synflux | [closed] we shape our buildings; thereafter, they shape us

...

[He opens his mouth.]

[He closes his mouth.]

[RIGHT in the SOFT SPOT, HUH]

Ngh. [So wordy over here - he's threading one of those traitorous hands through his own hair, pushing his bangs back.] I know you aren't glass. But...I can't help it. With you. And it...wasn't bad.

[That's it for sharing all feelings. Obviously.]

[His gaze flits to her hands again, as if umprompted.]

Really? Where do you spend your time, then...

[ ... no... now she wants to go back to sharing feelings... hold on, can they step back to that, it's making her wish her hands with occupied with literally anything right now. maybe she should invest in a rubix cube bracelet. then she can fiddle with it when she's

nervous, maybe? is that what this is? restless. restless for sure. it's similar to what he said then, too. he wasn't guilty, it just... wasn't bad. glad neither of them can look the other in the eye. her fingers work at the blanket, twisting it around clockwise, counterclockwise, just for something to do. ]

Oh, um... Around. Out and about. Sometimes I'll sit outside the city and draw. Other times I'll just kinda... wander until something catches my eye. I like hanging out in the greenhouse upstairs, too. Have you been? It's gorgeous all year round, I think.

[ so vibrant and colorful... ]

[Nervous Malkuth is...new. Well, not like she's never been nervous before, but there's something to the energy here he can't understand. This was the same lady who banged on his door and wouldn't take no for an answer.]

[And now she's rambling a bit about greenhouses. He swallows - okay, admittedly, he feels restless himself, like part of him wants to stand up and walk out and distract himself with a job - before answering, with his characteristic hoarse whisper.]

No. I...didn't know we had one.

[His gaze tries to find something to focus on. It looks at her hands, worrying knots in the blanket.]

You've never shown me your...drawings, by the way.

I don't really show them off to anyone. March has seen them once, when we were helping to clean the beachfront.

[ but that's about it. malkuth does take the chance to hop up and go to her desk, cluttered in a way that displays a known chaos over a true mess, and pauses as she tries to figure out which sketchbook to pick before bringing back over a blue one. she flips through some of the pages before landing on sketches of buildings, vague ideas that challenge the functional and fashionable. pushing the limits as it were.

malkuth lays it on her lap, fingers folding the corners of pages she lingers on as she talks. ]

It's usually just things for class. I was working on designs focused on structural integrity against rising waves and stuff too, since this city had a flood and all before, but it's mostly just practice and nothing they can't already figure out. Um, and notes about things I've seen as I've walked around too, here and outside with the ruins... But mostly just experimenting.

[ ... boring stuff, really. there's plenty of color to them though, just as she'd described her desire for them to be what felt like ages since. ]

[He wonders why. That's a bit of a surprise. He would've expected her to show it to any Tom, Dick, or Harry who came along, pride in her work and all.]

[She comes over, and he waits patiently, his hands clasped in his lap as she moves through the pages. A vibrant, colorful world. It fits her.]

[(It also fits that voice, he thinks, but he would hope it wouldn't be the same. Not like that.)]

[He reaches over, turning a page of his own before he lets his fingers rest on the edge of the book, gaze trailing over the lines, crisscrossing, meaningful.]

...They're very well done. [He says, quietly, his red eyes overshadowed by his bangs, but vibrant all the same.] It must be nice, to see the world through your eyes.

It was a hard fought battle to see the world like this.

[ she plays with the edge of a page on her side, thinking of the days elijah would try so hard to see the color among blacks and whites, the faded wisps of what was once there, the way the world exploded before her when she'd caught sight of carmen and her faded red scrunchy.

it felt like all the color in the world had been stored inside that woman. it's no wonder so many went to follow her. ]

You can see it too, if you really try! Start small, and eventually you'll start seeing colors where you thought there weren't any before. It's like a fun little game.

[ ... if he wants to, anyway. ]

Of course it must have been.

[Especially in a world like the City, where even a District literally prevents people from seeing color.]

[He heaves a sigh, shaking his head at that. If only it was so easy.]

I'm past being capable of something like that, Malkuth.

You so are not, you grump!

[ smacking him lightly... she's setting the book in his lap to go fish out coloring pencils and a second sketchbook from her desk. ]

Come on. We're going to the greenhouse. I'll make you draw with me.

[WHY SMACK >:////////]

I'm. [Oh, she's already going.] Malkuth. I'm no artist.

[ friendly. do you want her to touch your cheek again big boy. ]

So? No one's born an artist. Come on, it'll be fun! Unless you wanna let me show you how colorful the world can be another way?

[No fucking comment.]

And what would be another way.

I could do what I've been wanting to do since you stepped in.

[ ... ]

...

[doing the]

[math lady meme what could this mean. bothering him? already doing that. touching his face? maybe touching? tttttttttttttttouching?]

