05-13-2018, 12:31 AM
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He remembered that first kiss, years and years ago; the confusion that had shut down his mental functioning completely, the complete and utter shock of her proximity. He'd been frozen, too startle by the gesture to do anything until she was already pulling away from him -- and then she was apologizing, dismissing it as dumb, and Bastille had just... accepted it. Accepted that she had been overwhelmed, that she hadn't meant it, that he could breathe again because it didn't mean anything. His lips had tingled for days after that moment, but he had pushed all thoughts of her mouth far, far into the darkness of his mind. He didn't want to remember, didn't want to admit to wanting something that he couldn't have. His first kiss was the only one he wanted, but it was also the most devastating.
As he felt her relaxing under his mouth, kissing him back, he wondered why he hadn't just grabbed her then. Why hadn't he chased after her, drowned out her sputtered apologies and gotten a real kiss from her? For two years now, he had wondered how he had been so stupid to pretend that he was anything but in love with her, and he always came back to that moment. She'd given him a chance, and he'd wasted it.
How different could things have been if he'd stopped her from pulling away?
Maybe nothing would have changed. He liked to believe that if he'd just let her in, allowed her even closer than she already was, they might have survived Dahlia's betrayal together. The last year and a half that he'd spent alone wasn't worth it to him -- there was no looking back on it and saying oh, the distance was necessary for growth. There was no justification for losing Hazel for that long, possibly forever if he hadn't run into her by chance. There was no point to it, and if he could have gone without the absence, he was convinced everything would have been so much better. Even if they lost Eden, even if it didn't make a difference -- they still would have had each other, and everything would have been a little more bearable.
The prickles of thoughts washed away in the face of her warmth, however, and for a moment Bastille just stared back at her, memorizing the glow of her golden irises. Scio. Did she know, though? He realized, belatedly, that he'd kept Pollutedsoul so hidden from her that she didn't even know who that was; he'd shoved that tormented soul so deep down into the darkness that the only person who knew him nearly as well as he knew himself didn't even recognize the deranged fucker. How could she really know if she didn't fully understand who she was dealing with?
Bastille brushed a thumb across her cheek, and murmured softly against her mouth, "He murdered his love, because she betrayed him. His whole family, too. He's... the worst of the darkness that I never wanted you to see, Hazel, but I should have warned you. You had the right to know who I am." He offered a vague half-smile, like he found it ironic that he was forced to acknowledge that Pollie was a part of him. "I don't plan on letting him see the light of day ever again, though." There was a hint of viciousness edging his voice, but it was hard to stay angry -- even at Pollutedsoul -- with Hazel this close to him, this radiant.
In a way, he was glad she didn't protest, didn't try to disagree with him; he felt lighter than he had in years, having finally gotten the chance to apologize to her for fucking everything up so badly. He had tried, he really had, but he would always be sorry that he had failed, would always regret what could have been if he'd just clung onto her harder. (If he'd just kissed her back that first time, would they have drifted so far apart when Dahlia betrayed them? Would she still have left?)
He was much more thankful that she kept kissing him back, however. As if her proximity alone could fill him up with that golden warmth, he felt like his skin was on fucking fire -- a blissful fire, though, none of the white-hot rage that accompanied his flames usually. Her fingers against the insides of his wrists were little embers, and he could feel his pulse throbbing against her grip, had an acute awareness of every point of contact between their bodies.
Once upon a time, he might have been worried to bare his soul to her, to finally tell her how he'd felt for years. He found that he frankly just didn't care any more as he looked at her; he'd waited so long to get her back, and at this point, he wasn't sure if he had any apprehension left. There was only the simple fact of his love for her and the straight-forward fashion in which he asserted it, devoid of any anxiety -- there was only the burning heat he felt and the relief at finally just saying it.
Her laugh was sunshine, and he smiled as she leaned into him, offering her one of those real, genuine grins in response to her murmuring. "Easy, princess," he breathed as she babbled in Latin, laughing lightly as he tilted his head down and cut her off with a quick kiss. He could listen to her tell him she loved him for hours, but he was pretty sure she needed to breathe at some point, too. Which meant that he should probably let her breathe, but not before he drew the kiss out for another moment before leaning back once more, offering her another grin. "Respirare, yeah?"
It seemed that the second she took that time to breathe, however, her happiness was dimming. As she tried to drop her hands, Bastille caught them, lacing their fingers together as he leaned closer to her and kissed her cheek. "Hey," he said softly, squeezing her hands slightly, "It's fine, okay? I'll be fine, and I don't blame you. It doesn't matter any more, not if I have you back finally. Nothing else matters." His mouth quirked up slightly as he said lightly, "Besides, now we're even, yeah?" He would rather she slash at him with a sword any day than let Pollutedsoul any where near her, anyway.
He ran a thumb over the back of her hand and smiled slightly, tilting his head so that she was forced to look him in the eye again. "I forgave you the second I saw you, Hazel," he said lowly, peering at her intently, "There isn't a single part of me that can bear to shut you out, you know? I don't care about what we lost, or how fucking long it took us to get here. That year and a half that I spent without you? It means nothing to me, Haze. All that matters is that you're here now, and I don't care about the in between."
