly from anything that could take root. Including from her. Maybe especially from her. It was only when he had finally defeated his demons (become them, perhaps, but that is a different beast for him to wrestle with later) that he could see her pain enough to stop him in his tracks. It was only then that he had run toward something instead of away from it.
“I don’t want to run anymore,” this, said quieter, a whisper shared between them. He dares to reach toward her again, brushing aside her forelock and studying her face. “Hyaline is your home. It was mine once too.” His father’s. His mother’s. “I want to stay.” A smile grows in the corner of his golden mouth. Not a faux arrogant smirk. Not a cruel sneer. Just a smile—simple and honest and very much for her.
"We can stay."
so as our grief falls flat and hollow upon a billion blooded seas all our worst ideas are borrowed (you do and don't belong to me)
10-01-2021, 06:00 PM (This post was last modified: 10-01-2021, 08:44 PM by Mazikeen.)
Mazikeen knows she would have run with him if he’d asked it of her. Maybe a part of her even hoped he would - because if they left together she could try to escape her own demons in the process. But as he brushes aside her forelock and she relishes this sweet simple touch, as she feels that wonderful sensation of her hopes being made real, she believes this is the better option for them both.
And then he smiles and it’s a smile that reminds her how much she had loved his laugh on the few occasions she had heard it; it’s a smile that smoothes over some of those old fractures. One that so easily brightens her own in response and Mazikeen remembers what it’s like to feel happy. The emotion has a vibrant sheen to it now in contrast to her emptiness but it is what starts to convince her that this has to be real. “Okay. We’ll stay.” She feels this golden moment swell in her heart - this simple statement bringing such an undeniable thrill.
It doesn’t last, much as she wishes it could go on forever. A thought sneaks into her mind, reminding her of some information Firion should have - especially if he’s going to stay. The shift in her mood is obvious, a shadow passing across her features and eclipsing that smile and those vibrant feelings. “But you should know that I… I had another daughter with him.” She tastes bile in her mouth, feeling both a pang of guilt that she can't quite name and shame settling heavily over her. The question of whether she was a willing participant was a fuzzy one and far too complicated for Mazikeen to try to sort out right now so she shuts out those thoughts as she's dragged down again.
She resolves not to turn away this time. A little of her old stubbornness aids in this but mostly it is this new instinct - of actually sharing what is on her mind and not hiding it away for it to fester somewhere else. Not even the worst. Even though it is terrifying to do, even though she's afraid she's ruining this before they can even begin, Mazikeen manages to keep her sad eyes on his golden face - wanting to see his reaction. Whatever it is.
Each word is softer than the last as this new wave of grief takes over. One confession out of dozens waiting for their turn to drown her. “She was just born yesterday.” Or, she thinks it was yesterday. She’s not certain of how long they’ve been here, or how long it had been between when she had called for Firion while dying and woken to find him next to her. “I didn’t even give her a name yet.” She admits, full of loathing directed both inwards and at the girl’s father.
She shares this information just so Firion will know, with no other expectations tied. Staying with her is all she wants from him but she cares what he thinks of her - of this mess she has made of her life.
Did he want to runs? Gods, he knows he did—he does. It’s like a drug that slips into his veins. That promise of it is there, that temptation, that release. He can feel it buzzing and he wants to open his mouth again and tell her okay. Tell her that they can run away. That they can leave all of this behind. His mother will understand, he knows. His father will too. He has nothing else—no one else—beyond his siblings flung far and wide who would bother to look for him. So why not? Why not just pretend, why not just go?
Because of her.
Because she wasn’t made to leave everything behind, and he only was at his worst.
And he didn’t want to be at his worst for her anymore.
So he bites back the words that rise in his throat and just continues to smile at her, soft and quiet, even when her mood shifts and her mouth opens again. For a second, he just stares at her blankly, angling his golden head to the side and considering her. “Okay,” is all he manages to say, wondering what exactly she expects from him. Does she think that he’ll run? Or be angry? He has no right to it, even if there is a distinct jealousy that snakes through him. He squashes the ugly emotions as violently as his fears.
