[ nothing has prepared her for nikolai's nearness, this closeness that tugs at her, like every piece of her remembers the way they'd fit together. he surrounds her, like this — delicate fingers at her cheekbones, the smell of his aftershave seeming to cling to her skin. it settles in her lungs when she inhales, a deep and shaky drag of breath between her teeth, and lets it fill the empty spaces inside of her. ]
I'm — [ i'm fine, she wants to bite out, sure and steady, if only to give herself a lie she can believe in. it sticks in her throat, unpleasantly lodged there, even as she tries to force it out of herself. alina's eyes clamp shut tightly, ignoring the dampness collecting on the ends of her eyelashes. ] Maybe I want to be alone.
[ she settles for that, instead: the greatest lie she's ever told, and the most obvious, at odds with the desperate way she curls her fingers into the collar of his dress shirt to keep him from believing her, letting the folder and its contents scatter across the dark carpet. it spills out of her in a wavering tremble of words, a paper-thin conviction that's as easily torn as the creased photograph on aleksander's desk. mal knows, better than most, how childishly frightened she is of it — being forgotten, discarded, left behind. never worth the effort, or the attention, or even remembering.
a remnant, maybe, of walking through her life like a ghost, surrounded by faces that never believed a sickly child like alina starkov would make it through another winter. when her eyes open, they stubbornly linger on the crisp edges of his vest, letting her vision swim. ]
Why did you bring me up here? [ the room is too small for everything that exists between them, but that question looms larger than anything else. the intensity in her gaze as it lifts to search his eyes warns him that her decision hinges on his answer. ] Was it just for the folder? For this?
[ his mouth almost quirks into a smile at the obvious lie, knowing all too well why it's necessary for her to voice it when he frequently opts for the same tactic. to state something he wishes were true lends a feeble sort of credibility to it. he can at least take comfort in knowing he said it at all, meaningless as it is. her fingers wrinkle his collar, keeping him anchored close as pages flutter to the floor, ugly secrets and hidden truths spread between them — and still, he doesn't look down. ]
Alina. [ a soft breath pushes out of him while he carefully measures his words. the thing he feels inside of him seems so simple, the ever-growing blossom of everything he feels for her. the affection, the want, the curiosity. the desire to do everything with her, to say everything to her, to share his most mundane thoughts alongside the feverish ideas that are either disastrous or brilliant or both. he wishes he could lift it out of himself and present it to her to see, his heart wide open in his hands to show her that this is real, that every part of him wants every part of her.
words don't feel like enough. he doesn't feel like enough despite every assurance she's given him, but nonetheless he tries to assign meaning to the pulsing ache inside of him that's both thrilling and terrifying at once. he presses the edge of his thumb to the corner of her eye when she looks up, a tear wetting his skin. ]
Because every time you're gone... and every time I'm gone, I miss you. Because I didn't think you'd say yes if I asked you to come over just to try on the stupid but incredibly nice crown. Because I think — I love you. [ he takes another breath, wincing slightly at his words, swallowing down the waver in his throat. ] No — I don't think. I know. I do. I love you. And I understand that doesn't fix everything that's wrong between us, but — I want you to know that I am in love with you, Alina Starlight, with my entire heart.
[ it isn't the carefully crafted speech she expected, another nikolai lantsov strategy to ensure the outcome he wants. he stumbles over himself where he's always stepped gracefully before, as though engaged in a dance only he has had the time to learn and master, and alina's hope sprouts wings in her chest — even as her eyes squeeze shut for another long moment, as if she can seal herself away from all of the terrible, impossible, beautiful things he's saying. as if remaining in the dark, trapped in the midnight hours of her own hurt, will make it any less true. ]
So you baited me here instead. [ her voice is just a croak, but it flares with a weary spark of indignant, accusatory anger. ] You could have asked.
[ he could have given her the freedom of choice to come to him without the need for bargaining chips or moving her like a pawn on a board, offering her a greater gift than aleksander's idea of compassion — granting her one mercy by allowing her the illusion of choice. and therein lies the fear she can't shake, a clinging thing that's grown claws; for as much as they've claimed to love her, she isn't so certain either of them loves her more than their victories and triumphs, their carefully laid plans and their boundless ambition.
her fingers pluck idly at his shirt, nervous fiddling she can't suppress, building herself up for a question that can't possibly have an answer she wants to hear — if it has an answer at all. ]
If you love me with all of your heart, then why does it feel like you're only loving me with half?
[ half of his heart. half of his attention. half of his time. it's ridiculous to crave more now. to be struck by that specter of greed that's haunted her since birth, when she's been content to settle for less for so long, unable to believe she's been worth more than scraps. maybe he's awoken that hunger, now that she's had a taste of what she could have. what they could be, if not for their own personal wars calling them away, soldiers drawn to their own causes.
furiously, her hand swipes beneath her eyes, collecting the tears that want to spill over without her permission. the moment she asks for more than he can give feels like the end for them, a final chapter to a beginning that had seemed so full of possibility and a story that's only half-written. ]
I didn't know if I should see you at all. [ he doesn't want her to think that she's stepped into some sort of grandly orchestrated scheme of his when he's never felt more unprepared for anything in his life. ] I didn't plan how this was going to go. I saw your name. And I had to say something.
[ his hands gently drop, his fingertips skimming along her arms and stopping at her elbows. the question she poses cuts into him unexpectedly — whether it's an accusation or an observation doesn't change that it's the truth of what she feels, a glaringly wide failure of his to make her feel cared for. he finds himself grasping for someone or something to blame. his mother, for only loving him in half-measures, or vasily, for lacking even a shred of goodness that could have made him a brother to look up to, or even zoya, who expresses her affection in sneers and disdain. he doesn't know if he's ever encountered the quiet sort of love that verges on unconditional — with dominik, maybe, at the start. before he'd drained that out of him, too.
but there isn't anyone to blame, nothing he can attribute this to but himself. he has to do better — he vows to do better, but an uncomfortable prickle of doubt needles into him, that maybe better doesn't exist for him, not when he feels so assured of the sea of emotion welling inside of him, but so helpless to somehow make it seen.
when she wipes her eyes he pulls back slightly, his hand going to the colorful square peeking out of his breast pocket. absently, he pulls out the silken cloth — glossy and smooth, a painting of a saint slaying a dragon replicated across the fabric, ridiculously pricey for a thing so small — and shakes it once to loosen the folds, holding it out to her. the silence between them keeps stretching until he knows that whether it's the right or wrong words that leave his mouth, he has to say something.
in the end he opts for honesty, blinking away his hesitation as his mouth twists into something that feels like fragile armor, a flicker of a smile, a last ditch effort to protect himself. he takes a breath and tries to widen his smile as he meets her eyes. ]
I fear it might be the only way I know how to do it.
[ the admission of such a flaw pains him, because this isn't something like being forgetful or overly curious. this is a reminder of the trajectory this was always going to take, the things he knew were always going to happen.
he worries his bottom lip and kneels to gather the fallen papers, sightlessly sweeping them up. ]
It feels... vast, inside of me. Limitless. But — [ he flashes another smile as he rises, the file stuffed haphazardly with documents. ] It's quite all right. I understand. I don't think that would be enough for me, either. Shall we go? I suspect we've both had enough of this place for one night, and I was quite serious about throwing half of this stuff in the harbor.