He remembered that first kiss, years and years ago; the confusion that had shut down his mental functioning completely, the complete and utter shock of her proximity. He'd been frozen, too startle by the gesture to do anything until she was already pulling away from him -- and then she was apologizing, dismissing it as dumb, and Bastille had just... accepted it. Accepted that she had been overwhelmed, that she hadn't meant it, that he could breathe again because it didn't mean anything. His lips had tingled for days after that moment, but he had pushed all thoughts of her mouth far, far into the darkness of his mind. He didn't want to remember, didn't want to admit to wanting something that he couldn't have. His first kiss was the only one he wanted, but it was also the most devastating.
As he felt her relaxing under his mouth, kissing him back, he wondered why he hadn't just grabbed her then. Why hadn't he chased after her, drowned out her sputtered apologies and gotten a real kiss from her? For two years now, he had wondered how he had been so stupid to pretend that he was anything but in love with her, and he always came back to that moment. She'd given him a chance, and he'd wasted it.
How different could things have been if he'd stopped her from pulling away?
Maybe nothing would have changed. He liked to believe that if he'd just let her in, allowed her even closer than she already was, they might have survived Dahlia's betrayal together. The last year and a half that he'd spent alone wasn't worth it to him -- there was no looking back on it and saying oh, the distance was necessary for growth. There was no justification for losing Hazel for that long, possibly forever if he hadn't run into her by chance. There was no point to it, and if he could have gone without the absence, he was convinced everything would have been so much better. Even if they lost Eden, even if it didn't make a difference -- they still would have had each other, and everything would have been a little more bearable.
The prickles of thoughts washed away in the face of her warmth, however, and for a moment Bastille just stared back at her, memorizing the glow of her golden irises. Scio. Did she know, though? He realized, belatedly, that he'd kept Pollutedsoul so hidden from her that she didn't even know who that was; he'd shoved that tormented soul so deep down into the darkness that the only person who knew him nearly as well as he knew himself didn't even recognize the deranged fucker. How could she really know if she didn't fully understand who she was dealing with?
Bastille brushed a thumb across her cheek, and murmured softly against her mouth, "He murdered his love, because she betrayed him. His whole family, too. He's... the worst of the darkness that I never wanted you to see, Hazel, but I should have warned you. You had the right to know who I am." He offered a vague half-smile, like he found it ironic that he was forced to acknowledge that Pollie was a part of him. "I don't plan on letting him see the light of day ever again, though." There was a hint of viciousness edging his voice, but it was hard to stay angry -- even at Pollutedsoul -- with Hazel this close to him, this radiant.
In a way, he was glad she didn't protest, didn't try to disagree with him; he felt lighter than he had in years, having finally gotten the chance to apologize to her for fucking everything up so badly. He had tried, he really had, but he would always be sorry that he had failed, would always regret what could have been if he'd just clung onto her harder. (If he'd just kissed her back that first time, would they have drifted so far apart when Dahlia betrayed them? Would she still have left?)
He was much more thankful that she kept kissing him back, however. As if her proximity alone could fill him up with that golden warmth, he felt like his skin was on fucking fire -- a blissful fire, though, none of the white-hot rage that accompanied his flames usually. Her fingers against the insides of his wrists were little embers, and he could feel his pulse throbbing against her grip, had an acute awareness of every point of contact between their bodies.
Once upon a time, he might have been worried to bare his soul to her, to finally tell her how he'd felt for years. He found that he frankly just didn't care any more as he looked at her; he'd waited so long to get her back, and at this point, he wasn't sure if he had any apprehension left. There was only the simple fact of his love for her and the straight-forward fashion in which he asserted it, devoid of any anxiety -- there was only the burning heat he felt and the relief at finally just saying it.
Her laugh was sunshine, and he smiled as she leaned into him, offering her one of those real, genuine grins in response to her murmuring. "Easy, princess," he breathed as she babbled in Latin, laughing lightly as he tilted his head down and cut her off with a quick kiss. He could listen to her tell him she loved him for hours, but he was pretty sure she needed to breathe at some point, too. Which meant that he should probably let her breathe, but not before he drew the kiss out for another moment before leaning back once more, offering her another grin. "Respirare, yeah?"
It seemed that the second she took that time to breathe, however, her happiness was dimming. As she tried to drop her hands, Bastille caught them, lacing their fingers together as he leaned closer to her and kissed her cheek. "Hey," he said softly, squeezing her hands slightly, "It's fine, okay? I'll be fine, and I don't blame you. It doesn't matter any more, not if I have you back finally. Nothing else matters." His mouth quirked up slightly as he said lightly, "Besides, now we're even, yeah?" He would rather she slash at him with a sword any day than let Pollutedsoul any where near her, anyway.
He ran a thumb over the back of her hand and smiled slightly, tilting his head so that she was forced to look him in the eye again. "I forgave you the second I saw you, Hazel," he said lowly, peering at her intently, "There isn't a single part of me that can bear to shut you out, you know? I don't care about what we lost, or how fucking long it took us to get here. That year and a half that I spent without you? It means nothing to me, Haze. All that matters is that you're here now, and I don't care about the in between."
Honey, you're familiar, like my mirror years ago, Idealism sits in prison, chivalry fell on his sword, Innocence died screaming; honey, ask me, I should know, I slithered here from Eden just to sit outside your door. [b][sup]▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃[/sup][/b]