( it's something they both warred with: permanency. the idea of it something that skirts between her fingers, something that teases whenever she's with him. the question of whether or not she should stay. if the 'they' they've created is contingent upon their bowing in and out. )
do you?
( it's not disbelief. missing him had long since turned into an ache that never settled, something burring in the heart of her sternum. hearing it in return is never quite something she finds herself getting used to. it's as if they're asking without asking, telling without telling—always one foot off the ledge. )
i like when you share it with me. even in small ways, like this. it makes me feel a little bit closer.
i'd like to be there for them the bad nights, too.
[ there's something about being perched over the city, with the beast of it heaving beneath him that makes this easier. it's like being in the sky makes him untouchable, gives him the space he needs to contain the big, vast feeling of missing her. that feeling he usually tucks away beneath the noise of his schedule. ]
I do. Why? You don't believe me?
[ has it been that long? why does she question it? his smile dims. he has learned that he can't keep her out, but she's right, it's not always easy to her her in either. especially when things are hard, and things have been hard recently. as soon as he sends the text, he regrets it. ]
Sorry. I didn't mean to be distant. Shit's been hitting the fan lately. I should've checked in more.
( she can see the frown lines etched beside the plush of his mouth from the message alone, that serious but subtle furrow of a brow. her heart churns something akin to pain, the space between them pulling at her ribs one by one, knowing what she’d do if she were there: a kiss to that brow, beside his pout, giving him no choice but to look at her. )
i believe you. ( he reminds her of herself. the ever-constant nagging of doubt, that gnarled, sinewy thing that tells them they don’t deserve it—to be trusted, seen, loved. and maybe she could learn to be a bit more direct herself. )
im not upset with you, dick you don’t have to explain.
i miss you. i know you need space. i know sometimes i need it, too. but i can be there now, if you wanted me to be.
[ perhaps he’s the one who’s having a hard time believing, that it’s him who has let the distance wedge between them again. he reads her message a few times over, then sighs, tipping his head back to stare at the clouds shrouding the moon.
tonight, he feels more alone than ever, and even the thought of having her here aches in his chest. how everything would feel so much better. ]
I’d really like that.
[ it’s an understatement. he feels like he needs her right now, because as beautiful as the night is, as good as it has been, it’s also not all it is. ]
I know I come off like I need space, but sometimes, I think it does me more harm than good. It’s challenging to admit.
( she's spent enough time with him to know the admission doesn't come lightly. so often she finds herself trying to predict when their time together is becoming fragile, when she fears it might be too much, too crowding—how frustrating it is that she doesn't know how to just be.
but it doesn't feel like something that she can properly address through messages. not when he can't see her, can't feel her, and so her reply comes without pause. )
[ his fingers hover across her message, the glowing white text on his black screen illuminating his features, surely giving him away if anyone were to be searching for him. he stares at them. he knows he needs her. that fact is true and has been true for some time now. he needs people, but he needs her more than anyone else in his life.
he's trying to be okay with that fact. he knows it makes him stronger, that she makes him stronger, but some days, needing anything at all feels too much to ask. it feels selfish.
he drops her a pin. ]
On this rooftop. Dress warm. It's cold.
[ he waits for her until she arrives, both legs dangling off the ledge, watching the city laid out like a tapestry below him. there's nothing useful he can discern from this far away, but it is what he's choosing tonight. to keep his distance from the trouble, to choose the beauty of the larger picture.
( it's cold. just briefly, she pulls up the pin. the words linger, slipping from her chair to find her jacket, a light tan wool that drapes just above her knees. a comfortable sweater tucked beneath and lived in denim at her hips, toeing into boots last.
for a moment, she wonders what it is that's drawn him to that particular point in the city. what it was that'd called him there, and how it'd turned into her name—the same onslaught of thoughts and feelings that greet her each time she's about to see him. and then a breath, as if to steel herself for the brief distortion as eyes close, and all she pictures is that rooftop.
it's the wind that greets her first, crisp in the way it bites at her cheeks, tangles at red strands in a whip across her temple. and she spots him perched just near the ledge; the familiar bow of his shoulders that feels almost intimate to recognize, the chocolate sweep of his hair.
he'll hear the gravel beneath her feet as she nears, heart already fluttering like an echo against her ribs. ) Hi stranger.
[ before her footsteps reach his ears, he feels the shift in the air, an inexplicable charge that puts his hairs on end, the same kind of quiver as when Rachel commands a spell.
he looks back just as she starts toward him. the motion takes him to his feet, has him stepping off the ledge and toward her, so light on his feet despite his heavy boots. he’s dressed simply, in black jeans and a black leather jacket, zipped up all the way, a shadow of the night.