“Should we go find her?” he finally manages, searching her face with a frown. He doesn’t know whether it was wanted at the time or not. How she truly felt about everything that has come to pass between her and the other man, but he doesn’t care. None of it mattered—not now. He shifts a little, reluctant to leave this cocoon that they have found themselves in. This moment of peace that would be so quickly shattered, but he knows that it would end eventually. They wouldn’t be able to stay here forever.
And that was when the hard part would come.
And that was what he promised to stay through.
so as our grief falls flat and hollow upon a billion blooded seas all our worst ideas are borrowed (you do and don't belong to me)
It’s not until it isn’t there that Mazikeen realizes part of her had expected anger. But not Firion’s anger, though he had shown some of that when they spoke last time. When he (rightfully) called her out for staying with Gale anyway despite what he had done. And to think that the eating of her heart had only been the beginning.
She'd been preparing for a far more brutal version of anger tonight. So she tries not to think about that, since it has no place between her and Firion, and instead focuses on the way her heart lights up to hear him ask if they should go find her daughter. How easily the plural of that question affects her. And how much she wants to ease away that frown that's taken over his expression.
First, instead of answering, she attempts to explain - though he hadn’t asked her to. “I just didn’t want it to be a surprise. I thought you might be... disappointed. Which would be fine. After all, I’m disappointed in myself.” She adds this last bit with a dry laugh before closing her eyes and inhaling a steadying breath. She wasn’t going to be able to give this a proper chance if she didn’t trust Firion not to run every time she admitted something to him. Or worse, but she did not believe he would hurt her the way she had become used to. Those fears are involuntary things that she smothers as best as she can. She was going to trust him wholeheartedly and she would not even entertain another option.
She thought walling herself off was strength, truly believed that there were some battles that she needed to fight all on her own, and she had been wrong. Even though her throat is raw from sobbing, even though this is a different type of terrifying, it feels right.
And when she opens her eyes again there’s a small smile in them. They should go, they should move from this spot even if she has no intention of leaving his side for as long as she can once they do.
But they don't need to move quite yet.
“We’ll go soon.” She reaches for him again, the soft skin of her muzzle seeking to brush against his own as she adds softly. “I’m becoming very fond of the word we.”
10-03-2021, 06:17 PM (This post was last modified: 10-03-2021, 06:18 PM by firion.)
FIRION
His face crumbles at her explanation, the words that come unbidden, and he closes the distance between them again—his touch hesitant, all of this between them still so new and vulnerable. “It’s okay,” he whispers, his voice slightly hoarse. “It’s really okay.” He swallows and wonders if it would be easier for him to avoid this conversation entirely. If perhaps it was selfish for him to not want to think of her with him or have to face the fact that he had been with others and so he hesitates visibly for a moment.
“I’m not disappointed in you. I couldn’t be,” and it’s true, even if it’s difficult to say. “You loved him,” he manages, golden lips pulling into a sad smile with a warmth that never reaches his eyes. “Perhaps still do. Maybe you always will.” This causes his heart to ache, clench in his chest, and he bumps his nose against her cheek again, savoring the soft quiet between them. “It’s not something that needs forgiveness.”
Another pause as he clears his throat. “And I’ve,” he frowns, “I’ve had children too, Maze.” There is a laugh and it’s slightly bitter, the discomfort lacing through it. “Too many, perhaps, although I couldn’t say that I regret any of them—even if I don’t know them.” Hurt flashes across his face, and more than his share of self-loathing. For a second, it’s difficult to breathe and he drops her gaze. He hadn’t ever stopped to think about what he had left behind. The children he had fathered and then left. The brief moments of reprieve that he had walked away from. The way that he had so desperately tried to lose himself in it.
But he does now.
He lets it consume him and he clenches his jaw at the ramifications that become clear.
Before he shakes his head to clear his thoughts. Forcing himself to come back to the present.
