noemi watched him, quietly and at a distance like if she moved too suddenly, moved too close they would both be consumed in flames. her face was a blank slate albeit for two subtle but distinct features: full lips curled ever so slightly downwards with worry and brown eyes quietly analyzing the man in front of her, the faintest hint of compassion glistening on the surface. there were few things she knew about rhys to be absolutely true: 1. she cared for him in a way that was difficult to explain, 2. he was a book full of beautiful words in a language she couldnât even begin to understand. so she thought carefully through her actions, through her choices. her eyes flickered away from him and settled on a target. four perfect shots fired, and she pressed her lips together to prevent her face from falling into something sort of awestruck. god, he was talented; she couldnât pull her eyes away. the sound of metal clattering against the ground echoed through the shooting range, just as violent, just as forceful, as the gunfire it replaced, but she didnât flinch. her demeanor remained calm, soft almost.
the tension in the air was so palpable, you could take a knife to it, over and over and shredding it into tiny pieces each with a different word for anger printed across it. her gaze fell on the discarded weapon, then slowly moved upwards to catch his fists, balled up so tightly his knuckles were white, slam on the table in front of him. his voice dripped with venom as he spoke, and she noticed that it came from a completely different level of his temper. this wasnât a tone of vexation, the tone heâd taken with her weeks ago in his car. this was something much, much darker, rooted deep inside a part of his mind that she hadnât yet seen. when he said her name, chills ran down her spine, and she knew that if she never had to hear it spoken that way again, it would be far too soon. you should go. her head tilted just slightly, mind racing. he was so controlled, so together. it was something that noemi admired, something she envied, yet here he was, breathing ragged and wild, dark shadows of emotion clouding his features. she inhaled, then turned on her heel without a word.
she disappeared for only a moment, only long enough to move to the back of the shelter and grab three more cases. when she returned, she still didnât speak. noemi simply moved to where heâd dropped the pistol, picked it up, and brought it over to a loading table. she held it in her left hand, her dominant hand, and pressed the magazine release with her thumb, catching it as it fell from the handle. her right hand cupped over the slide and cocked it back, and she didnât blink as a gold bullet shell popped out of the top. the entire action was effortless because it was safe. emptying a weapon was second nature to her, but loading it, pointing it, shooting it; that was something she was still working on.¡â rhysand, â she spoke his name softly, but confidently, and her movements were no longer cautious as she moved towards him. he was so used to people walking away, to people giving up after one try, but noemi had never been that for him, and just because she was seeing this new side, a dangerous and dark side, didnât mean she was going to start now. standing in front of him, she hooked a finger underneath his chin, finally locking eyes with him.¡â hey, â her hand dropped to her back pocket. in the left hand, she twirled the empty gun so the handle was now facing him, in the right hand, she held a new magazine, shiny golden bullets tucked inside of black metal ready to be shot,¡â show me. â she realized how ridiculous it sounded, how anyone else would be asking him what was wrong, would be ripping into him for such harsh words. noemi, however, just wanted him to focus. she couldnât get anywhere with him if his thoughts were drowning in blinding rage.¡â i have never, in my life, seen someone handle something so dangerous so gracefully soâ⌠walk me through it, â she stood firm, offering him the things she held in her hands, offering him herself,¡â please. â
the sound of her departing footsteps did nothing to quell the emotions he felt rising like bile in his throat; he knew that if she stayed, the part of him that she didnât recognize would be enough to cause her to abandon him for good. he knew that there was no way to stop someone from seeing your true colors, the darkness that was so deep and inherent that there was no amount of brightness that could take away from it. but he also knew that noemi was persistent, and for some reason, she hadnât given up thus far. rhys could only harbor so much hope in himself not to fuck this up in a way that was irreparable. but before he can even really let the fact that she had walked away really settle, he heard the approach of her footsteps once more, no longer tentative but something that was ultimately more confident. rhysandâs whole frame was practically a live-wire, a thrumming energy beneath his skin that made him feel ready to catch and go ablaze. all he could do was stand, stay right where he was, and carefully watch each of her movements as he tried to regain control of his breathing.¡
rhysand really had to give it to noemi -- she was particularly skilled at distraction, being able to take his mind away from his mother, even for a moment -- and the way in which she was going meticulously through the motions of unloading a firearm had him watching like a hawk, making sure that she did it with carefulness and precision. he wouldnât want anything to go wrong, and if something had because he had been too angry to pay attention. but she does it with almost no fault, a few of her tendencies indicative of the fact that she was still a beginner, still not fully comfortable around a gun.¡
as she asks for his help, rhysand has no option but to slowly move forward, to respond to her request as if it was the only thing keeping him afloat. he didnât want to think about his mother, the truth behind the words she spoke, the tone that she used when she verbally flayed him for all that he was failing to become. the fact that people were bursting down her doors to tell him how great he had been doing, the fact that his shoulder was still not behaving at full capacity, the upcoming designations of who was ranked in their class ... it was all too much. but this ? this was in his dna, something genetic that inclined him to do what she was asking of him easier than breathing. the plea she tacked on to the end of her request was enough to have him searching her expression, eyes flickering across her features to realize her intent. but it only lasted a second, that contact, before his large hand covers hers, practically dwarfing it -- and takes the gun into his own. as he speaks, itâs mechanical, an underlying heat to it as he explains the process, no real thoughts in his mind besides the ones revolving around the gun in his hand.¡â this a semi-automatic hand pistol, itâs standard in training for any type of law enforcement. we tend to go for them because theyâre easy to learn. there are four parts,â and his long fingers hover over the areas he indicates, one by one.¡â thereâs the frame, the barrel, the slide, and the magazine. then thereâs the action of a gun, single or double, and it indicates whether or not you want to cock the firing mechanism or not. itâs simple, honestly. itâs just ... guns make sense. theyâre only dangerous when theyâre in the hands of someone who isnât trained in firearms. â he hesitates for a moment, before bringing the gun up, and slowing down his technique, to show her exactly what he does.