leave me at the altar, knowing all the things you just escaped
He does not think himself transparent, Isakov.
He has never been particularly forthright about his thoughts or his feelings or the emotions that do not seem to belong to him but fester in the marrow of his bones regardless.
But he has no reason to lie.
He has thought about her and how thrilling it had been to think that she could destroy him should he let her. How she could destroy him even if (or maybe especially if) he objected. That thing he’d felt in the cage of his chest when the heat of her flames had bent toward him that could have been fear or intrigue or some form of the two of them combined had left a lasting impression. He can feel it still in his ribs and it flares when she comes close.
When she touches him without hesitation.
When the heart throbs and spasms in response.
This is such a dangerous place to be, he thinks, but there is nowhere else he’d rather be in this moment. Nowhere else he’d rather be than right here with her mouth tracing the sharp line of his jaw, with her mouth pressing a smile into the plains of his neck.
There is something electric about the darkness that presses in around them and he exhales a sigh, one corner of his mouth tied up in a slanted smile. He does not touch her in turn, though he wants to. How terribly he wants to! He is afraid of the ways she might burn him.
He cannot explain where he learned it because he cannot explain what it is he sees in them. This is a secret he keeps locked in his chest rather than in his mind, so even if she were to go looking for it she would not find it. This is his secret alone. “It was just for you,” he murmurs in response and does not move to wedge any space between them before he calls upon the magic again. Shrugs it on like a second skin so that the false flames dance down the length of his spine and collect in the place where she last touched him.
“There was no fire without you, so I had to create my own.”
@[Sunlight]