𝒆𝒙𝒊𝒕 𝒘𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒅

he can’t meet yours either, feels too vulnerable when caught. not entirely trapped, not entirely free. he hasn’t yet realised he’s welcomed to look; welcomed to stay within your iris, explore the architecture of color and the sweetness of the interior. welcomed to speak. it takes courage recognizing things like that, and despite all the anger and the fronting and the stance and the booming echo of his voice, carmen’s never been very brave.

it doesn’t matter. he’s making this a big deal and psyching himself out. in reality, the situation is simple: you live next door. sometimes, he runs into you and carries those stupid bags. you always thank him, always somehow surprised (don’t you expect it by now? he expects it every time he leaves his apartment), and share some of your plans for the day, or evening, or morning, or vacation, or whatever. he’s only half listening anyway, and it’s not because he isn’t interested but because his heart is pounding in his throat and he can’t really believe he accidentally touched your fingers. 

he knows your name and some bits about your job and family, what shows you like to watch, what restaurants you visit, the morsels of the drama happening between your friends. he can recognise your perfume if someone walks by wearing it and a song you would like if he happens to hear one but can’t recognise the fact that he doesn’t like the lines etched into your palms from paper bag handles or that he hates how someone, someday, will cradle your hands and kiss the knuckles. that someone already had.

he can't yet acknowledge that the opportunity is there. that you would prefer it, that the shock he would experience could be comforting (lifted. fluttering. safe).

these thoughts take time, and carmen never has enough of it. he moves faster than people, than feelings (he can outrun them, he can try), and how can impulse and caution exist simultaneously inside the livewire of his body? he can only leave an impression (a good neighbor, right, despite fire alarms blaring twice a week? still good, right?) and that should be enough but what a greedy thing he's become because he wants more than he can have. he wants more than he deserves.

(don't even think of telling him you do too.)

no, dragonstone, with its sharp teetering cliffs and smoke-heavy air, could not attest to driftmark’s beauty. nor could the keep of house targaryen offer any semblance of the peace you had had on your visits to high tide. here was not much but gloom and an odd, almost imperceptible shaking of the earth, as though it was breathing.

jace presented you with a clam shell, plain creme and spotted. “for your thoughts,” he added when you made no move to reach for it, nor explain your lengthy silence. it was you who had invited him to walk the rocky coastline, and you who grew unexpectedly quiet as the winds picked up closer to dusk.

gently, you turned the shell and wiped wet sand from its ridged surface. “this makes it our fourth?” you asked.

“fifth,” he corrected with a small smile, and what a clever smile it was. he walked and the seashells rattled in his back pocket. “if we keep hunting till midnight we might find ten in total.”

though the prospect of spending more time in his lovely company enticed you, the coolness that condensed upon your skin beckoned an early end to the day. jace never encountered this problem, as he always ran hot. it was the dragon blood, no doubt, or his unbreakable spirit.

“i question the chances of our success,” you said kindly. the sky was beginning to crimson, gliding along his fine features to eclipse the deep brown of his eyes. from this angle, the sun framed him prettily. you longed to tell him, yet his gaze was already sweeping along the horizon, called to where vermax and syrax danced. perhaps such words would overstep a boundary neither of you yet acknowledged existed.

“then,” he placed his hands behind his back, leather gloves creaking from how hard he must have gripped, though his amicable expression did not change, “i… suppose i must leave our further course of action for you to decide. i shall walk you back, if you… if you wish to return, that is. or, we may watch the sunset. like we used to.”

the breeze whistled as the seconds ticked on. alas, there was not much to consider, was there? you wrapped your arm around his and did not miss the quick inhale he breathed through his nose, nor the way his back straightened slightly, nor the smile he attempted to fight off though in the end did not fully manage.

“let us stay,” you conceded softly, “but only for the sunset.”

“as you command,” his eyes shined in a manner that indicated he wanted little else, “my lady.”

my lady, the words were muted but the emphasis clear. your heart allowed itself a hopeful skip, yet you did not manage to hold his gaze for long. it was too much, this blood sunset, this sweet boy, this tender feeling that assailed all your senses.

he drew you closer to his side, placing an arm carefully around your waist. it felt safe, near him – there was no place safer than by his side, or so it seemed. when you rested your head against his shoulder, he welcomed the gesture gladly. this silence was more forgiving. the dragons kept dancing.

"i grow restless," he whispered into the top of your head, "my mother keeps me here, chained. as though she doesn't trust me. as though i must be... protected. she's been impossible to reason with since..."

his voice lulled, caught by some emotion. pain, for his brother and for being sidelined whilst others risked their lives for the one true queen.

"she needs you by her side," you said earnestly. i need you by my side. "you are her right hand, her blood, her heir, and her closest ally."

"but i could help," he maintained stubbornly, chin pressing to the crown of your head. "i'm not...weak, nor inexperienced. i could..."

indeed he could, though this truth did not ease his agitation. no, you thought he was a fearsome sight, a mind filled with ambitions enough to feed a hundred men and a heart too noble for any battlefield.

emboldened, you cupped his face, meeting his eyes once more. with sudden clarity, you saw the ghosts of every look he had ever given you, fond and eager. "and yet your place is here," you insisted, gentler now. with her. with me.

he pressed a gloved hand over yours, leaning into the touch. did he feel the same warmth coiling between each point of contact? did his throat tighten at the closeness? did he remember all those evening spent on balconies and beaches alike, talking of adventures and faraway lands?

"your company, my lady," he began, voice low and steady as the tide, "lessens the burden."

how unfair of him to say.

"i am glad to hear i can make your stay... tolerable," you replied. "we all pray for victory. a quick end to this miserable, unjust war. and we shall help where we can, from where we are needed."

he brought the back of your palm to his lips, letting out a shaky sigh. "...your patience cannot be measured," he murmured, "in words or deeds."

you shook your head. "you would do the same for me. so often, you already have, my prince."

jace's gaze lingered on your features until it finally settled, softly, on your mouth.

the whole world braced.

"we should return before nightfall," he said at last, stepping back. the heat abated, and the cold spot left behind offered no mercy. your cheeks were aflame, you were certain, and scarcely could you find it in yourself to speak. thus, you only followed after, unable to shake his affections from your heart.

to you, he appeared conflicted. frustrated, perhaps, though he spoke no more but wish you a good night's rest beside your chamber. as you watched his retreating back, you wondered where he rushed to in such haste. if it was worth it, to speak before your courage abandoned you and his figure was lost behind a shadowy corner.

his footsteps faded, and you bowed your head in shame. no, not tonight, perhaps a different time you would find the words, or he would find them for you. or, best yet, it would remain nebulous and unvoiced, for there was duty and sacrifice and both were your cherished friend baela.

"oh, jace..." you uttered to yourself and to the night.

yes, best yet for no other outcome to transpire, save friendship.