[ and just like that, he's broken the moment without entirely meaning to. nikolai lantsov, abject pillow talk failure is what goes through his mind when he feels the shift in the air. unbelievable, really, the speed with which he's managed to mangle this. at least that part can be considered impressive. ]
I don't want you to leave. [ he turns his back to her, sitting up as he swings his legs over the side of the bed and reaches for his trousers. ] That's half the problem, I think. I never want you to leave.
[ because if every morning could be like this one, then the world would be all too perfect. some other disaster would have to overtake his life, because there's no way the saints would afford him such happiness without a cost. they love misery far too much for that.
his belt clinks as he buckles it, then he moves to the window, drawing it open to let the sunlight in in earnest, the rays filling his room. the thought that alina could say no passes through his head at least a hundred times a day, though now he's wondering if he'll ever be able to look at the sun again without thinking of her. he turns around, casually leaning against the rim of the window, his smile back in place like armor — even if it's somewhat softened by the genuine fondness he isn't completely successful in masking. ]
Would you do this again?
[ an honest question. an attempt to gauge the situation, to measure it against some unseen standard. there is nothing to even compare it to — nikolai the soldier was first too smitten with dominik and then too catastrophically plagued by his loss to engage in the usual pursuits of a man his age, and sturmhond had a roguish reputation to maintain that didn't lend itself to lasting encounters. alina is the first in a long while that he's been able to admire like this, watching the sunlight bathe her in its glow. ]
Perhaps even at night? [ he crosses one arm over his bare chest, resting his elbow on the back of his hand as he hovers his knuckles over his mouth, his eyes never leaving her. ] Although I should warn you: I am a notoriously poor sleeper.
no subject
I don't want you to leave. [ he turns his back to her, sitting up as he swings his legs over the side of the bed and reaches for his trousers. ] That's half the problem, I think. I never want you to leave.
[ because if every morning could be like this one, then the world would be all too perfect. some other disaster would have to overtake his life, because there's no way the saints would afford him such happiness without a cost. they love misery far too much for that.
his belt clinks as he buckles it, then he moves to the window, drawing it open to let the sunlight in in earnest, the rays filling his room. the thought that alina could say no passes through his head at least a hundred times a day, though now he's wondering if he'll ever be able to look at the sun again without thinking of her. he turns around, casually leaning against the rim of the window, his smile back in place like armor — even if it's somewhat softened by the genuine fondness he isn't completely successful in masking. ]
Would you do this again?
[ an honest question. an attempt to gauge the situation, to measure it against some unseen standard. there is nothing to even compare it to — nikolai the soldier was first too smitten with dominik and then too catastrophically plagued by his loss to engage in the usual pursuits of a man his age, and sturmhond had a roguish reputation to maintain that didn't lend itself to lasting encounters. alina is the first in a long while that he's been able to admire like this, watching the sunlight bathe her in its glow. ]
Perhaps even at night? [ he crosses one arm over his bare chest, resting his elbow on the back of his hand as he hovers his knuckles over his mouth, his eyes never leaving her. ] Although I should warn you: I am a notoriously poor sleeper.