[ for the first time, she takes no comfort in nikolai's steadiness, built up by sturdy walls that won't crumble even as her own topple. she's tired of scratching her hands on them, every time she tugs, but this — it's unbearable, to watch him behave as if everything really is just all right. another passing moment in his day that has no effect on him. another performance he puts on, as though following the safety of a script will protect him from truths he isn't prepared to face.
or maybe that's her pain speaking, unable to comprehend how smoothly he can recover from this when she's a raw, bleeding wound in front of him. but even through the blur of her vision, the smile he paints across his mouth feels all wrong, like a jagged brushstroke across a surface. alina's glazed eyes focus there, with an intensity that suggests she would wipe it from him, if she could. bare him down to the truth of what he is. make his pain match her own, if only to have the selfish evidence that this means anything at all to him.
the silken square he's given her bunches between her fingers, forgotten. it's an instinct learned from childhood to wrap her arms around herself in nikolai's absence, vainly trying to offer herself comfort in the cold, lonely spaces she had occupied in ana kuya's group home. an old habit, when she hadn't wanted to burden mal with the well of emotion brewing inside of her. her fingertips press harshly into her skin to prevent herself from reaching for him, clinging and needy, as he rises back to his feet. ]
Don't do that. Don't pretend. [ it bubbles out of her, tinged with a hint of hysteria. ] It's not all right. None of this is okay. Nothing feels like it's ever going to be okay again.
[ the more he pretends that it is, the more alone she feels. it's the poetic result of a self-fulfilling prophecy — to insist she could do any of this alone, only to hate the solitude she's forced on herself. it would be easy to fault aleksander for this; he won't allow her to have anything sacred, desecrating every precious thing she's ever called her own, but in this — in this, there's no one to blame but herself, no matter how necessary that pain had felt.
as if it's chosen to rebel against her, her heart wrenches painfully in her chest, squeezing the air out of her lungs. it's an inconvenient time and place to stand on the verge of a breakdown, and so alina's chest heaves with her next inhale, futilely trying to think of something else to keep herself from collapsing. how disappointed genya is going to be that alina ruined her handiwork with thick streaks of running mascara. how annoyed baghra is going to be that alina still has the old hag's disgusting cigars stored in her purse.
anything but how her own answer now feels like it could make or shatter what's left. her tongue trips over i can't go and the wrongness of it, choking on her next words. ]
Just get us away from all of this. [ her throat bobs, trying to push past that strangling tightness in her throat. ] Get me away from here.
[ don't pretend, she says, and nikolai wants to ask why not when the alternative is to admit that his heart is fissuring in his chest, that he's realizing he should have said nothing at all, that he can't believe this is over so soon. nothing feels like it's ever going to be okay again. that unthinkable moment when he'd realized he would never see dominik's smile ever again springs suddenly to mind, his lungs seizing with the memory of it, and the only reason it doesn't consume him is because alina needs him more. the panic in her voice is clear, likely stemming from a combination of his own behavior and being here in aleksander's space, beneath his watchful eye, surrounded by the physical evidence of the shattered trust she placed into his hands.
he's glad that it spurs him to act, to focus on something other than the misery spreading through his chest to weigh him down. his jacket is draped over her quaking shoulders, giving her something to clutch that isn't herself. he reluctantly leaves zoya's folder in the place he found it, but stuffs the contents of alina's into her purse, briefly wondering why she has cigars of all things stored there. the sparkling choker he takes in his own hand, unwilling to let the thing even touch alina's skin again, and with his other hand he takes hers, his grip warm and secure, the soft leather of his gloves molding to fit against her fingers. ]
It's all right. I've got you.
[ he whispers it against her cheek, leaning into her to press his forehead briefly to her temple before he leads her out of the room, casting one last glance at the words carved into the desk before he shuts and locks the door once more. they go quietly down the stairs, and when they reach the main floor, he doesn't bother trying to skirt his way around the crowd, cutting straight through it and meeting aleksander's steely gaze when they pass him. he can feel zoya's eyes on him when he presses the choker into aleksander's chest. ]
It's not to her taste. [ it's all he says, his eyes hard, his mouth curving into a flinty, challenging grin before he drops his hand and turns away, keeping alina at his side as they make their way to the door. the night air cools his skin, leaving behind the suffocating presence of a man he would have been all too happy to introduce to his right hook.
as promised, he leads her in the direction of the harbor, the twinkling boardwalk coming into view. the tightness in his chest dissipates only slightly, glancing briefly at alina as he gently squeezes her hand. ]
I'm sorry I didn't keep my promise, Starlight. I shouldn't have left your side.
[ every impossible storybook fairytale she's ever heard — when ana kuya and the others had bothered to read to the children at all, between bouts of chores that wore their hands to the bone — comes rushing back to her in a flood. gruesome, nikolai had called them; it's blood and violence she thinks of now, watching the bright lights catch on the flash of his teeth. a smile, to eyes that don't know better. but aleksander's will see it for the warning that it is, an animal baring fangs at another.
all the better to eat you with, my dear.
she laughs with the absurdity of it all, convinced she's gone half-mad with grief as aleksander's eyes pierce through her, finally fracturing beneath the strain of the world. aleksander will undoubtedly paint nikolai as the villain of the piece once they've left, but for all that alina has become disillusioned with fairytale romances and concepts like fate, she knows one fact to be true: it's villains that lock away martyrs and throw away the key. if prince charmings were ever real, then it's stupid, fearless nikolai that broke the lock and freed her when she couldn't find the strength to do it herself.
the eyes that bore into her spine fade away as they disappear into the night, some of the tension evaporating from her shoulders. maybe it's the fresh air, now that she's remembered to breathe; maybe it's the ironclad grip she has on nikolai's hand, the leather creaking beneath her fingers, as she holds onto him like a lifeline. whatever it is, alina's face tilts up toward the sky, letting the moonlight and ocean air breeze over her skin. a scent that reminds her of nikolai when she instinctively presses her cheek into his shoulder, covertly dragging him into her lungs, as they walk. ]
Don't blame yourself. [ it's meant for him, but she murmurs it into the blanket of night. ] I was the one who told you not to come, and I was the one who wore that thing and let him parade me around like —
[ she cuts herself off, the silence sharp with everything she leaves unsaid, all of the self-loathing and regret that fills the spaces between them. the boardwalk lights shimmer off of the water, highlighting the corners of her thoughtful frown. i thought i had to do it alone, she could say, justifying every choice she's made for herself. for others. instead, she closes her eyes and exhales slowly, trying to settle her still-hammering pulse. ]
I think I changed my mind about fairytale love. Maybe it's real. Maybe princes do exist, sometimes. [ she doesn't dare chance a glimpse at him, letting her eyes wander over the quiet waves. ] You're always trying to rescue me when you shouldn't have to.
Don't do that either, then. Don't blame yourself. [ she's warm where she presses to his side, the sensation sparking an ache in his chest as he draws in a breath and lifts his eyes to examine the stars. ] After all of that I think we owe a bit of kindness to ourselves right now. Even if I did commit petty theft and defaced someone's very expensive desk. He can afford a new one. Wasn't that the same sort of sentiment you had about my veranda? I see why wealthy people are so irritating now.
[ he glances at her with a soft smile, then presses a kiss to the crown of her hair when she doesn't lift her head. ] I'm proud of you, Alina. I know it wasn't easy for you to leave, and though I very briefly considered it, I was not going to drag you with me kicking and screaming. Imagine the scandal.
