#121220

There's always something that keeps Ava from letting go, and keeps her from pulling too close. Something that lets her have those moments where Cass can feel the tension between them like a string pulled taut, can feel the heavy weight of it on their chest, comforting and crushing in equal measure - and they know that Ava feels it too - yet refuses to let her do anything with it.

There's always something, so even now, Cass can't help but feel that this won't last.

When Ava finally pulls back, Cass's hazy vision is drawn straight to her lips first, glistening and tinged red; the hair now spilling around her face entices their eyes to follow their wisps, tracing them as they delicately frame piercing green eyes that are just as enraptured as their own.

A few strands fall in front of her eyes, blocking Cass's view, so they reach up to gently brush them back behind her ear. Ava shivers at the touch, her hand moving to cover their own with the barest of touches. Cradling her face, Cass has never felt so... so fulfilled, and content, and something about it makes them smile.

That something doesn't do the same for Ava.

Her eyes snap away from Cass entirely, her posture immediately going rigid as her hand falls away and she steps back, and Cass grows colder without her touch. The pain that settles in their chest is a familiar friend by now, chastising them for their foolishness once again, and they make to shove their hands in their pockets when Ava says it.

"I'm sorry."

That has ice flowing through Cass's veins, freezing their heartbeat, and for a moment, they can do nothing as they watch her move to leave the room, rooted to the spot and struggling for air as surely as if her words had clasped their ankle to an anchor and thrown them overboard, sinking and flailing and drowning again.

But the fear that grips them at seeing Ava turn past the doorway and out of sight is stronger, and it compels them to take a step, and another, and another, until they are chasing after her as fast as they can, calling out to her, and once she is within reach, they grasp her wrist and pull her to a stop.

Before she can say anything - or worse, yank her wrist back and leave without saying a word - Cass asks through panted breaths, "Do you... regret it?"

Ava turns her head, but doesn't manage to look them in the eye; she glances over her shoulder at them and then back down, her face twisted in a pained expression. Her answer is barely a whisper, but Cass hears it loud and clear.

"How could I?"

Cass loosens their hold, letting their thumb run over the pulse in her wrist in small circles, but doesn't let go.

"How could you regret it," they ask softly, "or how could you do it?"

They can feel the muscles in her arm tense, even from their gentle grip, and they know the answer before she says it.

"Both," is the reply.