childe’s pov of this ask from @whiskyblooded
even you aren’t sure why you kiss him .
ah , well , saying something like that isn’t quite accurate . after all , it provides quite a good distraction to the person approaching in the fog . but you didn’t have to kiss york , did you ? hadn’t there been other ways ? it would have been no trouble to take them out , either , which is what you normally would have done ------ so it stands to reason that here , now , you’re kissing york because you want to be .
it’s dangerous , albeit in a different way than a fight would be . on the battlefield , it’s dodging and weaving and slicing through your enemies and sometimes even hoping that dumb luck will get you out of harm’s way . this ? this is gentle , cold , biting like winter in snezhnaya . he isn’t even kissing you back , and yet you’re flooded with feelings , memory ... how troublesome is that .
you won’t even lie to yourself and say anyone in your position would have this kind of desire towards anyone else . you know that you want to stay here forever , past betrayals be damned , because it’s york . because you did love him .
do love him , you suppose . you do . and he isn’t pulling away , but he isn’t reciprocating either , so although you hear footsteps retreat you don’t even think about stopping until he roughly jerks you away and you find yourself back in the unfortunate reality you yourself made . and you don’t even flinch , eyes on him even as he reaches up and wipes at his mouth .
( here’s the thing : most people assume that you’re a brute even with relationships . but you understand that , fundamentally , things like this can’t be forced . it’s possible ------ likely , really ------ that york will never love you again , and you can’t make him . but sometimes you’d like to . you’d like it if you could snap your fingers and he would go back to trusting you , or at the very least understand that you did what you had to in order to spare his life . )
you don’t say anything , uncharacteristically quiet as you wait for the response that will ultimately decide whether or not you have , in layman’s terms , fucked it up .
( an eye for a heart , you guess . not a very fair trade . )
and there it is . i’m leaving . that’s all , that’s all he says , as if the only pursuit you’ve had for the past several months don’t hinge on those words , and you don’t even respond to him . just take several steps back , spreading your arms in a lackluster motion : go ahead , then .
he vanishes into the fog so quickly that his presence might have been a dream , except that when you close your eyes you can still feel the way it felt to kiss him again . there’s a hollow pit of anger ------ not like the kind of anger you’d feel at a lackluster opponent or an annoying one that’s just a bit too strong for you , but anger at yourself .
❛ it is my fault , after all . ❜ you doubt he hears you . you hope he does anyway , and you hope he also hears your laughter . you know he’d misconstrue it ------ if he’d stayed , he’d have gotten angry at you for making a mockery of what must have been a difficult moment . you laugh when you’re angry , though ; that’s all it is . ❛ even so , i really want to hit you sometimes , matteo . ❜
