[ 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)
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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. ]