[ it's easier to pretend like everything is all right beneath the vastness of the sky, that they're walking hand in hand as if nothing has changed between them. as if they'll wake up tomorrow morning tangled up in each other, as if nikolai hasn't just incited aleksander's rage to be used against them. as if he hasn't just confessed that he loves her only to be told that it's not enough, even if it's a thing he's known all along. all of it seems more distant and less painful, muted by the gentle sound of the waves, even if it's a fleeting sort of reprieve. he needs to talk to zoya. not just about the things he found in aleksander's desk, but the ache in his heart that he'll only ever admit after a bottle of wine so he'll only remember the half of it. ]
I don't consider it so much a rescue. It's just what you do when you care about someone. [ they reach the dock, and nikolai tugs at alina's purse. ] Have you taken up a cigar habit?
[ don't blame yourself, he says, and swallowing down every protest she has feels like choking on shattered glass. it's an impossibility, when she's become the nexus of so much misery. the common denominator in aleksander's rampage, the only consistent factor they seem to share. she might not be guilty of his crimes, might not be held accountable for enticing him on a path of blood and war and taking no prisoners as he razes the world down around them, but she can't shake the shame that plagues her at night. the thought that, no matter her best efforts, she's done nothing to put an end to it. no surrender, no ceasefire, no victories — not when aleksander always finds a way to make her pay for her defiance.
sometimes, she fears he'll burn down the entirety of ravka until only the two of them are left.
but she thinks of nikolai, of the razor-edged accusation of martyr as he'd shone on a light on all of her worst faults — perfect to him, until she no longer was; until that part of her was too unsightly to stomach, like she had feared all along — and pretends the words she won't say don't dig into her throat when a laugh breezes from her mouth. ]
I'll try. [ a delicate promise. she doubts it carries any weight now, as easily thrown to the wind as the loose strands of hair that float around her temple, still warm from the lasting press of his kiss. the last one she might receive from him. she lets her esophagus seize for a second, gripped by an impossible tightness, and ignores her own messy sniffling. laughter one moment, and tears the next — more evidence, she thinks bitterly, of how much of a mess she really is. ] I'm a work in progress. Like a Monet. Fine from a distance, and a complete disaster when you get too close.
[ but she's enduring. as enduring as he'd called fairytale love, once, and that’s what matters most of all. maybe he's right, maybe it isn't a rescue when they've run off hand-in-hand, like there's liberation to be found with the dock creaking beneath their feet, but — he had found a way to be there for her tonight, even after she’d accused him of forgetting her, even after she’d confessed to feeling like he’s never fully with her. ]
You didn’t give up on me, Nik. It would have been easier for you, but you didn’t. To me, that counts as a rescue. [ her nose crinkles, roughly scraping the square still crumpled in her hand over the tear-slick stains drying uncomfortably on her cheeks. ] Even if we did find a different way to scandalize people.
[ there will undoubtedly be consequences for it, but she can pretend it’s far away for now as she brushes a lingering, thankful kiss over the pristine cut of his cheekbone, right before tugging her purse back to her body. ]
I might have accidentally committed some petty theft of my own. [ she steps away only to settle at the edge of the dock, sitting as she roots around through her bag, dumping the oak cigar box and her folder into her lap. if she’s going to erase his evidence, she’s at least going to give herself the poetic catharsis of burning it to ashes with baghra’s expensive cigars before she drowns them in the harbor. ] Do you want one? They’re terrible.
[ he strips off his gloves as he settles beside her, pulling his tie loose and then leaning back on his hands, angling his gaze toward her. she's dolled up in a way he doesn't usually see her, but he thinks she'd look just as pretty waking up with pillow creases on her cheek. she does. ]
I think I'm fairly close. [ he tilts his head as the lights outlining the dock catch the remnants of her drying tears. ] No disasters to be found. Just a very pretty girl and her very useful purse.
[ leaving the papers in her lap, he picks up the cigar box and unlatches it with an amused grin. it's suddenly easier to talk to the cigars than to alina, examining the label on one with far too much interest. ]
I'm not one for giving up. Especially not on people I happen to care quite a bit about. [ love is too traumatizing a word to repeat right now. it catches in his throat and he swallows it down, perhaps forever, because he doesn't see himself willingly using it again if it can't be with alina. it leaves the span of his heart wide open in a way he doesn't like. ] I'm also not really one for cigars. I tend to smoke them only if the pressure of my company is applied hard enough. I knew I should've taken that letter opener from Aleksander's desk.
[ with nothing to cut the cap off, he takes his teeth to it to carefully tear it off, then leans over to search through the pockets of his jacket still draped across alina's shoulders. he's constantly slipping things away and forgetting about them, and after finding a scrap of paper with his nonsensical scrawl, an allen wrench, a lone key he doesn't recognize, a wilted flower, and half a stick of gum wrapped around what he suspects is a third of a bar of xanax, he finally comes across his lighter. ]
Are we burning all of the carefully curated items in your stalker file? This is very poor cigar etiquette, in case you haven't realized the travesty happening right now. [ it takes several long moments for the end of the cigar to glow, and he takes a short puff and makes a face, tendrils of smoke escaping his mouth as he speaks. ] Am I in there? I'll be terribly offended if I'm not granted a mention.
[ 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.
[ her fingers brush his and he keeps still for a moment with how much he wants to take her hand, but in the end he pulls away to refocus his attention on the collection of documents nestled in her lap that suddenly end up in his. it's no small thing that she's decided to share something so intimately personal, moments never meant to be captured. he can almost hear dominik's voice in his head, see the unhappy frustration in his eyes with every intrusive violation of his privacy.
his fingertips touch the edge of a glossy photograph, a suddenly exhausted breath leaving him. he's tired of this, the stolen moments, the weight pressing in on them that they're forced to bear until it breaks the thing he wants most. everything feels like it's repeating, like it's an inevitability, the unavoidable end coming up far too fast to brace himself for it. ]
I don't need to see this. [ his words feel leaden on his tongue, weighted with too much familiarity. the images disturb him, glimpses of alina in class, alina painting, alina getting coffee. there are none of his home, but he already knew there wouldn't be — his family employs their own private security and pays them handsomely to stay invisible. it had been yet another point of contention with dominik, who stated that having only one private place to go felt like being locked in nikolai's castle.
there are photos of alina's neighborhood, of him presenting her with wildflowers at her door, a glimpse of his family's yacht from afar. the documents detail schedules, places, dates, times, people important to her and some he doesn't even recognize, private information laid out before him as if all of this is normal, as if any of this should exist at all.
he draws the line at the nude photographs, an alina that he hardly recognizes, dark-haired and doe-eyed. it takes all of his self control not to pitch the entire pile into the water. with a short breath, he shakes his head. ]
I can't believe you were ever concerned with my happiness when this is the sort of thing you've been dealing with. [ he lifts the picture of the yacht, bringing his cigar to the corner. ] May I?
[ her fingers twitch with the urge to chase after his hand, but she finds the will to move too late, meeting nothing but the cold, empty space he's left behind. it haunts her, like a premonition of what shape her future will take — looking for him in everything, wandering into her studio expecting to watch the sunlight stream across his skin, only to be confronted with a vacant, silent room. like he's taken all of the warmth in the world with him.
protectively, she draws her hand back to her chest, small fingers clutching at the lapels of his jacket. it's pathetic, she thinks — but the fabric still radiates with his body heat, the crisp cleanness of cologne, and beggars like alina starkov have to find their comfort where they can. ]
You called me a martyr. [ and he had been right. she hasn't forgotten the barbs that accusation had grown, pricking unpleasantly each time she remembers his message flashing across her phone's screen. repeating it feels like directing his eyes toward the wound it's left on her, all of the hurt that's spilled over from where she had been trying to contain it, but it's too late to snatch it from the air and return it to her mouth. ] I need you to see it. I need you to understand why I can't just walk away.