Wanda, on the other hand. as soon as he sees her, the noise falls away, like a knob turned down the city and brought calm in its wake. she looks like comfort, like fall’s embrace, wrapped in perfect warmth. he can’t help the smile that he greets her with as he steps in close and pulls her into his arms.
relief. that’s what it feels like, to have her here with him when he missed her so bad her heart had throbbed with it. he breathes her in, comforted by her familiar scent, by her small body, warm and bright in his embrace. he turns his head and kisses her temple, then pulls back enough to find her mouth and kiss her. ]
( to think how far they've come. idly, she wonders if they could see the alley and all that neighbors it from here, the same one she'd ducked into with a littering of thugs left in the snow and blood at his ribs. how easily she'd brought him into her space if it meant keeping him together. the gazes too eager to flicker away whenever they were met for too long, any touch of skin on skin only what was necessary. and now—how every part of her warms the moment he rises and turns to her, how willingly she finds herself bundled in against his chest, the familiar, comforting scent of leather and him.
that smile of his, notched into the caverns of her heart and tugging one of her own. one of ease, arms snaking around his midsection. one of home, an exhale let against his brim when his mouth finds hers.
it's the smile and his own words that break it, the two of them seeming to make a barricade from the cold, keeping the warmth hidden between them, close enough that it can't escape. head tipped back, one hand raises to brush her thumb across the edge of his brow, scanning his features the same way she always does. a press to her toes for another kiss, sweet and slow, however short, before hovering there. )
I missed you. ( necessary, that he hears it, that she says it—tangible and honest, as if already to assuage the gloom that'd found him when she hadn't been here to ward it away. )
[ his eyes fall shut with her next kiss and lets a quiet, pleased hum thrum between them for a moment. for all its sweetness and chasteness, he lingers after her kiss, longing for her so deeply in his bones that the feeling warms him from the inside out. her words ease his smile wider and loosen the hold of doubt damming it back.
she's here now. she missed him. he knows better than to request that she lean into her powers for his sake (he knows she's very conscious of their use), but the selfish joy he feels now that she has is undeniable. ]
I missed you, too. So much. I don't wanna be dramatic, but. You can't. Even. Imagine.
[ each of the last words punctuate a press of his lips, to her cheeks, her nose, her lips, then taper off to a chuckle, the kind of laugh he freely allows in only rare moments like this. ]
I don't know what it is. Being up here tonight made it so bad. I was watching everyone down there, but all I thought about you. Thank you. For coming here.
( for how infinite each day feels when they're apart, it never ceases to stun her how quickly that well of longing within her chest gives the moment she's with him again. she'll never tire of the way he chases after her mouth just slightly whenever she kisses him, how his limbs and fingers do the same when they part—the small, silent ways their bodies have learned to communicate with one another, never wanting to drift too far.
coming to terms with her magic for all its grace and knives alike had been a process, and remains one to this day—but it makes it easier when she has something like this to call use for it, when either of their impatience grows too thin for the likes of traffic jams or long flights.
his confession comes with a lighthearted chuckle, but the words carry weight just the same, bundle within her as if trying to find room. )
You don't have to thank me. I would've been here sooner if it were up to me. Yesterday. ( a nudge of their noses, sweeping her thumb across his cheek in admiration of the rouge bitten there from the cold. ) Way before yesterday. ( teeth glimmer as if to introduce a snicker, but she bites it back. )
I just don't... ( a pause, an interlude to their brief conversation before she'd arrived, voice quieting just subtly. ) I don't want you to wake up one day and feel like it's too much.
[ there's the familiar lilt to her voice when she's joking just so, a hint of the playfulness he knows and loves surfacing in a moment before she hems it back. he recognizes the doubt that replaces it. it slows her words down, and he pulls back just enough to look at her, from where he had been turning into the warmth of her palm on his cheek.
he patiently waits for those words to come tumbling out, hushed like she doesn't want to utter them at all, but she speaks to the heart of the issue and addresses the question that crawled forth in the back of his mind. if she wanted to see him, why hadn't she? ]
I wouldn't. [ does she really think he would? he recalls her message, the simple, two word question she'd sent in response to his text. do you? how it'd hurt him, how he had to control the reflexive anger that threatened to take over everything he felt.
he tried to catch her gaze, his own eyes expressive and warm and always giving so much of himself away. ]
( why hadn't she. why hadn't he asked? but it wasn't about faults, their time apart, but through him she's begun to recognize her habit of deflecting, in small moments when he lets her in. when he tells her he misses her. when he tells her he wants to feel here, for her to be there—but it's not that she's questioning how he feels for her, if it'll hold, or if he means what he says. it's trying to digest having someone so close it has the privilege of feeling too close. the knowing that he was no longer something she could lose and pick herself up from.
