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She’d be lying if she said she could feel Margy approach; normally, she was better at sensing people behind her, but right now? Her focus was split in so many splintering, sweltering pieces that Margaery’s Latin tongue startled her.
The sentence sounded redundant and a bit bothersome as Margy repeated herself in English, momentarily grinding the words into Hazel’s ears. She could hear the careful judgement in Margy’s voice as she assessed the situation, the contemplation as she picked the scene apart. And for once? Hazel’s attention didn’t break.
There was the delicate flush of pink that rose high on her cheeks and neck, betraying her admittance of the awkward-looking situation, but the fire in her bones was insistent. She still wanted to pry Bastille away from Player, still wanted to call him hers and tell the other girl to quit flirting. She still wanted to drag Bastille all the way back to her room and not let him out of her sight until he was sober; she still wanted to help stitch him back together.
Hazel wanted far more than she was willing to admit, if she was being honest. The warmth that glowed between their points of contact was something she wanted to hold on to for the rest of her life; the feeling of her fingers locked against his a physical tether she was near afraid to let go of. The weight of realizing that she’d never felt this strong over someone was damn near crippling, especially with Titanium listing the reasons Bastille would choose someone over her. She realized that letting go would probably be better, be healthier. Instead she tightened her grip, afraid of losing the connection between them that she treasured so much.
Margy’s offer was welcome and encouraged — both of them. Hazel’s fear of being left alone again had her barreling into this, skimming the fact that she could still taste wine on the back of her tongue and that Bastille slurring his words. Something about the complete lack of physical threat had soothed her terror just enough — distracted her just enough — to let it slide and fly under the radar.
The start of it had surely been when he called her lumen — light. Hazel’s heart had slammed against her chest, recalling the last time he had let something similar to that slip out. Don’t say it unless you’re going to say it to me sober, had been her first thought. It felt oddly...personal, oddly nostalgic. Something that didn’t sound right falling off lips stained with alcohol. This time, she had stared at him, brows knit with the ghosts of the past. He was smiling at her, bright and big and Deus it hurt Hazel’s heart. Made it ache like she’d never felt, like she wanted to see that every day and be the cause of it. He was laughing like she hadn’t heard in weeks, like he’d finally seen the sun.
However, that slip-up had paled in comparison to the fleeting touch that graced a certain scar marring her finger. Hazel had gone near rigid: spine snapping straight and grip tightening even further on his hand. She hated her scars — and yet? There he was, brushing his thumb along the pale line like he was admiring something in a museum. Reverent, soft, imploring. Curious. Her eyes went saucer-wide, something like panic flaring up just a bit because what if he was thinking, what if he was wondering why she had so many —
Not that it mattered, because a second later his head was bouncing up and he was babbling, laughing again and making her chest ache and her veins burn. “Wow,” Titanium commented suddenly. “He’s never laughed like that at something you’ve said.” Hazel wanted to tell her to shut up, that this was different and that he was literally making himself laugh over something that wasn’t funny. But it wasn’t different, because Hazel was positive she wouldn’t be able to get him to laugh like that if she tried.
Then her name was between his lips, his tongue slurring the z and l in his stupor. He was stumbling over his words and Hazel could only offer a small smile, her facade crumpling rapidly because he was stupid cute when he was drunk and she hated herself for thinking it. She was supposed to be upset, supposed to be angry because he wasn’t allowed to drink enough to get him drunk and he was breaking a promise they hadn’t even made. But for the life of her, Hazel couldn’t bring herself to be upset with him in the moment. He hadn’t looked that happy in a long, long time, and right now...he wasn’t doing anything harmful. It wasn’t like last time, where his souls flipped and Zaniel caught a glimpse of the bright side. This was just...giddy pleasure, and Hazel couldn’t fucking believe he had to be drunk to be this happy.
Suddenly he was offering Player to his book collection, and there was that fire in her veins again. “Guess that means I should give back the ones I’ve borrowed,” She shrugged, lending the words like it was casual and a bit of a tease. Really, it was a far cry from a tease; the books she had in her room were half finished, because after he’d stopped reading to her, she hardly managed to get through them. “I haven’t finished them all, but it’ll probably take me a lot longer to get through them than it will for you, so welcome to them. I’ll bring them up later tonight.” She assured, glancing sideways at Bastille. She felt a piece of her heart fall, knowing that she was giving up a piece of comfort. Knowing that the books she stared at most nights, going over their pages slowly and sounding out the English words she knew, the books that reminded her of a better time, would be gone. In the hands of...well.
She startled as he protested the idea of Player leaving. She looked over her shoulder, her expression a troubled mix of so many different things. She wanted Player to let go of his hand, sure, but leave? Right now, Player was creating a distraction. If she left, Hazel would stay here and probably get on his case and fuck it over even more. So when he looked at her, waiting, Hazel shifted her gaze to her lap, fiddling with her hands, before she let out a short sigh. “There are a lot of different classics you have, so...she’s gotta learn from someone.” Hazel smiled at him, a weak thing, knowing that she’d literally just given him the green light to talk his heart out about classics and literature; a ramble she’d heard pieces of throughout her days in the Ascendants.
Titanium shouted, protests a shot at her idiocy and how moronic she was being, how weak she was. How she couldn’t stand up for herself. How she was passive and a push over and she was dooming herself to fail. Dooming herself to live in misery. And as Hazel pushed Titanium away, she found that it was all one in the same. She’d lived with misery as a companion for all her life...what was a little more?