[ selfish as she knows it is to ask him to share the burden now, to let her lean on him for only a night. a night where she can pretend she isn't alone. a night where she can pretend that she isn't as much to blame for that loneliness as aleksander. it's too little and too late to mend what she's broken, but — for a handful of hours, she can shut away the truth and pretend.
pulling her knees up to her chest, she offers a quick nod as the tip of his cigar hovers over the flimsy, laminated edges of the photograph. ]
Your happiness is worth more than I am. [ stated like an indisputable fact, unwavering in her conviction. one girl's freedom isn't much of a sacrifice, in the grand scheme, if it pays for nikolai's happiness. for genya's, for mal's. they deserve the uncomplicated, peaceful life aleksander continues to deny her, the life she now knows she'll never have. she props her cheek on her raised knees, turning away from him. ] I've been a burden on Mal for as long as I can remember. That sick girl that needed someone else to take care of her. I don't want to do the same thing to you. I don't want to hold you back.
[ i don't want to ruin you. i don't want you to wake up one day and realize i wasn't worth it. ash taps off the end of her cigar as she raises it to her mouth, eyes drifting over the harbor's twinkling lights and rocking boats. ]
Tell me what else I'm supposed to do, Nik. [ smoke curls around her whisper, a lost plea that carries itself to him. ] No matter what I do, I still lose.
[ he doesn't look at her, instead keeping his eyes on the way the photograph curls and smokes beneath the glowing tip of the cigar, the corner slowly disintegrating to ash. it's an absurd metaphor, too heavy-handed to appreciate, but it gives him something to focus on when alina's pained anger washes over him. he already knows he's not going to meet it with an equal measure of ferocity. he feels like he's the one burning, his insides raw and exposed to the bright embers glowing in the darkness. ]
So you can't. [ his brow pinches as the photograph finally lights, waiting until he feels the heat of the flame against his fingertips before releasing it to float down to the water. there are so many things he wants to say, and yet none of them feel right. none of them feel like anything more than too late. all of them feel like his capacity to love — not enough.
a breath pushes out of him, twisted into something like a bleak chuckle. ] Mal loves you, Alina. You know that. If you were a burden on him, he would have left you long ago. You're not holding anyone back, least of all me.
[ he reaches into his lap for something else to burn, words across pages he doesn't bother to read, and he's mildly horrified to discover a tremor in his hand he doesn't quite catch fast enough. the paper ignites more easily than the photo, burning fleetingly bright. ]
You can't. Not when I'm just realizing that you — [ he flicks the pages toward the darkness of the water and takes a quick pull of the cigar, exhaling smoke from between his teeth. ] You are so far out of my reach.
[ the pain that comes with that admission is almost welcome. he embraces it, lets it settle like a familiar ghost at his side. he finds there's no pleasure that comes from being right this time. it's one fight he can't win when he's hardly equipped with the tools to do so.
but it's only one. he always has others because he picks so many, even if they pale in comparison to this one. melancholia weighs him down, and for a brief moment he hates himself, wishing desperately to be someone else, someone who knows more than he does, who's better at the things he falls short at. then he swallows it down and grinds a lid on top, steeling himself before taking another puff and tilting his mouth upwards to blow a stream of smoke at the sky. ]
Of course I'll tell you what to do, Starlight. [ he finally meets her gaze, slanting his mouth into an iron sharp smile. ] You let me do what I do best. Let me be that clever little fox. Let me do all the things you'd never want, with all those deceitful, immoral, dehumanizing schemes that we both know I'm better at than this. Let me be the man that doesn't deserve you, but the one who is precisely what you need. I'll make sure you don't lose.
Do you want to know a secret? [ there are pages upon pages of secrets resting between them, but snippets of her life and wordy documents haven't given aleksander access to those ugly truths she's never given a voice, as though bringing them into the world would illuminate all of her grotesque, broken parts. now, there's no need for hiding them away in the dark when nikolai has dragged them into the light himself. (why bother hiding them at all, she thinks, when he'll never look at her the same way again? whatever pedestal he'd undeservingly placed her on, it's toppled over and crumbled.) ] Sometimes I wish he would leave.
[ not because she doesn't love him, but because she does — more than herself, more than her own selfish need to drag him down into the shadows with her in a childish attempt to keep her fear at bay. like they're children again, and she's sneaking into his sheets to ward off their mutual fear of dark corners. one day, she'll gather the strength to exist without him — even if he loathes her for it.
she can stand his hatred, so long as it becomes the shield that protects him from aleksander's next strike. part of her nearly believes she could endure the viciousness of nikolai's, too — but that conviction bleeds out of her as she meets the blade of his grin, twisting the knife that much further in her chest. she reels back with all the force of a slap, knocking unshed tears loose. ]
I'm right here. [ her brows knit. despite the stubborn insistence of it, she wonders if she isn't unreachable — if it isn't enough to have her, when aleksander still owns her, a prized pet kept on his leash. never straying too far, no matter what direction her heart points her. ] I've been here all along. You would see that if you looked.
[ it stings her to know he isn't the only guilty party in that. if i had bothered to show you, she doesn't say, biting into her cheek to stop her regrets from overflowing from her. regrets have never changed anything. remaining in aleksander's hold, no matter every effort she's made to build her own life, is proof of that — running in place, always. her head shakes, leaving the folder in his possession as she moves to stand.
this hardly feels like it's going anywhere, either. nowhere that isn't leading them into the same spiral of heartbreak. ]
Go ahead and destroy Aleksander, if that's what you want. You never needed my permission before. [ the tip of her chin is still miraculously defiant, the last ounce of courage she has in the face of her grief. ] But here's another secret for you, Nik. Your schemes wouldn't bother me if I knew you would still be the same man at the end. They should — I should hate them, but what I hate more than anything is knowing that you love winning more than you love me. If I didn't feel like I was always being left behind —
[ there would still be another chasm resting between them, and she won't torture herself with ifs. what if she had been enough, what if aleksander hadn't stood between them, what if they had met at any other point in time. her eyes flicker down to the top of his head, the papers scattered in his lap, her chest heaving with a breath. ]
Forget it. I've been trying to tell you, and you never hear me.
[ hurt bleeds out of her, a wound of his own making, and his first instinct is to staunch it with the well of emotion he's struggling to keep at bay. will it change anything if he tells her again that he loves her, the one trap he never planned to fall in after the disaster he created of dominik, or will he be met with the same question that he has no answer to and no defense against? he can't ask her to settle for what he's given her when he knows how much she deserves and how far he will always be from reaching it. he won't beg, even when every part of him wants to. ]
So am I, Alina. I'm right here. [ he puts the cigar down to take up his lighter, setting fire to the rest of the files, the blaze hotter and brighter as the breeze blows back heat into his face. ] You've looked. You've seen. This is how it feels to be loved by me. Like a half measure. Like it's divided. Like there's always something else I want more than you. Dominik used to say the same thing, you know. I loved him. God, I loved him — and you. But it doesn't matter. I will always make you feel like you're being left behind.