she can see the hurt that settles in his gaze, however softly he grants it to her, the misunderstanding that lingers there she aches to resolve. for him to know her fear wasn't doubt. that she trusted him, that she loved him too much, now, to consider the alternative.
he takes the floor before she has a chance, eyes flitting between his own, and she nods. ) Okay. ( a murmur, lifting up to administer one more kiss while her palm drops to find his own, interlocking their fingers together for him to lead the way. )
[ there's so much that goes unsaid between them, assumed in the breaths between their kisses, in their exchanged gazes and smiles that every once in a while, he wonders if he's understood something wrong.
he's not a mind-reader, but he thinks he knows her well enough by now, and that she showed up here for him when he asked speaks loudly enough through her actions rather than words. that much he knows, just like how the last kiss she presses to his lips reassures her that she's willing to listen to what he has to say.
not that he knows exactly what he's even trying to express. her small hand finds his and he threads his fingers between hers, the action coming as natural as breathing itself as they step back toward the stair door.
a short flight of stairs takes them down to his front door. the safe house is one of the penthouse suites, though it occupies only a small corner of the floor plate. he chose it for its view of the city, where he could keep a pulse with a pair of binoculars and watch for activity from the comfort of his couch. big, arching windows let the glow of the city in, though a number of warm, low lights are on. he tucked his tech away behind the folding doors earlier in the night, hiding away the four panels of LED screens, the keyboards, the trackers, and the suit, letting the safe house take on an appearance of normalcy. tonight had been his, and now, it was hers too, and he couldn't be happier about it.
the front door swings shut and there's the little beep-beep of the security system setting all measures in place. she's been here before, slept in the loft bed before, cooked breakfast with him in the kitchen, curled up on the couch before, that now, just being in this safehouse without her feels immediately like something was missing from it.
he shrugs off his jacket and takes her coat to hang them both in the entry closet, before his lips part around a quiet sigh from the way warmth settles into his body. ]
( to think how far they've come, how the magnitude of such a simple motion—his lacing his fingers with hers—has shifted over time. like the way she finds his ankle with hers in sleep, how fingertips search for the slightest curl of his forearm when they're walking. it's an intimacy that isn't missed to her, to move, touch, have without thinking, every bit an indication of her unlearning being so bitterly, so utterly alone.
maybe it should leave her unsettled, but she feels safe, here with him. that wasn't nothing.
the suite feels familiar, a seeping warmth that crackles at the cold that'd only just begun to sink into her. quiet, gaze skirting across the open floor plan, memories dotted across it—following him, barefooted and heart heavy in her chest up to that loft bed; palms at her thighs, lifting her atop the counter while breakfast simmered on the stove; cheek on the steady rise and fall of his chest on the couch, the pang of knowing she would have to leave, soon.
shoulders lift, helping him take her coat to hang it with his own, and she's only venturing further when he does so, first. )
Mm. ( a thoughtful sound, running fingertips over the back of a dining chair. ) Tea, maybe. ( a seemingly perfect companion to the cold. )
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
do you?
( it's not disbelief. missing him had long since turned into an ache that never settled, something burring in the heart of her sternum. hearing it in return is never quite something she finds herself getting used to. it's as if they're asking without asking, telling without telling—always one foot off the ledge. )
i like when you share it with me. even in small ways, like this. it makes me feel a little bit closer.
i'd like to be there for them
the bad nights, too.
no subject
I do. Why? You don't believe me?
[ has it been that long? why does she question it? his smile dims. he has learned that he can't keep her out, but she's right, it's not always easy to her her in either. especially when things are hard, and things have been hard recently. as soon as he sends the text, he regrets it. ]
Sorry. I didn't mean to be distant. Shit's been hitting the fan lately. I should've checked in more.
no subject
i believe you. ( he reminds her of herself. the ever-constant nagging of doubt, that gnarled, sinewy thing that tells them they don’t deserve it—to be trusted, seen, loved. and maybe she could learn to be a bit more direct herself. )
im not upset with you, dick
you don’t have to explain.
i miss you. i know you need space. i know sometimes i need it, too. but i can be there
now, if you wanted me to be.
no subject
tonight, he feels more alone than ever, and even the thought of having her here aches in his chest. how everything would feel so much better. ]
I’d really like that.
[ it’s an understatement. he feels like he needs her right now, because as beautiful as the night is, as good as it has been, it’s also not all it is. ]
I know I come off like I need space, but sometimes, I think it does me more harm than good. It’s challenging to admit.
no subject
but it doesn't feel like something that she can properly address through messages. not when he can't see her, can't feel her, and so her reply comes without pause. )
tell me where to meet you
no subject
he's trying to be okay with that fact. he knows it makes him stronger, that she makes him stronger, but some days, needing anything at all feels too much to ask. it feels selfish.
he drops her a pin. ]
On this rooftop. Dress warm. It's cold.
