[ those words are hard to swallow in this moment when all he can think of are the many ways this can and will go wrong. hiding their relationship will grate against them both, but exposure seems just as bad — if not worse — if it means that alina will be dragged through the mud for it. and there isn't any way he can protect her. in that, he's certainly not enough.
her fingers are a comforting weight in his hair nonetheless, reminding him of how much he aches for this, for her, and how afraid he is some days that it's going to slip right from his hands. he's afraid right now, the rapid hummingbird of his heart an uncomfortable flutter in his chest, but he can hardly deny her what he knows he should give. if he can't offer anything else, at least he can offer the truth.
he swallows, lifting his head slightly so he can meet her eyes in the quiet darkness, and though his words come out softly, they're steady, mired in his own belief. ]
I am falling in love with you, Alina Starlight. [ one hand threads gently through her hair, drawing her close so that their lips brush. ] You're extraordinary, and I can hardly help myself. Some days I'm so afraid that I'm going to break this to pieces and that you'll wake up one morning and decide enough is enough. But other days...
[ his breath slows, a quiet exhale on his lips. ] You make me happy. When I'm with you... I'm happy again. It's been some time since I felt this way. You're so dear to me just for that. Not only for that, but it's a feeling I really do treasure. And I think only you could've done this for me.
[ her eyes ring with the memory of her voice carried to him by winter's wind, and the echoing silence that had greeted it. how long has it been since you've been happy? an eternity, she had suspected then, as his grief unspooled before her very eyes. he had seemed so weary, so ancient then, his heart eroded by the harsh hand of time and containing years of secrets she couldn't begin to chip away.
a counterpoint to the youthful fear that reflects in them now. with sharp clarity, she recognizes it, filled with the pain of fighting a permanent war with hope. the hope that, in the end, everything will fall into place — and the denial of allowing yourself to want, for fear of that you'll never recover from that same hope crumbling to dust in your hands. it pulls at her each day, but she's had her time to mourn the slow deterioration of her dreams, visions of a quiet, painfully plain future that she knows better than to share with nikolai. she won't hand him the very brush he'll use to paint himself as a villain that's bound her to his side.
cradling his face in her palms, she surges forward. the insistent pressure of her mouth, an intensity that matches the rocketing of heart, softens and slows into something reverent. something that demands she handle him as all fragile, precious things require. their lips part from one another, interrupted by force of a smile she's imprinted onto the corner of his mouth. ]
You're giving me too much credit. [ her fingers flutter downward, tapping meaningfully against his sternum, flattening her palm against the leaping frenzy of his heart as though she might capture it in her hands. quietly, she shakes her head — she's never been at ease accepting that praise, eaten away by her scabrous insecurities — but the glowing appreciation in her cheeks doesn't fade. ] You make it easy to love you.
That's all that matters. Our happiness. Ours. The world can say whatever they want about everything else, but they can't have that. I won't let them. [ with a dip of her head, she locks onto his gaze. ] Whatever happens, we'll find a way through it. But for that to happen, I need to know you'll stay.
[ stay with me. a plea that vibrates through her with how desperately she needs that promise. more than what she intends to ask when she hesitates, before: ]
There's one other thing I'll need from you, too, if I haven't asked for too much already.
[ he melts into the kiss with all the softness and quiet reassurances that he can't admit to needing, her mouth sending a muted shiver through him as he gently curls his fingers at her hip, stroking along her bare skin. every moment feels like it could be their last no matter how many times she promises otherwise, but the tightness in his chest eases slowly, his heartbeat settling back into place from where it was threatening to choke him. this happiness is bittersweet, at odds with the cling of painful memories screaming that he doesn't deserve this, but he sets it aside when he hears her plea, knowing that he isn't the only one in need of something tonight. ]
I'll stay. [ he seals it against her lips, a promise he doesn't intend to break — in whatever way aleksander decides to retaliate. his fear doesn't stem from him or the carelessness of the press or the judgment of his family. he's afraid that one day alina will look him in the eyes the same way that dominik had, like he wanted nothing more than for this pain to stop. he meets her gaze now, mapping out her determination, her fortitude, her belief that they can somehow shield what they share from the realities of the world, and because he wants so desperately to believe in it, he does. ] I'll always be here for you, Alina. I can promise you that even if everything else changes, that never will.