[ leaning forward, he lets the pages tumble bit by bit into the sea, ashes breaking off and tiny embers flitting into the air. he doesn't have the strength to turn back and look at her. ]
Just let me do what I'm good at. I told you I couldn't bear to ruin someone else. I told you how I feared this would go. I even told you that when the time came I was afraid I wouldn't be enough — and you told me I already was, because you're kind and you're generous and you wanted to see the best in me, but now you're really seeing the truth that I selfishly thought I could hide from you. I don't want you to be with me and feel like that. I'm not going to beg you for anything. I'm not going to convince you to stay. I won't chain you to me like I did to him just because I didn't want to face the hurt of him not being there. I don't want you to accept this, Alina. I want you to let me do something that I know I'm not going to fail at. Not this.
No. [ it rings with a fierceness that's final, like the thud of a book being shut once its reached its conclusion. let me, he's begged — the one request he will make of her, the only expression of his love he offers her and the very one it will kill her to accept from him — and alina nearly reaches for that lifeline, that one thread that will keep him tied to her. she isn't ready to sever it if it brings nikolai one step closer to walking away, but knowing he's kept himself by her side out of a misplaced sense of obligation would feel more alone than being alone. no better than aleksander, in some ways, sinking her claws into what she can't let go until it's in tatters. ] We do it together. That's what you promised me, but I'll find a way to do it alone if I have to.
[ the path forward is steeped in fog, an unknown — but it's an unknown she'll have to brave without the same constitution zoya has for deceit, without the same cleverness that defines nikolai's each move, without aleksander's taste for cruelty. she's outmatched, by far, and starting to wear thin at the seams — but nikolai's insistence has taken a spark to a dying ember, reigniting that fading fight inside of her.
she'll find a way. she has to. ]
You never believed in us. It was never going to work because you were always planning for it to end. [ its edge is too dulled to be an accusation, falling from her mouth like a sudden revelation as every warning comes rushing back to her. and you don't believe in us now. the defeat is written into every line of his shoulders, every refusal to turn to look at her, every resigned acceptance that this is all there is for them. doomed to repeat history, trapped in his belief that his love is an inevitable death sentence. ] For someone who says he doesn't give up on people, you've done an excellent job giving up on yourself and on us.
[ because nothing, and no one, can harm nikolai lantsov more than himself. she inhales deep, her shoe scuffing on the dock as she takes a step backward. ]
Do you expect me to just accept that? Well, I don't. I won't. [ the tenacity in it is more threat than promise, a stubborn refusal that grinds her heels in. an immovable object meeting the unstoppable force of alina starkov. ] You could change it. You could find a different way to love me, if you wanted to. I could show you how to, if you asked.
[ but he won't ask, and he still won't hear her. not now, not tonight, and her belief in all that they could be can only carry the both of them so far before she begins to collapse beneath the weight. her refusal to say goodbye is deliberate, pointed, as she gives him one last, long look — memorizing the harbor lights catching on golden hair, the elegant line of his profile, to torment herself with — before turning on her heel to leave. ]
Edited (pls do not look at my late night nitpicking) 2021-03-18 07:51 (UTC)
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
I'm — [ i'm fine, she wants to bite out, sure and steady, if only to give herself a lie she can believe in. it sticks in her throat, unpleasantly lodged there, even as she tries to force it out of herself. alina's eyes clamp shut tightly, ignoring the dampness collecting on the ends of her eyelashes. ] Maybe I want to be alone.
[ she settles for that, instead: the greatest lie she's ever told, and the most obvious, at odds with the desperate way she curls her fingers into the collar of his dress shirt to keep him from believing her, letting the folder and its contents scatter across the dark carpet. it spills out of her in a wavering tremble of words, a paper-thin conviction that's as easily torn as the creased photograph on aleksander's desk. mal knows, better than most, how childishly frightened she is of it — being forgotten, discarded, left behind. never worth the effort, or the attention, or even remembering.
a remnant, maybe, of walking through her life like a ghost, surrounded by faces that never believed a sickly child like alina starkov would make it through another winter. when her eyes open, they stubbornly linger on the crisp edges of his vest, letting her vision swim. ]
Why did you bring me up here? [ the room is too small for everything that exists between them, but that question looms larger than anything else. the intensity in her gaze as it lifts to search his eyes warns him that her decision hinges on his answer. ] Was it just for the folder? For this?
no subject
Alina. [ a soft breath pushes out of him while he carefully measures his words. the thing he feels inside of him seems so simple, the ever-growing blossom of everything he feels for her. the affection, the want, the curiosity. the desire to do everything with her, to say everything to her, to share his most mundane thoughts alongside the feverish ideas that are either disastrous or brilliant or both. he wishes he could lift it out of himself and present it to her to see, his heart wide open in his hands to show her that this is real, that every part of him wants every part of her.
words don't feel like enough. he doesn't feel like enough despite every assurance she's given him, but nonetheless he tries to assign meaning to the pulsing ache inside of him that's both thrilling and terrifying at once. he presses the edge of his thumb to the corner of her eye when she looks up, a tear wetting his skin. ]
Because every time you're gone... and every time I'm gone, I miss you. Because I didn't think you'd say yes if I asked you to come over just to try on the stupid but incredibly nice crown. Because I think — I love you. [ he takes another breath, wincing slightly at his words, swallowing down the waver in his throat. ] No — I don't think. I know. I do. I love you. And I understand that doesn't fix everything that's wrong between us, but — I want you to know that I am in love with you, Alina Starlight, with my entire heart.
no subject
So you baited me here instead. [ her voice is just a croak, but it flares with a weary spark of indignant, accusatory anger. ] You could have asked.
[ he could have given her the freedom of choice to come to him without the need for bargaining chips or moving her like a pawn on a board, offering her a greater gift than aleksander's idea of compassion — granting her one mercy by allowing her the illusion of choice. and therein lies the fear she can't shake, a clinging thing that's grown claws; for as much as they've claimed to love her, she isn't so certain either of them loves her more than their victories and triumphs, their carefully laid plans and their boundless ambition.
her fingers pluck idly at his shirt, nervous fiddling she can't suppress, building herself up for a question that can't possibly have an answer she wants to hear — if it has an answer at all. ]
If you love me with all of your heart, then why does it feel like you're only loving me with half?
[ half of his heart. half of his attention. half of his time. it's ridiculous to crave more now. to be struck by that specter of greed that's haunted her since birth, when she's been content to settle for less for so long, unable to believe she's been worth more than scraps. maybe he's awoken that hunger, now that she's had a taste of what she could have. what they could be, if not for their own personal wars calling them away, soldiers drawn to their own causes.
furiously, her hand swipes beneath her eyes, collecting the tears that want to spill over without her permission. the moment she asks for more than he can give feels like the end for them, a final chapter to a beginning that had seemed so full of possibility and a story that's only half-written. ]
I can't have just half of you anymore.
no subject
[ his hands gently drop, his fingertips skimming along her arms and stopping at her elbows. the question she poses cuts into him unexpectedly — whether it's an accusation or an observation doesn't change that it's the truth of what she feels, a glaringly wide failure of his to make her feel cared for. he finds himself grasping for someone or something to blame. his mother, for only loving him in half-measures, or vasily, for lacking even a shred of goodness that could have made him a brother to look up to, or even zoya, who expresses her affection in sneers and disdain. he doesn't know if he's ever encountered the quiet sort of love that verges on unconditional — with dominik, maybe, at the start. before he'd drained that out of him, too.
but there isn't anyone to blame, nothing he can attribute this to but himself. he has to do better — he vows to do better, but an uncomfortable prickle of doubt needles into him, that maybe better doesn't exist for him, not when he feels so assured of the sea of emotion welling inside of him, but so helpless to somehow make it seen.
when she wipes her eyes he pulls back slightly, his hand going to the colorful square peeking out of his breast pocket. absently, he pulls out the silken cloth — glossy and smooth, a painting of a saint slaying a dragon replicated across the fabric, ridiculously pricey for a thing so small — and shakes it once to loosen the folds, holding it out to her. the silence between them keeps stretching until he knows that whether it's the right or wrong words that leave his mouth, he has to say something.
in the end he opts for honesty, blinking away his hesitation as his mouth twists into something that feels like fragile armor, a flicker of a smile, a last ditch effort to protect himself. he takes a breath and tries to widen his smile as he meets her eyes. ]
I fear it might be the only way I know how to do it.
