I am aware. And we'd have new fears for it as well, I'm sure but...I cannot be this selfish and demanding.
[They're still perfectly fitted together like this, aren't they? Close and nearly clinging to each other to navigate everything that has been forced to the surface.]
[She ducks her head, pushing it beneath his chin as she buries her face in his chest — a silent demand to be held tighter than she's been, looking for grounding as much as for comfort.]
I want to stay here, with you, in the first house I've ever lived in, and the first room that was ever mine, and my little drawers and your heated floors and —
[Again, one of those shuddering breaths; it's muffled this time, but he might well feel it as much as he hears it.]
It's so much easier to be brave for you than for myself, is all.
[He can do that. He can pull Sypha as close as he can to his chest, bury his face in the top of her hair, entwine her legs with his so that there's only one way that they could be closer.
This was never the intention. To have Sypha like this is terrifying, but it is a reminder they both need. Their relationship cannot be built of a single lane road.]
You will always have me. I am yours, utterly. Which means that I am to be as brave and as kind and as much a comfort as you have been for me. I want that.
[She falls silent a minute, bumping her nose against his collarbone, close to where the scar juts across his chest but not quite, and draws in a slow breath of just the scent of him, leftover perspiration from the party and a hint of the weeds he'd worn in his lapel, a touch of incense and smoke and leather.
He smells like both homes she's known. Her people's campgrounds always smelled of heat and oil and firesmoke, too.]
It's foolish, I know. I just need to hear you say it, plainly. That if I go...I can come back. That this house is mine to come back to, too.
This home will welcome you back every time you depart it's doors. They will open for you if I am here, they will open for you if I am out buying groceries. This home knows you, knows that you're a part of it. It is yours.
[Yours. And he kisses the top of her head to emphasize the point.]
If you can restrain yourself from being crabby about your wrinkled shirt.
[She nudges at him, though, intent on pushing him onto his back so that she can at least make good on her threat to be on top of him, even if it's only falling asleep half-draped over his chest.]
[Which he'll get over. Better to let Sypha push him down, use his feet to kick up the covers so that he can reach down juuuuust enough to grab them, then bundle himself and Sypha up as gently as he can. It is still warm out, and Sypha has a terrible way of making things warmer.
He's happy though, like this. Sypha here in his arms, the world kept at arm's length just for a little while. There's another kiss to the top of Sypha's head.]
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[They're still perfectly fitted together like this, aren't they? Close and nearly clinging to each other to navigate everything that has been forced to the surface.]
I love you too much.
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[She knows how it works. It's not like she holds it against him. Sometimes she even approves of it on the merits, but —]
You wouldn't do that, would you? Send me away because you needed me to be gone?
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[The little things, the stupid shit, that's one thing.]
There's no equality if I'm forced to do something so foolish. No respect for the choices you've made if I try to trick you down that road.
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[She chews her lip, worrying the corner of it in her teeth.]
I would need help.
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[It's a promise. It's a vow. He knows the roads his city uses to move through America.]
Everything you need is yours. You know that.
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[She ducks her head, pushing it beneath his chin as she buries her face in his chest — a silent demand to be held tighter than she's been, looking for grounding as much as for comfort.]
I want to stay here, with you, in the first house I've ever lived in, and the first room that was ever mine, and my little drawers and your heated floors and —
[Again, one of those shuddering breaths; it's muffled this time, but he might well feel it as much as he hears it.]
It's so much easier to be brave for you than for myself, is all.
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This was never the intention. To have Sypha like this is terrifying, but it is a reminder they both need. Their relationship cannot be built of a single lane road.]
You will always have me. I am yours, utterly. Which means that I am to be as brave and as kind and as much a comfort as you have been for me. I want that.
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[She falls silent a minute, bumping her nose against his collarbone, close to where the scar juts across his chest but not quite, and draws in a slow breath of just the scent of him, leftover perspiration from the party and a hint of the weeds he'd worn in his lapel, a touch of incense and smoke and leather.
He smells like both homes she's known. Her people's campgrounds always smelled of heat and oil and firesmoke, too.]
It's foolish, I know. I just need to hear you say it, plainly. That if I go...I can come back. That this house is mine to come back to, too.
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[Yours. And he kisses the top of her head to emphasize the point.]
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[Not house. Home. A significant difference, and heartwarming (hearthwarming) one.]
You're more yourself already. My Alucard, again.
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[He sighs the word so happily. Utterly hers.]
We were doing something else, weren't we?
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[She nips at his shoulder, very lightly.]
Or if not now, when we wake up tonight?
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[It's been an emotional ride.]
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[She nudges at him, though, intent on pushing him onto his back so that she can at least make good on her threat to be on top of him, even if it's only falling asleep half-draped over his chest.]
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[Which he'll get over. Better to let Sypha push him down, use his feet to kick up the covers so that he can reach down juuuuust enough to grab them, then bundle himself and Sypha up as gently as he can. It is still warm out, and Sypha has a terrible way of making things warmer.
He's happy though, like this. Sypha here in his arms, the world kept at arm's length just for a little while. There's another kiss to the top of Sypha's head.]
Sleep well.