[ he feels the relief of a genuine smile breaking through, his eyes softening as he clasps the hand she has to his heart, bringing it to his lips to kiss the tips of her fingers. it isn't lost on him how the word love has permeated this conversation, but he isn't eager to ruin the feeling with excessive scrutiny, letting it settle feather-light between them. ]
You can't ask too much of someone who wants to give you everything.
[ he would, she thinks hazily, give her everything — empty his pockets to fill her life, if she asked it, like the grand selfishness of his generosity is what he needs to convince her to find him worth staying for. nikolai's promises are never illusions meant to trick her into complacency, never a gift she unwraps just to discover an empty box. it settles uneasily on her bones. not for fear that he might try to purchase her loyalty with the privilege at his disposal, easily thrown about without consequences — but the reality that she isn't worth that sacrifice.
isn't worth any of this, if she's being miserably honest with herself. her past will be considered a blemish on his reputation, considered unsightly even as society refuses to glance away, compelled by human nature to watch a trainwreck in motion. his family's disapproval will amplify to a deafening volume, and set them at odds once more. aleksander's retribution will be swift and hasty, an executioner's axe arching through the air in one forceful stroke. and all because she had dared to consider, for a second, that she was destined for more than a lonely life of letting her paintings collect cobwebs rather than dream bigger for herself.
she tells herself he'll find out soon enough, once his self-loathing stops fogging his eyes and he can see clearly. that's all that matters, she's said of him — but she can't, in good conscience, apply it to herself. selfishly, the least she can do is enjoy what happiness they do have, here and now — convinced as she is that she's inviting the darkness back into the soft shelter they've wrapped around themselves. warm, gentle, like the outside world can't touch them. ]
My house can't fit everything in it.
[ her eyes crinkle at the corners, short-lived amusement. chaste, she taps her fingers against his lips, taking the brand of his kisses with her. ]
Win. [ her mouth narrows into grim determination. he hadn't wanted her involved, and she hadn't wanted to know the gory details, but with the threat pressing in tight around her — it's difficult to ignore the sparking embers of her own fury. the anger she bottles, afraid to let him see the effects of aleksander's pull, but he's untapped the seal — and she's uncertain if she can contain it, now. ] If he's going to try to ruin me, I'm going to take him with me. We'll start by getting ahead of the narrative before he can control that, too.
[ like he controlled me. it rests heavily in the air. if spinning the narrative won't redirect some of the storm toward aleksander, then — maybe nikolai will know how to soften the blow, to stir some pity toward her, that backfires terribly on morozova. ]
You're better than I am at coming up with stories that people want to hear.
[ he isn't sure what she could possibly want to ask for — she so rarely asks for anything, but the few things she does ask for are always intangible, unable to be weighted and measured except by the heart. this is no different, but it surprises him all the same, almost taken aback by the sudden ferocity in her tone. she has a good many reasons to be angry at aleksander, but so rarely shows any feeling for him beyond muted indifference and quiet resignation. it's unlike him to hesitate, but he does all the same, testing the weight of her request. ]
Do you want to tell your story? [ gently asked, but a certain solemnity settles in his gaze. this is difficult ground to traverse, and he doesn't want to cheapen this moment by pointing out that spinning the narrative in her favor is a brilliant move he would never ask of her. ] If you come forward with accusations against him, it will certainly change things, but — please don't do this for my sake. Trust me when I say I care very little about complaints on how I choose to live my life and who I choose to love.
[ it was never about him to begin with. what hurt far worse than the commentary on his taste was how much it hurt dominik to have his life splashed across pages that everyone could see. this feels far too much like history repeating itself, the similarities too eerie to ignore. they can say whatever they like about him falling for peasants with no notoriety to speak of — what he knows will be much harder to abide is the inevitable scorn that will land squarely onto alina's shoulders. ]
If this is something you want — [ he tucks their clasped hands to his chest again, squeezing gently. ] Then we'll do it. Together. It will be scathing, but you won't be alone in this even for a minute. In fact, I'd be proud to stand by your side.
[ it could pierce like a blade, cutting soft flesh from the bone, if it wasn't so iron-clad in her conviction. but maybe, she thinks, it isn't entirely honest. more than that, it isn't entirely possible to remove nikolai from the equation. their visions of happiness align like matching stars, after all, and if she's to nurture that blossoming future — she needs to weed out what's been infecting her, from before they had even crossed paths. ]
It's not only for you, [ she amends, worrying at her lip. ] It's for us, but mostly — it's for me. I think ... I needed a reason to be free of him, and to believe that there was more that I could have. A reason to risk the consequences.