[can he stop thinking about touching? fucking Hell]

What would that be...?

Something that isn't so bad.

[ yes, touching. his hands mostly... she's taking them. ]

I think you'd make something beautiful with these, if you wanted to.

[Ah.]

[So it was touching.]

[Her hands are small compared to his. His are grizzled, with the weight of time etched so drastically into his skin.]

[His fingertips curl only a fraction around hers, feeling an odd sort of warm feeling in his throat.]

...I tried, once. [He says, quietly.] But I've given up on such endeavors.

You can always try again.

[ there's nothing wrong with that, gaze turning down to their hands. she traces the scars and lines, time making its mark in the roughness of stone. it feels delightful, and she turns his hand over to lay against hers in invitation. ]

You can always try again, and again, and again until it sticks, until you make it stick. I know it sounds stupid, but something's only over once you give up on it.

[His hand has prominent veins - they shift only slightly under the sallow skin as she moves his hand, and he keeps it there, his thumb gently shifting against the side of hers.]

[The warm feeling falls like a stone into his stomach, though, that familiar, nauseous sense of despair welling up inside of him.]

[His gaze falls.]

I can't. I can't, Malkuth.

[ it feels nice, it reminds her of the gentle brush against her wrist, and she glances at him. he looks miserable and smaller than normal, to her. ]

Why not, Vergilius? And give me a real reason, not repetition. Honesty for honesty.

...

[He wants to bury his face in his own hands, but the hands she has feel like they're kept there, caged to her grip. He's powerful. And yet why does this make him feel so weak?]

[He heaves a sigh. His heart flutters in his chest, like a restless bird.]

I've lost...too much.

And you don't want to risk losing more.

[ a gentle squeeze. not that he will lose it, but the risk is above the reward.

... it is one thing she can't say she fully understands the aftermath of, since there was always a second path to go to the same end, but... now, here, she does get it. it's why she doesn't spend time with yesod and netzach. it's why she's keeping mum to all but two of the people she knows. it hurts, and it's lonely, but it's better this way.

it is. it has to be. ]

I won't force you. [ she knows you can't. ] But will you enjoy yourself a little bit in the moment? It doesn't have to be anything serious, but... I do like this.

[ touching him. talking to him. the back of her neck warming, eyes glancing down again. ]

[...]

[He does like this too, and that's the whole damn problem. Every time he tries his best to step away. Every time he takes his sword to try to snip away the connections, keep distant, be the good Fixer who has learned his lesson.]

[He hates this.]

[He loves this.]

[He's never wanted to pull out his own humanity so badly, because its devastating, how many times he falters. He always will. His eternal weakness, his forever bleeding heart.]

[He murmurs under his breath, feeling sick.]

Why does this heart not work like I want it to...?

[Why....why.....why?]

[He settles back in reality for a moment. Her hands in his. He squeezes them...gently, gently.]

It feels like...I shouldn't. But I...

[A start, stop. A start again. The words crack, hoarsely, like the stairs in an abandoned home.]

I do...like it. Too.

[ it's a slow sort of thing, uneasy in the way he seems to tread it, and she keeps her words close -- because even the most damaged heart wants more, or at least wants to deserve more even if that "more" is violent -- and lets him go, step by creaking step, down the stairs of his abandoned desires.

she'll meet him at the door. ]

... I thought you might.

[ from the way he's been delicate, how he can't help but be with her. how it wasn't bad. someone who didn't like it might be rougher, might pull away. he hasn't. ]

I remembered dancing with you. [ finally. she clears her throat, their hands are literally so interesting. ] It was, um. Nice. Being held like that.

You remember that, huh.

[Which is a bit of a surprise, given what states of inebriation they were in, but he thinks even if he was drunk, it would burn into the recesses of his mind like candlelight at the back of a cave.]

[He's been sitting in the darkness for too long. He thinks he deserves to be there.]

[He asks, his voice almost a whisper.]

Would you want it again?

[He can't ask for it for himself. Like a vampire, he must wait for someone to invite him in.]

[He can't do anything for himself.]

[He's been too selfish. What a nasty worm it is. Even if he can't love himself, he still wants that light more than he can handle.]

If you're willing to give it.

[ only if he wants to, too. her invitation, cheeks beginning to burn like the back of her neck, heart flipping as much as her stomach does. ]

[He retracts his hands slowly.]

[And then, slowly, with the subtle tremor of a bomb defuser trying to remember the feeling of old tools in his hands, reaches forward. He's careful. He's so careful. As if he will be burned by this firefly, this tainted angel.]

[He slides them across her waist, then to her back. And solidly pulls her into an embrace.]

[He remembers this happiness.]

[He remembers this despair.]

[Both wound him more than any weapon could.]

Edited 2024-04-09 21:22 (UTC)

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