[ the admission of such a flaw pains him, because this isn't something like being forgetful or overly curious. this is a reminder of the trajectory this was always going to take, the things he knew were always going to happen.
he worries his bottom lip and kneels to gather the fallen papers, sightlessly sweeping them up. ]
It feels... vast, inside of me. Limitless. But — [ he flashes another smile as he rises, the file stuffed haphazardly with documents. ] It's quite all right. I understand. I don't think that would be enough for me, either. Shall we go? I suspect we've both had enough of this place for one night, and I was quite serious about throwing half of this stuff in the harbor.
no subject
or maybe that's her pain speaking, unable to comprehend how smoothly he can recover from this when she's a raw, bleeding wound in front of him. but even through the blur of her vision, the smile he paints across his mouth feels all wrong, like a jagged brushstroke across a surface. alina's glazed eyes focus there, with an intensity that suggests she would wipe it from him, if she could. bare him down to the truth of what he is. make his pain match her own, if only to have the selfish evidence that this means anything at all to him.
the silken square he's given her bunches between her fingers, forgotten. it's an instinct learned from childhood to wrap her arms around herself in nikolai's absence, vainly trying to offer herself comfort in the cold, lonely spaces she had occupied in ana kuya's group home. an old habit, when she hadn't wanted to burden mal with the well of emotion brewing inside of her. her fingertips press harshly into her skin to prevent herself from reaching for him, clinging and needy, as he rises back to his feet. ]
Don't do that. Don't pretend. [ it bubbles out of her, tinged with a hint of hysteria. ] It's not all right. None of this is okay. Nothing feels like it's ever going to be okay again.
[ the more he pretends that it is, the more alone she feels. it's the poetic result of a self-fulfilling prophecy — to insist she could do any of this alone, only to hate the solitude she's forced on herself. it would be easy to fault aleksander for this; he won't allow her to have anything sacred, desecrating every precious thing she's ever called her own, but in this — in this, there's no one to blame but herself, no matter how necessary that pain had felt.
as if it's chosen to rebel against her, her heart wrenches painfully in her chest, squeezing the air out of her lungs. it's an inconvenient time and place to stand on the verge of a breakdown, and so alina's chest heaves with her next inhale, futilely trying to think of something else to keep herself from collapsing. how disappointed genya is going to be that alina ruined her handiwork with thick streaks of running mascara. how annoyed baghra is going to be that alina still has the old hag's disgusting cigars stored in her purse.
anything but how her own answer now feels like it could make or shatter what's left. her tongue trips over i can't go and the wrongness of it, choking on her next words. ]
Just get us away from all of this. [ her throat bobs, trying to push past that strangling tightness in her throat. ] Get me away from here.
no subject
he's glad that it spurs him to act, to focus on something other than the misery spreading through his chest to weigh him down. his jacket is draped over her quaking shoulders, giving her something to clutch that isn't herself. he reluctantly leaves zoya's folder in the place he found it, but stuffs the contents of alina's into her purse, briefly wondering why she has cigars of all things stored there. the sparkling choker he takes in his own hand, unwilling to let the thing even touch alina's skin again, and with his other hand he takes hers, his grip warm and secure, the soft leather of his gloves molding to fit against her fingers. ]
It's all right. I've got you.
[ he whispers it against her cheek, leaning into her to press his forehead briefly to her temple before he leads her out of the room, casting one last glance at the words carved into the desk before he shuts and locks the door once more. they go quietly down the stairs, and when they reach the main floor, he doesn't bother trying to skirt his way around the crowd, cutting straight through it and meeting aleksander's steely gaze when they pass him. he can feel zoya's eyes on him when he presses the choker into aleksander's chest. ]
It's not to her taste. [ it's all he says, his eyes hard, his mouth curving into a flinty, challenging grin before he drops his hand and turns away, keeping alina at his side as they make their way to the door. the night air cools his skin, leaving behind the suffocating presence of a man he would have been all too happy to introduce to his right hook.
as promised, he leads her in the direction of the harbor, the twinkling boardwalk coming into view. the tightness in his chest dissipates only slightly, glancing briefly at alina as he gently squeezes her hand. ]
I'm sorry I didn't keep my promise, Starlight. I shouldn't have left your side.
no subject
all the better to eat you with, my dear.
she laughs with the absurdity of it all, convinced she's gone half-mad with grief as aleksander's eyes pierce through her, finally fracturing beneath the strain of the world. aleksander will undoubtedly paint nikolai as the villain of the piece once they've left, but for all that alina has become disillusioned with fairytale romances and concepts like fate, she knows one fact to be true: it's villains that lock away martyrs and throw away the key. if prince charmings were ever real, then it's stupid, fearless nikolai that broke the lock and freed her when she couldn't find the strength to do it herself.
the eyes that bore into her spine fade away as they disappear into the night, some of the tension evaporating from her shoulders. maybe it's the fresh air, now that she's remembered to breathe; maybe it's the ironclad grip she has on nikolai's hand, the leather creaking beneath her fingers, as she holds onto him like a lifeline. whatever it is, alina's face tilts up toward the sky, letting the moonlight and ocean air breeze over her skin. a scent that reminds her of nikolai when she instinctively presses her cheek into his shoulder, covertly dragging him into her lungs, as they walk. ]
Don't blame yourself. [ it's meant for him, but she murmurs it into the blanket of night. ] I was the one who told you not to come, and I was the one who wore that thing and let him parade me around like —
[ she cuts herself off, the silence sharp with everything she leaves unsaid, all of the self-loathing and regret that fills the spaces between them. the boardwalk lights shimmer off of the water, highlighting the corners of her thoughtful frown. i thought i had to do it alone, she could say, justifying every choice she's made for herself. for others. instead, she closes her eyes and exhales slowly, trying to settle her still-hammering pulse. ]
I think I changed my mind about fairytale love. Maybe it's real. Maybe princes do exist, sometimes. [ she doesn't dare chance a glimpse at him, letting her eyes wander over the quiet waves. ] You're always trying to rescue me when you shouldn't have to.
no subject
[ he glances at her with a soft smile, then presses a kiss to the crown of her hair when she doesn't lift her head. ] I'm proud of you, Alina. I know it wasn't easy for you to leave, and though I very briefly considered it, I was not going to drag you with me kicking and screaming. Imagine the scandal.