[ the flex of her fingers within his falls victim to her nerves, toying with the ends of his own, to give herself something to absently fiddle with. she doesn't dwell on her own implication, or even take note of it. she's never believed herself to be worth fighting for. to find worth in fully shaking free of the last of the shackles aleksander had placed on her, when it had been a necessary exchange. her suffering, in exchange for the protection of those he would rather see harmed. her prison, in exchange for the freedom of her friends. she frowns down at their clasped hands, rubbing her thumb over his knuckles. ]
A future with you deserves that kind of risk. You make me feel stupid and brave enough to do it, and possibly a little insane. No, absolutely insane. [ beneath the fan of her eyelashes, she peers back up at him, cracked open and vulnerable. ] But I'm sure of it, Nikolai. I don't want to live at the whim of his mercy.
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no subject
her fingers are a comforting weight in his hair nonetheless, reminding him of how much he aches for this, for her, and how afraid he is some days that it's going to slip right from his hands. he's afraid right now, the rapid hummingbird of his heart an uncomfortable flutter in his chest, but he can hardly deny her what he knows he should give. if he can't offer anything else, at least he can offer the truth.
he swallows, lifting his head slightly so he can meet her eyes in the quiet darkness, and though his words come out softly, they're steady, mired in his own belief. ]
I am falling in love with you, Alina Starlight. [ one hand threads gently through her hair, drawing her close so that their lips brush. ] You're extraordinary, and I can hardly help myself. Some days I'm so afraid that I'm going to break this to pieces and that you'll wake up one morning and decide enough is enough. But other days...
[ his breath slows, a quiet exhale on his lips. ] You make me happy. When I'm with you... I'm happy again. It's been some time since I felt this way. You're so dear to me just for that. Not only for that, but it's a feeling I really do treasure. And I think only you could've done this for me.
no subject
a counterpoint to the youthful fear that reflects in them now. with sharp clarity, she recognizes it, filled with the pain of fighting a permanent war with hope. the hope that, in the end, everything will fall into place — and the denial of allowing yourself to want, for fear of that you'll never recover from that same hope crumbling to dust in your hands. it pulls at her each day, but she's had her time to mourn the slow deterioration of her dreams, visions of a quiet, painfully plain future that she knows better than to share with nikolai. she won't hand him the very brush he'll use to paint himself as a villain that's bound her to his side.
cradling his face in her palms, she surges forward. the insistent pressure of her mouth, an intensity that matches the rocketing of heart, softens and slows into something reverent. something that demands she handle him as all fragile, precious things require. their lips part from one another, interrupted by force of a smile she's imprinted onto the corner of his mouth. ]
You're giving me too much credit. [ her fingers flutter downward, tapping meaningfully against his sternum, flattening her palm against the leaping frenzy of his heart as though she might capture it in her hands. quietly, she shakes her head — she's never been at ease accepting that praise, eaten away by her scabrous insecurities — but the glowing appreciation in her cheeks doesn't fade. ] You make it easy to love you.
That's all that matters. Our happiness. Ours. The world can say whatever they want about everything else, but they can't have that. I won't let them. [ with a dip of her head, she locks onto his gaze. ] Whatever happens, we'll find a way through it. But for that to happen, I need to know you'll stay.
[ stay with me. a plea that vibrates through her with how desperately she needs that promise. more than what she intends to ask when she hesitates, before: ]
There's one other thing I'll need from you, too, if I haven't asked for too much already.
no subject
I'll stay. [ he seals it against her lips, a promise he doesn't intend to break — in whatever way aleksander decides to retaliate. his fear doesn't stem from him or the carelessness of the press or the judgment of his family. he's afraid that one day alina will look him in the eyes the same way that dominik had, like he wanted nothing more than for this pain to stop. he meets her gaze now, mapping out her determination, her fortitude, her belief that they can somehow shield what they share from the realities of the world, and because he wants so desperately to believe in it, he does. ] I'll always be here for you, Alina. I can promise you that even if everything else changes, that never will.
