[ he vanishes into the next room, but the pulse of his presence drums between her ribs like a second heartbeat. it tempts her to follow, a guiding force that rebels against the distance between them. she strains to resist it, reassuring herself with false promises — he will adapt, the compulsion will fade, the monster in his bones will inevitably settle into something domesticated and toothless.
even as she feeds herself those lies, she doesn't quite believe it. intent to ignore that new revelation, she settles into the doorframe. as shameless as nikolai has been, she still allows him his privacy, back turned to the sight of water sluicing off of fatigued, sore muscle. a defensive mechanism against herself, to be certain, but a sympathetic gesture; in his position, she would flinch from the weight of a stare tracing over the webbed veins that line his skin, the ragged scars that speak to his suffering.
she ignores the splash of water behind her, crinkling the jacket between her fingers, and considers the too-intimate question he's posed. truthfully, she's taken off-guard by his choice to leave it in her care at all after what's transpired, even temporarily. ]
Does it matter?
[ can it still matter, now? she wonders if he can hear the questions she doesn't pose, buried beneath it all. in the grand scheme, perhaps it shouldn't matter; as he's helpfully pointed out to her, they'll need to spin his injury into something more inspiring, and in the meantime —
she needs to determine how long he'll be gone from his post again. how long before he reveals himself to the others. how long she needs to act in his stead. her head tips back, resting on the wall, as her eyes squeeze closed. ]
Your secret is safe with me. [ even if accepting an order irrationally grates her. another strange effect of binding them, she supposes. ] But it's going to take time to catch you up and make sure we're on the same page, and neither of us has the energy for that right now.
[ and if some part of her is avoiding that conversation altogether — well, that's her business. ]
no subject
even as she feeds herself those lies, she doesn't quite believe it. intent to ignore that new revelation, she settles into the doorframe. as shameless as nikolai has been, she still allows him his privacy, back turned to the sight of water sluicing off of fatigued, sore muscle. a defensive mechanism against herself, to be certain, but a sympathetic gesture; in his position, she would flinch from the weight of a stare tracing over the webbed veins that line his skin, the ragged scars that speak to his suffering.
she ignores the splash of water behind her, crinkling the jacket between her fingers, and considers the too-intimate question he's posed. truthfully, she's taken off-guard by his choice to leave it in her care at all after what's transpired, even temporarily. ]
Does it matter?
[ can it still matter, now? she wonders if he can hear the questions she doesn't pose, buried beneath it all. in the grand scheme, perhaps it shouldn't matter; as he's helpfully pointed out to her, they'll need to spin his injury into something more inspiring, and in the meantime —
she needs to determine how long he'll be gone from his post again. how long before he reveals himself to the others. how long she needs to act in his stead. her head tips back, resting on the wall, as her eyes squeeze closed. ]
Your secret is safe with me. [ even if accepting an order irrationally grates her. another strange effect of binding them, she supposes. ] But it's going to take time to catch you up and make sure we're on the same page, and neither of us has the energy for that right now.
[ and if some part of her is avoiding that conversation altogether — well, that's her business. ]