[ it's easier to pretend like everything is all right beneath the vastness of the sky, that they're walking hand in hand as if nothing has changed between them. as if they'll wake up tomorrow morning tangled up in each other, as if nikolai hasn't just incited aleksander's rage to be used against them. as if he hasn't just confessed that he loves her only to be told that it's not enough, even if it's a thing he's known all along. all of it seems more distant and less painful, muted by the gentle sound of the waves, even if it's a fleeting sort of reprieve. he needs to talk to zoya. not just about the things he found in aleksander's desk, but the ache in his heart that he'll only ever admit after a bottle of wine so he'll only remember the half of it. ]
I don't consider it so much a rescue. It's just what you do when you care about someone. [ they reach the dock, and nikolai tugs at alina's purse. ] Have you taken up a cigar habit?
no subject
sometimes, she fears he'll burn down the entirety of ravka until only the two of them are left.
but she thinks of nikolai, of the razor-edged accusation of martyr as he'd shone on a light on all of her worst faults — perfect to him, until she no longer was; until that part of her was too unsightly to stomach, like she had feared all along — and pretends the words she won't say don't dig into her throat when a laugh breezes from her mouth. ]
I'll try. [ a delicate promise. she doubts it carries any weight now, as easily thrown to the wind as the loose strands of hair that float around her temple, still warm from the lasting press of his kiss. the last one she might receive from him. she lets her esophagus seize for a second, gripped by an impossible tightness, and ignores her own messy sniffling. laughter one moment, and tears the next — more evidence, she thinks bitterly, of how much of a mess she really is. ] I'm a work in progress. Like a Monet. Fine from a distance, and a complete disaster when you get too close.
[ but she's enduring. as enduring as he'd called fairytale love, once, and that’s what matters most of all. maybe he's right, maybe it isn't a rescue when they've run off hand-in-hand, like there's liberation to be found with the dock creaking beneath their feet, but — he had found a way to be there for her tonight, even after she’d accused him of forgetting her, even after she’d confessed to feeling like he’s never fully with her. ]
You didn’t give up on me, Nik. It would have been easier for you, but you didn’t. To me, that counts as a rescue. [ her nose crinkles, roughly scraping the square still crumpled in her hand over the tear-slick stains drying uncomfortably on her cheeks. ] Even if we did find a different way to scandalize people.
[ there will undoubtedly be consequences for it, but she can pretend it’s far away for now as she brushes a lingering, thankful kiss over the pristine cut of his cheekbone, right before tugging her purse back to her body. ]
I might have accidentally committed some petty theft of my own. [ she steps away only to settle at the edge of the dock, sitting as she roots around through her bag, dumping the oak cigar box and her folder into her lap. if she’s going to erase his evidence, she’s at least going to give herself the poetic catharsis of burning it to ashes with baghra’s expensive cigars before she drowns them in the harbor. ] Do you want one? They’re terrible.
no subject
I think I'm fairly close. [ he tilts his head as the lights outlining the dock catch the remnants of her drying tears. ] No disasters to be found. Just a very pretty girl and her very useful purse.
[ leaving the papers in her lap, he picks up the cigar box and unlatches it with an amused grin. it's suddenly easier to talk to the cigars than to alina, examining the label on one with far too much interest. ]
I'm not one for giving up. Especially not on people I happen to care quite a bit about. [ love is too traumatizing a word to repeat right now. it catches in his throat and he swallows it down, perhaps forever, because he doesn't see himself willingly using it again if it can't be with alina. it leaves the span of his heart wide open in a way he doesn't like. ] I'm also not really one for cigars. I tend to smoke them only if the pressure of my company is applied hard enough. I knew I should've taken that letter opener from Aleksander's desk.
[ with nothing to cut the cap off, he takes his teeth to it to carefully tear it off, then leans over to search through the pockets of his jacket still draped across alina's shoulders. he's constantly slipping things away and forgetting about them, and after finding a scrap of paper with his nonsensical scrawl, an allen wrench, a lone key he doesn't recognize, a wilted flower, and half a stick of gum wrapped around what he suspects is a third of a bar of xanax, he finally comes across his lighter. ]
Are we burning all of the carefully curated items in your stalker file? This is very poor cigar etiquette, in case you haven't realized the travesty happening right now. [ it takes several long moments for the end of the cigar to glow, and he takes a short puff and makes a face, tendrils of smoke escaping his mouth as he speaks. ] Am I in there? I'll be terribly offended if I'm not granted a mention.
no subject
[ 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.
no subject
[ her fingers brush his and he keeps still for a moment with how much he wants to take her hand, but in the end he pulls away to refocus his attention on the collection of documents nestled in her lap that suddenly end up in his. it's no small thing that she's decided to share something so intimately personal, moments never meant to be captured. he can almost hear dominik's voice in his head, see the unhappy frustration in his eyes with every intrusive violation of his privacy.
his fingertips touch the edge of a glossy photograph, a suddenly exhausted breath leaving him. he's tired of this, the stolen moments, the weight pressing in on them that they're forced to bear until it breaks the thing he wants most. everything feels like it's repeating, like it's an inevitability, the unavoidable end coming up far too fast to brace himself for it. ]
I don't need to see this. [ his words feel leaden on his tongue, weighted with too much familiarity. the images disturb him, glimpses of alina in class, alina painting, alina getting coffee. there are none of his home, but he already knew there wouldn't be — his family employs their own private security and pays them handsomely to stay invisible. it had been yet another point of contention with dominik, who stated that having only one private place to go felt like being locked in nikolai's castle.
there are photos of alina's neighborhood, of him presenting her with wildflowers at her door, a glimpse of his family's yacht from afar. the documents detail schedules, places, dates, times, people important to her and some he doesn't even recognize, private information laid out before him as if all of this is normal, as if any of this should exist at all.
he draws the line at the nude photographs, an alina that he hardly recognizes, dark-haired and doe-eyed. it takes all of his self control not to pitch the entire pile into the water. with a short breath, he shakes his head. ]
I can't believe you were ever concerned with my happiness when this is the sort of thing you've been dealing with. [ he lifts the picture of the yacht, bringing his cigar to the corner. ] May I?
no subject
protectively, she draws her hand back to her chest, small fingers clutching at the lapels of his jacket. it's pathetic, she thinks — but the fabric still radiates with his body heat, the crisp cleanness of cologne, and beggars like alina starkov have to find their comfort where they can. ]
You called me a martyr. [ and he had been right. she hasn't forgotten the barbs that accusation had grown, pricking unpleasantly each time she remembers his message flashing across her phone's screen. repeating it feels like directing his eyes toward the wound it's left on her, all of the hurt that's spilled over from where she had been trying to contain it, but it's too late to snatch it from the air and return it to her mouth. ] I need you to see it. I need you to understand why I can't just walk away.
[ selfish as she knows it is to ask him to share the burden now, to let her lean on him for only a night. a night where she can pretend she isn't alone. a night where she can pretend that she isn't as much to blame for that loneliness as aleksander. it's too little and too late to mend what she's broken, but — for a handful of hours, she can shut away the truth and pretend.
pulling her knees up to her chest, she offers a quick nod as the tip of his cigar hovers over the flimsy, laminated edges of the photograph. ]
Your happiness is worth more than I am. [ stated like an indisputable fact, unwavering in her conviction. one girl's freedom isn't much of a sacrifice, in the grand scheme, if it pays for nikolai's happiness. for genya's, for mal's. they deserve the uncomplicated, peaceful life aleksander continues to deny her, the life she now knows she'll never have. she props her cheek on her raised knees, turning away from him. ] I've been a burden on Mal for as long as I can remember. That sick girl that needed someone else to take care of her. I don't want to do the same thing to you. I don't want to hold you back.