[ he feels the relief of a genuine smile breaking through, his eyes softening as he clasps the hand she has to his heart, bringing it to his lips to kiss the tips of her fingers. it isn't lost on him how the word love has permeated this conversation, but he isn't eager to ruin the feeling with excessive scrutiny, letting it settle feather-light between them. ]
You can't ask too much of someone who wants to give you everything.
no subject
isn't worth any of this, if she's being miserably honest with herself. her past will be considered a blemish on his reputation, considered unsightly even as society refuses to glance away, compelled by human nature to watch a trainwreck in motion. his family's disapproval will amplify to a deafening volume, and set them at odds once more. aleksander's retribution will be swift and hasty, an executioner's axe arching through the air in one forceful stroke. and all because she had dared to consider, for a second, that she was destined for more than a lonely life of letting her paintings collect cobwebs rather than dream bigger for herself.
she tells herself he'll find out soon enough, once his self-loathing stops fogging his eyes and he can see clearly. that's all that matters, she's said of him — but she can't, in good conscience, apply it to herself. selfishly, the least she can do is enjoy what happiness they do have, here and now — convinced as she is that she's inviting the darkness back into the soft shelter they've wrapped around themselves. warm, gentle, like the outside world can't touch them. ]
My house can't fit everything in it.
[ her eyes crinkle at the corners, short-lived amusement. chaste, she taps her fingers against his lips, taking the brand of his kisses with her. ]
Win. [ her mouth narrows into grim determination. he hadn't wanted her involved, and she hadn't wanted to know the gory details, but with the threat pressing in tight around her — it's difficult to ignore the sparking embers of her own fury. the anger she bottles, afraid to let him see the effects of aleksander's pull, but he's untapped the seal — and she's uncertain if she can contain it, now. ] If he's going to try to ruin me, I'm going to take him with me. We'll start by getting ahead of the narrative before he can control that, too.
[ like he controlled me. it rests heavily in the air. if spinning the narrative won't redirect some of the storm toward aleksander, then — maybe nikolai will know how to soften the blow, to stir some pity toward her, that backfires terribly on morozova. ]
You're better than I am at coming up with stories that people want to hear.
no subject
Do you want to tell your story? [ gently asked, but a certain solemnity settles in his gaze. this is difficult ground to traverse, and he doesn't want to cheapen this moment by pointing out that spinning the narrative in her favor is a brilliant move he would never ask of her. ] If you come forward with accusations against him, it will certainly change things, but — please don't do this for my sake. Trust me when I say I care very little about complaints on how I choose to live my life and who I choose to love.
[ it was never about him to begin with. what hurt far worse than the commentary on his taste was how much it hurt dominik to have his life splashed across pages that everyone could see. this feels far too much like history repeating itself, the similarities too eerie to ignore. they can say whatever they like about him falling for peasants with no notoriety to speak of — what he knows will be much harder to abide is the inevitable scorn that will land squarely onto alina's shoulders. ]
If this is something you want — [ he tucks their clasped hands to his chest again, squeezing gently. ] Then we'll do it. Together. It will be scathing, but you won't be alone in this even for a minute. In fact, I'd be proud to stand by your side.
no subject
[ it could pierce like a blade, cutting soft flesh from the bone, if it wasn't so iron-clad in her conviction. but maybe, she thinks, it isn't entirely honest. more than that, it isn't entirely possible to remove nikolai from the equation. their visions of happiness align like matching stars, after all, and if she's to nurture that blossoming future — she needs to weed out what's been infecting her, from before they had even crossed paths. ]
It's not only for you, [ she amends, worrying at her lip. ] It's for us, but mostly — it's for me. I think ... I needed a reason to be free of him, and to believe that there was more that I could have. A reason to risk the consequences.
[ the flex of her fingers within his falls victim to her nerves, toying with the ends of his own, to give herself something to absently fiddle with. she doesn't dwell on her own implication, or even take note of it. she's never believed herself to be worth fighting for. to find worth in fully shaking free of the last of the shackles aleksander had placed on her, when it had been a necessary exchange. her suffering, in exchange for the protection of those he would rather see harmed. her prison, in exchange for the freedom of her friends. she frowns down at their clasped hands, rubbing her thumb over his knuckles. ]
A future with you deserves that kind of risk. You make me feel stupid and brave enough to do it, and possibly a little insane. No, absolutely insane. [ beneath the fan of her eyelashes, she peers back up at him, cracked open and vulnerable. ] But I'm sure of it, Nikolai. I don't want to live at the whim of his mercy.