“So it’s okay,” he manages again, his voice still rough.
And she says the exact right thing in the same way that he has always said the opposite. He smiles sadly as she touches him and he lets his mouth drop from her cheek to her throat, tracing down her neck.
“Me too,” he whispers against the velvet of her. “I didn’t think—“
His voice cuts off and he closes his eyes.
“I never thought I’d be a we."
so as our grief falls flat and hollow upon a billion blooded seas all our worst ideas are borrowed (you do and don't belong to me)
Mazikeen leans into the hesitant touch he offers her and the comfort she finds in it. His reassurances don’t erase away all her worries - they are far too well-rooted in her for that - but some of that weight eases and he effectively distracts her. First when she winces when he mentions her loving Gale - her head moving in the smallest of stubborn shakes. What did it say about her that there might be any part of her that still loved someone who had hurt her and others so much?
She couldn’t, wouldn’t, think about whether that was true right now. It was tied to too much she did not want to dredge up.
And the rest of Firion’s words are kind but she cannot see the truth in them either. It still felt like she needed forgiveness, the deep ache in her heart persisting.
Surprise distracts her next, when Firion admits to having children. Too many of them. Concern lines the frown on her face but a flurry of reactions passes through her mind, including quickly reprimanding herself for being surprised. And there is something twisting in her stomach, an ugly feeling she recognizes as jealousy. An emotion she has no right to experience - and she’s unaware of how he had just grappled with the same reaction. And yet it is easy not to give it any attention as she sees that hurt, so when he drops her gaze she is the one to close the space between them. Her touch is gentle as she holds it against his skin while he disappears into his head for a moment.
“It’s okay.” She repeats when he returns to the present, her eyes glistening with the too-ready tears, the echo of his pain inspiring an ache in her that both distracts her from and blends so well with her own. These words are such a small comfort, maybe it isn’t nearly enough, but it feels true and she hopes that counts for something like they had for her when he spoke them.
Her heart is racing again as his mouth moves down her neck. She wouldn’t be able to say whether it was his words or that touch that inspires the way she trembles against him or the breathless sound of her words when she finds them “And now you are.” It still doesn’t feel entirely real, the way a smile tugs at her mouth or that thrill in her heart at the idea of a we that was her and Firion.
There are darker things too but Mazikeen will not give them attention. She doesn’t want to know why she feels guilty for this piece of happiness.
There is something she has not said yet, and it comes from her now. “Thank you, Firion.” And before can ask what for, she moves her head to find his golden gaze and tells him earnestly “For saving me.”
The moment is a precious thing, and he cherishes it. In the wake of the extremity of emotions they have felt in the last few hours—agony, loss, relief—this quiet, even when laced with the inevitable pain, is not anything but pure. So he cradles it close and touches her gently as though she might melt in the rain. He talks low, his voice rumbling in his chest, and the shadows that he pulls over them are soft, muted.
She forgives him for the children that he could never bring himself to apologize for, and he just smiles into her touch—not asking for her to carry more of the burden, dive deeper into it than necessary. Instead he turns his face toward the sunrise of ‘we,’ feeling the promise of it like a kiss of summer on his bones.
“You didn’t need anyone to save you,” he whispers. “You never have.” Whatever part he had played in bringing her back had only been because of who she was—of her own strength. He hadn’t forced her to do anything. She was just who she was and she had managed to survive…well, everything. Everything that life had thrown at her. All of the challenges and the losses and the obstacle to happiness.
When he thinks of it, the sense of awe could take him to his knees.
But he still smiles at her and then, because he can and that in and of itself is still a miracle, he pulls her close, burying his head into her neck and breathing in slowly. “Whatever happens next,” he says against her, relishing the way that she smells so bright and feminine and distinctly her this close. Had he dreamt of this before? Had he ever allowed himself to imagine what she would feel like this?
“Whatever happens, it will be worth it, for these moments alone.”
so as our grief falls flat and hollow upon a billion blooded seas all our worst ideas are borrowed (you do and don't belong to me)