[ i don't want to ruin you. i don't want you to wake up one day and realize i wasn't worth it. ash taps off the end of her cigar as she raises it to her mouth, eyes drifting over the harbor's twinkling lights and rocking boats. ]
Tell me what else I'm supposed to do, Nik. [ smoke curls around her whisper, a lost plea that carries itself to him. ] No matter what I do, I still lose.
no subject
So you can't. [ his brow pinches as the photograph finally lights, waiting until he feels the heat of the flame against his fingertips before releasing it to float down to the water. there are so many things he wants to say, and yet none of them feel right. none of them feel like anything more than too late. all of them feel like his capacity to love — not enough.
a breath pushes out of him, twisted into something like a bleak chuckle. ] Mal loves you, Alina. You know that. If you were a burden on him, he would have left you long ago. You're not holding anyone back, least of all me.
[ he reaches into his lap for something else to burn, words across pages he doesn't bother to read, and he's mildly horrified to discover a tremor in his hand he doesn't quite catch fast enough. the paper ignites more easily than the photo, burning fleetingly bright. ]
You can't. Not when I'm just realizing that you — [ he flicks the pages toward the darkness of the water and takes a quick pull of the cigar, exhaling smoke from between his teeth. ] You are so far out of my reach.
[ the pain that comes with that admission is almost welcome. he embraces it, lets it settle like a familiar ghost at his side. he finds there's no pleasure that comes from being right this time. it's one fight he can't win when he's hardly equipped with the tools to do so.
but it's only one. he always has others because he picks so many, even if they pale in comparison to this one. melancholia weighs him down, and for a brief moment he hates himself, wishing desperately to be someone else, someone who knows more than he does, who's better at the things he falls short at. then he swallows it down and grinds a lid on top, steeling himself before taking another puff and tilting his mouth upwards to blow a stream of smoke at the sky. ]
Of course I'll tell you what to do, Starlight. [ he finally meets her gaze, slanting his mouth into an iron sharp smile. ] You let me do what I do best. Let me be that clever little fox. Let me do all the things you'd never want, with all those deceitful, immoral, dehumanizing schemes that we both know I'm better at than this. Let me be the man that doesn't deserve you, but the one who is precisely what you need. I'll make sure you don't lose.
no subject
[ not because she doesn't love him, but because she does — more than herself, more than her own selfish need to drag him down into the shadows with her in a childish attempt to keep her fear at bay. like they're children again, and she's sneaking into his sheets to ward off their mutual fear of dark corners. one day, she'll gather the strength to exist without him — even if he loathes her for it.
she can stand his hatred, so long as it becomes the shield that protects him from aleksander's next strike. part of her nearly believes she could endure the viciousness of nikolai's, too — but that conviction bleeds out of her as she meets the blade of his grin, twisting the knife that much further in her chest. she reels back with all the force of a slap, knocking unshed tears loose. ]
I'm right here. [ her brows knit. despite the stubborn insistence of it, she wonders if she isn't unreachable — if it isn't enough to have her, when aleksander still owns her, a prized pet kept on his leash. never straying too far, no matter what direction her heart points her. ] I've been here all along. You would see that if you looked.
[ it stings her to know he isn't the only guilty party in that. if i had bothered to show you, she doesn't say, biting into her cheek to stop her regrets from overflowing from her. regrets have never changed anything. remaining in aleksander's hold, no matter every effort she's made to build her own life, is proof of that — running in place, always. her head shakes, leaving the folder in his possession as she moves to stand.
this hardly feels like it's going anywhere, either. nowhere that isn't leading them into the same spiral of heartbreak. ]
Go ahead and destroy Aleksander, if that's what you want. You never needed my permission before. [ the tip of her chin is still miraculously defiant, the last ounce of courage she has in the face of her grief. ] But here's another secret for you, Nik. Your schemes wouldn't bother me if I knew you would still be the same man at the end. They should — I should hate them, but what I hate more than anything is knowing that you love winning more than you love me. If I didn't feel like I was always being left behind —
[ there would still be another chasm resting between them, and she won't torture herself with ifs. what if she had been enough, what if aleksander hadn't stood between them, what if they had met at any other point in time. her eyes flicker down to the top of his head, the papers scattered in his lap, her chest heaving with a breath. ]
Forget it. I've been trying to tell you, and you never hear me.
no subject
So am I, Alina. I'm right here. [ he puts the cigar down to take up his lighter, setting fire to the rest of the files, the blaze hotter and brighter as the breeze blows back heat into his face. ] You've looked. You've seen. This is how it feels to be loved by me. Like a half measure. Like it's divided. Like there's always something else I want more than you. Dominik used to say the same thing, you know. I loved him. God, I loved him — and you. But it doesn't matter. I will always make you feel like you're being left behind.
[ leaning forward, he lets the pages tumble bit by bit into the sea, ashes breaking off and tiny embers flitting into the air. he doesn't have the strength to turn back and look at her. ]
Just let me do what I'm good at. I told you I couldn't bear to ruin someone else. I told you how I feared this would go. I even told you that when the time came I was afraid I wouldn't be enough — and you told me I already was, because you're kind and you're generous and you wanted to see the best in me, but now you're really seeing the truth that I selfishly thought I could hide from you. I don't want you to be with me and feel like that. I'm not going to beg you for anything. I'm not going to convince you to stay. I won't chain you to me like I did to him just because I didn't want to face the hurt of him not being there. I don't want you to accept this, Alina. I want you to let me do something that I know I'm not going to fail at. Not this.
no subject
[ the path forward is steeped in fog, an unknown — but it's an unknown she'll have to brave without the same constitution zoya has for deceit, without the same cleverness that defines nikolai's each move, without aleksander's taste for cruelty. she's outmatched, by far, and starting to wear thin at the seams — but nikolai's insistence has taken a spark to a dying ember, reigniting that fading fight inside of her.
she'll find a way. she has to. ]
You never believed in us. It was never going to work because you were always planning for it to end. [ its edge is too dulled to be an accusation, falling from her mouth like a sudden revelation as every warning comes rushing back to her. and you don't believe in us now. the defeat is written into every line of his shoulders, every refusal to turn to look at her, every resigned acceptance that this is all there is for them. doomed to repeat history, trapped in his belief that his love is an inevitable death sentence. ] For someone who says he doesn't give up on people, you've done an excellent job giving up on yourself and on us.
[ because nothing, and no one, can harm nikolai lantsov more than himself. she inhales deep, her shoe scuffing on the dock as she takes a step backward. ]
Do you expect me to just accept that? Well, I don't. I won't. [ the tenacity in it is more threat than promise, a stubborn refusal that grinds her heels in. an immovable object meeting the unstoppable force of alina starkov. ] You could change it. You could find a different way to love me, if you wanted to. I could show you how to, if you asked.
[ but he won't ask, and he still won't hear her. not now, not tonight, and her belief in all that they could be can only carry the both of them so far before she begins to collapse beneath the weight. her refusal to say goodbye is deliberate, pointed, as she gives him one last, long look — memorizing the harbor lights catching on golden hair, the elegant line of his profile, to torment herself with — before turning on her heel to leave. ]