[ close. it isn't a cryptic riddle would suit aleksander better, rolling from his tongue with the smooth confidence of a practiced language; from alina's mouth, it's just a soft, melancholic type of musing. he's never been so close only to be so far from her reach. he's never been so alive to her, only to transform into a memory right in front of her very eyes.
alina's fingers span out on the dock's wooden planks, their tips barely brushing over his, in what she knows is a futile attempt to repair a bridge that might have already broken beneath their feet. it only feeds the ache in her chest, fractured by a longing she can't name. homesickness, maybe — missing the home that never was. missing all of the little details of his life she'll never get to hear, all of the secrets she'll never be able to share, all of the chances she never took to tell him to come closer and see her.
whatever alina starkov has become, it's a portrait too chaotic and jumbled for her to make sense of it, too many layers and missing parts for her to understand. it doesn't matter, now, that his presence at her side had helped her to clean up the edges, had shone a light that brought everything into sharp clarity, if only for awhile.
there are other questions she could ask — even me? do you still care about me, after everything? but there's only so much self-punishment she can stomach in one night. instead, she scoffs out a laugh that feels as worn thin as her heart, turning to ash on her tongue. ]
All of my etiquette is bad etiquette. [ she mumbles it to the cigar she plucks from the case, too inexperienced to do much else but clumsily mimic his steps. carefully, she leans in to kindle its tip with the simmer of his own, wisps of smoke streaming from her mouth. it allows her time to consider the folder in her lap, the unpleasant truths he's patiently waited for her to willingly share, and — after a long, anxious stretch of a moment — gently deposit it in his own.
he's chosen her tonight, at the end of it all. trapped himself in this heartsick moment with her, rather than vanishing to plot his next move. the least he deserves from her is the same consideration. ]
See for yourself. [ her eyes scan over nikolai's profile, as fearful of his reaction as she is of the treasure trove of information aleksander has compiled. endless pieces of her life that seem to say see? there is nowhere you can run from me where i won't find you, alina. ] He's been having me followed for months.
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[ close. it isn't a cryptic riddle would suit aleksander better, rolling from his tongue with the smooth confidence of a practiced language; from alina's mouth, it's just a soft, melancholic type of musing. he's never been so close only to be so far from her reach. he's never been so alive to her, only to transform into a memory right in front of her very eyes.
alina's fingers span out on the dock's wooden planks, their tips barely brushing over his, in what she knows is a futile attempt to repair a bridge that might have already broken beneath their feet. it only feeds the ache in her chest, fractured by a longing she can't name. homesickness, maybe — missing the home that never was. missing all of the little details of his life she'll never get to hear, all of the secrets she'll never be able to share, all of the chances she never took to tell him to come closer and see her.
whatever alina starkov has become, it's a portrait too chaotic and jumbled for her to make sense of it, too many layers and missing parts for her to understand. it doesn't matter, now, that his presence at her side had helped her to clean up the edges, had shone a light that brought everything into sharp clarity, if only for awhile.
there are other questions she could ask — even me? do you still care about me, after everything? but there's only so much self-punishment she can stomach in one night. instead, she scoffs out a laugh that feels as worn thin as her heart, turning to ash on her tongue. ]
All of my etiquette is bad etiquette. [ she mumbles it to the cigar she plucks from the case, too inexperienced to do much else but clumsily mimic his steps. carefully, she leans in to kindle its tip with the simmer of his own, wisps of smoke streaming from her mouth. it allows her time to consider the folder in her lap, the unpleasant truths he's patiently waited for her to willingly share, and — after a long, anxious stretch of a moment — gently deposit it in his own.
he's chosen her tonight, at the end of it all. trapped himself in this heartsick moment with her, rather than vanishing to plot his next move. the least he deserves from her is the same consideration. ]
See for yourself. [ her eyes scan over nikolai's profile, as fearful of his reaction as she is of the treasure trove of information aleksander has compiled. endless pieces of her life that seem to say see? there is nowhere you can run from me where i won't find you, alina. ] He's been having me followed for months.