and so the darkness i became

“i am so unwittingly in love with you. it is against my will that you have torn from me my very guttural desires”—she pauses—“and still i cannot quite make the sounds my heart longs to make.”

a long moment passes, but her gaze never falters. “still, i struggle to say...”

he doesn’t have to guess, the words meet his tongue and force a quiet whisper from him, “i love you.”

his words wash over her, waves swimming gently up on to the shore and over the coarse sand. over her feet, the water rises and envelops her in a terrifying safety. the words almost wrap her ankles and pull her under... and they should gather her in his current, float her out to sea, but they don’t.

his words, they embrace her. leave her breathless with the warm tickle of his affection, they send a flurry to the pits of her stomach, and in her silence she realizes—oh.

it is like he has spoken through her. a conduit for the feelings she could never explain. he has reached her, hand on heart and heart in hand.

in her silence she realizes, yes, i love you.

“i do, i really do.” and these words, these words of affirmation, they flow right from her tongue. this time, she does not stop herself.

last (—or rather, the present).

“i chase it, the comfort, the love, and when it all becomes too much--when i have it--i walk away.” she clasps her hands behind her back to hide the tremors running up her palm and through her fingers. she bites her lip, and tries to shake off the uneasiness, the tremble in her stomach. the fear when she admits, “i don’t want to walk away.”

and she knows what she’s asking (and that she’s always asking for too much), and that she doesn’t really know what she wants. she wants him to stay. 

that is her ultimate truth. 

but it is a truth that terrifies her, and that she has admitted it? so freely, with hardly any hesitation?

she’s a riddle, a contradiction, and she prays to whatever god that she hasn’t left him perplexed. 

nate steadies himself, keeps his hands in his pockets to stop himself from reaching out to her, and the words they-- well they falter in his throat. he finds himself unsure. not in his love, that is for sure. he is a rock, a stone, and he could part the ocean sooner than deny how deeply he feels for her. 

but his tongue untangles, and the lump in his throat dissipates. “you do not ever have to walk away.” 

a smile forms on his lips when she steps closer. she has revealed herself, and all her cards, left a hefty amount of herself on the table. bared enough soul to him, and he is... left without a breath, speechless. 

“i am so unwittingly in love with you. it is against my will that you have torn from me my very guttural desires”—she pauses—“and still i cannot quite make the sounds my heart longs to make.”

a long moment passes, but her gaze never falters. “still, i struggle to say...”

he doesn’t have to guess, the words meet his tongue and force a quiet whisper from him, “i love you.”

his words wash over her, waves swimming gently up on to the shore and over the coarse sand. over her feet, the water rises and envelops her in a terrifying safety. the words almost wrap her ankles and pull her under... and they should gather her in his current, float her out to sea, but they don’t.

his words, they embrace her. leave her breathless with the warm tickle of his affection, they send a flurry to the pits of her stomach, and in her silence she realizes—oh.

it is like he has spoken through her. a conduit for the feelings she could never explain. he has reached her, hand on heart and heart in hand.

in her silence she realizes, yes, i love you.

“i do, i really do.” and these words, these words of affirmation, they flow right from her tongue. this time, she does not stop herself.

last (—or rather, the present).

“i chase it, the comfort, the love, and when it all becomes too much--when i have it--i walk away.” she clasps her hands behind her back to hide the tremors running up her palm and through her fingers. she bites her lip, and tries to shake off the uneasiness, the tremble in her stomach. the fear when she admits, “i don’t want to walk away.”

and she knows what she’s asking (and that she’s always asking for too much), and that she doesn’t really know what she wants. she wants him to stay. 

that is her ultimate truth. 

but it is a truth that terrifies her, and that she has admitted it? so freely, with hardly any hesitation?

she’s a riddle, a contradiction, and she prays to whatever god that she hasn’t left him perplexed. 

nate steadies himself, keeps his hands in his pockets to stop himself from reaching out to her, and the words they-- well they falter in his throat. he finds himself unsure. not in his love, that is for sure. he is a rock, a stone, and he could part the ocean sooner than deny how deeply he feels fore her. 

but his tongue untangles, and the lump in his throat dissipates. “you do not ever have to walk away.” 

a smile forms on his lips when she steps closer. she has revealed herself, and all her cards, left a hefty amount of herself on the table. bared enough soul to him, and he is... left without a breath, speechless. 

The heat brings her lips to a shade of rosehip, her cheeks perfumed to a similar hue. Maybe it is simply that he’s never seen her like this, unable to drink in the sight of her fully except under cover of night. She is visceral, alive under the sunlight, his dark haired sylph. 

He commits the sight of her like this, akimbo and sun-kissed and beautiful, beautiful, to memory.

A breeze rustles the trees around them, pulling her from that sleepy state of half-consciousness. A heartbeat, and her eyes flutter, her arms arch over her head, back arching just so. Another, softer exhale parts her mouth before she relaxes once more into the blanket, turns her gaze to him.

Nate settles his elbow atop a bent knee, his other hand stretching out to trace the soft line of her jaw, thumb running along her plumped bottom lip. 

Moments pass in silence, nothing exchanged between them but breath and observation as the insects buzz and the wind hums and the grass whispers, a thousand little sounds creating a minor tune to the drumbeat of her heart. Eventually, she murmurs, with pleased quiet, “you’re staring.”

Unabashed, he returns, with a soft smile about his lips, “I am.”

“Why?”

“I enjoy looking at you,” trails path over the curve of her ear, her cheekbone, “would you like me to stop?”

She frowns, the softest crush of her brow, before shaking her head against his fingers. “No.”

“Then, would you like me to continue?”

Tilting her head, she presses further into his hand, and he obliges happily, setting the full of his palm to her cheek. “If you want.”

“It is not a question of want,” he leans down, and she rises to meet him, her fingers catching on the fabric of his shirt. A kiss, featherlight, and he hums into her mouth, “you should never doubt that I want you.”

She smiles--a gift, in its own right, with how rarely she does such a thing--and her fingers snake up his chest, finding their set on his neck.