#yasha.

difficult, given flirtation with everything else at arms length was so much simpler than opening herself up. 

they’d started to bridge it though, just a little, that night by the fire. but now with all that’s happened the gap has only broken wider, splitting like barren earth. 

beau doesn’t mean to avoid her; she can feel the regret and guilt even as she avoids eye contact or keeps to another part of camp. she was uncertain how to be around her before. and now, well... she’s no good at emotional shit. 

beau doubts there’s anything she could say to make the pain better.

but the last thing she wants is for yasha to think she’s angry with her, that she holds even a single thing against her. so she makes herself approach first, trying her best to stave off the awkwardness she feels. 

yasha’s response is a sort of invitation. or at least not a direct ‘fuck off’, so beau drops down near her. 

“ yeah. yeah, i’m good. are you- uh- doing better? “ 

the question comes out blocky, the attempted softening of her tone clumsy and wrong. she tells herself this is why she’s kept her distance for so long. but she swallows down the thought and pushes through, reaching into her expositor robes and pulling out a slightly crumpled, lifeless flower. 

“ thought you might want to start collecting again. now that you’re- you know... “ 

it makes sense to her to offer space. it’s what she often wants when dark thoughts and anger begin to drag her under; space to pull herself together or space to just hit things and push herself until she doesn’t have to think. 

yasha’s a quiet person. reserved. it seems like maybe it’s what she would want too. 

and it’s not like anyone would want beau of all people around when they’re hurting. so the answer surprises her, gives her pause, leaves her standing awkwardly for a moment; caught in her half started move towards leaving. 

“ oh- uh- “ 

she hesitates and then turns herself fully back, coming over and sitting close. but not too close...  

“ yeah it’s pretty fucked up. i mean his creepy shit not, like, you having your own mind back. “ 

beau trails off, rubs the back of her hair. after a moment she clears her throat and pulls out a flask, extending it to yasha. 

“ i restocked on my family’s wine. if you want some. “ 

beau rolls her shoulders, trying to casually adjust her shirt to hide the stretch of the gash in her abdomen. it will take more than jester’s healing to erase the jagged edges of it or the dark stain that has soaked fully through her top. 

it’s hard to mask her pain so she keeps her eyes averted; she doesn’t want yasha feeling more guilt for what was done outside her control. 

“ i’ve had worse. almost got eaten by a fucking worm. “ 

she tries for a smile, though she can’t help her slight awkwardness. what can she even say to yasha after what she’s been through? beau wants her to know she doesn’t blame her, not even for the aching wound through her torso, but there’s not much of a way to get it across. at least not for her and her incompetence with words. 

“ sorry for punching you. “ 

she glances up in surprise at the interruption, but quickly turns her face away, trying to make the frantic wiping at her cheeks and eyes seem subtle. 

and failing. 

“ fuck- uh- yasha- “ 

a piece of paper lays beside her, now crumpled as she shoves it beneath her thigh. she planned to burn it before anyone could see. 

planned to pull herself together before anyone could glimpse how much the contents hurt her. 

and here she thought she’d finally grown beyond the reach of her parents’ disappointment and the pain they could cause. but it seems no amount of telling herself she doesn’t care actually can make it so. 

“ i was just- uh- checking some mail. pretty sure i grabbed the wrong shit. “ 

well that’s a fucking question. and one beau doesn’t like to think about, even if it does creep itself in there, does still cling to her in the midst of battle. or just five drinks deep at a tavern table. 

she knows the answer. 

“ shit i don’t fucking- “

her tone is more defensive than angry, and there’s something else there that even she isn’t sure of. fear maybe? guilt? like she should value her life more with these other people counting on her. 

easier to just turn it back. 

“ why’re you even fucking asking? “ 

she grins, skin slick with sweat, chest heaving still as she tries to catch her breath. her ribs ache, throbbing to her heart beat. a bruise is already blooming across her side where yasha managed to land a solid hit. 

it’s almost difficult to look up at yasha with how close she is, how she has her pinned, and beau is suddenly all too aware of how little distance remains between them. 

she clears her throat, lifting her chin.

“ i- uh- i wouldn’t fucking mind changing workouts. “