[sup]c) miithers[/sup]
[align=center]hazel elise caelum . nine months . the ascendants . golden girl . tags
She’d be lying if she said she could feel Margy approach; normally, she was better at sensing people behind her, but right now? Her focus was split in so many splintering, sweltering pieces that Margaery’s Latin tongue startled her.
The sentence sounded redundant and a bit bothersome as Margy repeated herself in English, momentarily grinding the words into Hazel’s ears. She could hear the careful judgement in Margy’s voice as she assessed the situation, the contemplation as she picked the scene apart. And for once? Hazel’s attention didn’t break.
There was the delicate flush of pink that rose high on her cheeks and neck, betraying her admittance of the awkward-looking situation, but the fire in her bones was insistent. She still wanted to pry Bastille away from Player, still wanted to call him hers and tell the other girl to quit flirting. She still wanted to drag Bastille all the way back to her room and not let him out of her sight until he was sober; she still wanted to help stitch him back together.
Hazel wanted far more than she was willing to admit, if she was being honest. The warmth that glowed between their points of contact was something she wanted to hold on to for the rest of her life; the feeling of her fingers locked against his a physical tether she was near afraid to let go of. The weight of realizing that she’d never felt this strong over someone was damn near crippling, especially with Titanium listing the reasons Bastille would choose someone over her. She realized that letting go would probably be better, be healthier. Instead she tightened her grip, afraid of losing the connection between them that she treasured so much.
Margy’s offer was welcome and encouraged — both of them. Hazel’s fear of being left alone again had her barreling into this, skimming the fact that she could still taste wine on the back of her tongue and that Bastille slurring his words. Something about the complete lack of physical threat had soothed her terror just enough — distracted her just enough — to let it slide and fly under the radar.
The start of it had surely been when he called her lumen — light. Hazel’s heart had slammed against her chest, recalling the last time he had let something similar to that slip out. Don’t say it unless you’re going to say it to me sober, had been her first thought. It felt oddly...personal, oddly nostalgic. Something that didn’t sound right falling off lips stained with alcohol. This time, she had stared at him, brows knit with the ghosts of the past. He was smiling at her, bright and big and Deus it hurt Hazel’s heart. Made it ache like she’d never felt, like she wanted to see that every day and be the cause of it. He was laughing like she hadn’t heard in weeks, like he’d finally seen the sun.
However, that slip-up had paled in comparison to the fleeting touch that graced a certain scar marring her finger. Hazel had gone near rigid: spine snapping straight and grip tightening even further on his hand. She hated her scars — and yet? There he was, brushing his thumb along the pale line like he was admiring something in a museum. Reverent, soft, imploring. Curious. Her eyes went saucer-wide, something like panic flaring up just a bit because what if he was thinking, what if he was wondering why she had so many —
Not that it mattered, because a second later his head was bouncing up and he was babbling, laughing again and making her chest ache and her veins burn. “Wow,” Titanium commented suddenly. “He’s never laughed like that at something you’ve said.” Hazel wanted to tell her to shut up, that this was different and that he was literally making himself laugh over something that wasn’t funny. But it wasn’t different, because Hazel was positive she wouldn’t be able to get him to laugh like that if she tried.
Then her name was between his lips, his tongue slurring the z and l in his stupor. He was stumbling over his words and Hazel could only offer a small smile, her facade crumpling rapidly because he was stupid cute when he was drunk and she hated herself for thinking it. She was supposed to be upset, supposed to be angry because he wasn’t allowed to drink enough to get him drunk and he was breaking a promise they hadn’t even made. But for the life of her, Hazel couldn’t bring herself to be upset with him in the moment. He hadn’t looked that happy in a long, long time, and right now...he wasn’t doing anything harmful. It wasn’t like last time, where his souls flipped and Zaniel caught a glimpse of the bright side. This was just...giddy pleasure, and Hazel couldn’t fucking believe he had to be drunk to be this happy.
Suddenly he was offering Player to his book collection, and there was that fire in her veins again. “Guess that means I should give back the ones I’ve borrowed,” She shrugged, lending the words like it was casual and a bit of a tease. Really, it was a far cry from a tease; the books she had in her room were half finished, because after he’d stopped reading to her, she hardly managed to get through them. “I haven’t finished them all, but it’ll probably take me a lot longer to get through them than it will for you, so welcome to them. I’ll bring them up later tonight.” She assured, glancing sideways at Bastille. She felt a piece of her heart fall, knowing that she was giving up a piece of comfort. Knowing that the books she stared at most nights, going over their pages slowly and sounding out the English words she knew, the books that reminded her of a better time, would be gone. In the hands of...well.
She startled as he protested the idea of Player leaving. She looked over her shoulder, her expression a troubled mix of so many different things. She wanted Player to let go of his hand, sure, but leave? Right now, Player was creating a distraction. If she left, Hazel would stay here and probably get on his case and fuck it over even more. So when he looked at her, waiting, Hazel shifted her gaze to her lap, fiddling with her hands, before she let out a short sigh. “There are a lot of different classics you have, so...she’s gotta learn from someone.” Hazel smiled at him, a weak thing, knowing that she’d literally just given him the green light to talk his heart out about classics and literature; a ramble she’d heard pieces of throughout her days in the Ascendants.
Titanium shouted, protests a shot at her idiocy and how moronic she was being, how weak she was. How she couldn’t stand up for herself. How she was passive and a push over and she was dooming herself to fail. Dooming herself to live in misery. And as Hazel pushed Titanium away, she found that it was all one in the same. She’d lived with misery as a companion for all her life...what was a little more?
[align=center]
WITH EVERY HEARTBEAT I HAVE LEFT
i will defend your every breath; i'll do better