[ he waits for her until she arrives, both legs dangling off the ledge, watching the city laid out like a tapestry below him. there's nothing useful he can discern from this far away, but it is what he's choosing tonight. to keep his distance from the trouble, to choose the beauty of the larger picture.
to do something for himself. ]
no subject
for a moment, she wonders what it is that's drawn him to that particular point in the city. what it was that'd called him there, and how it'd turned into her name—the same onslaught of thoughts and feelings that greet her each time she's about to see him. and then a breath, as if to steel herself for the brief distortion as eyes close, and all she pictures is that rooftop.
it's the wind that greets her first, crisp in the way it bites at her cheeks, tangles at red strands in a whip across her temple. and she spots him perched just near the ledge; the familiar bow of his shoulders that feels almost intimate to recognize, the chocolate sweep of his hair.
he'll hear the gravel beneath her feet as she nears, heart already fluttering like an echo against her ribs. ) Hi stranger.
no subject
he looks back just as she starts toward him. the motion takes him to his feet, has him stepping off the ledge and toward her, so light on his feet despite his heavy boots. he’s dressed simply, in black jeans and a black leather jacket, zipped up all the way, a shadow of the night.
Wanda, on the other hand. as soon as he sees her, the noise falls away, like a knob turned down the city and brought calm in its wake. she looks like comfort, like fall’s embrace, wrapped in perfect warmth. he can’t help the smile that he greets her with as he steps in close and pulls her into his arms.
relief. that’s what it feels like, to have her here with him when he missed her so bad her heart had throbbed with it. he breathes her in, comforted by her familiar scent, by her small body, warm and bright in his embrace. he turns his head and kisses her temple, then pulls back enough to find her mouth and kiss her. ]
Hi, baby.
no subject
that smile of his, notched into the caverns of her heart and tugging one of her own. one of ease, arms snaking around his midsection. one of home, an exhale let against his brim when his mouth finds hers.
it's the smile and his own words that break it, the two of them seeming to make a barricade from the cold, keeping the warmth hidden between them, close enough that it can't escape. head tipped back, one hand raises to brush her thumb across the edge of his brow, scanning his features the same way she always does. a press to her toes for another kiss, sweet and slow, however short, before hovering there. )
I missed you. ( necessary, that he hears it, that she says it—tangible and honest, as if already to assuage the gloom that'd found him when she hadn't been here to ward it away. )
no subject
she's here now. she missed him. he knows better than to request that she lean into her powers for his sake (he knows she's very conscious of their use), but the selfish joy he feels now that she has is undeniable. ]
I missed you, too. So much. I don't wanna be dramatic, but. You can't. Even. Imagine.
[ each of the last words punctuate a press of his lips, to her cheeks, her nose, her lips, then taper off to a chuckle, the kind of laugh he freely allows in only rare moments like this. ]
I don't know what it is. Being up here tonight made it so bad. I was watching everyone down there, but all I thought about you. Thank you. For coming here.
no subject
coming to terms with her magic for all its grace and knives alike had been a process, and remains one to this day—but it makes it easier when she has something like this to call use for it, when either of their impatience grows too thin for the likes of traffic jams or long flights.
his confession comes with a lighthearted chuckle, but the words carry weight just the same, bundle within her as if trying to find room. )
You don't have to thank me. I would've been here sooner if it were up to me. Yesterday. ( a nudge of their noses, sweeping her thumb across his cheek in admiration of the rouge bitten there from the cold. ) Way before yesterday. ( teeth glimmer as if to introduce a snicker, but she bites it back. )
I just don't... ( a pause, an interlude to their brief conversation before she'd arrived, voice quieting just subtly. ) I don't want you to wake up one day and feel like it's too much.
no subject
he patiently waits for those words to come tumbling out, hushed like she doesn't want to utter them at all, but she speaks to the heart of the issue and addresses the question that crawled forth in the back of his mind. if she wanted to see him, why hadn't she? ]
I wouldn't. [ does she really think he would? he recalls her message, the simple, two word question she'd sent in response to his text. do you? how it'd hurt him, how he had to control the reflexive anger that threatened to take over everything he felt.
he tried to catch her gaze, his own eyes expressive and warm and always giving so much of himself away. ]
Come on. Let's go downstairs. We need to talk.
no subject
she can see the hurt that settles in his gaze, however softly he grants it to her, the misunderstanding that lingers there she aches to resolve. for him to know her fear wasn't doubt. that she trusted him, that she loved him too much, now, to consider the alternative.
he takes the floor before she has a chance, eyes flitting between his own, and she nods. ) Okay. ( a murmur, lifting up to administer one more kiss while her palm drops to find his own, interlocking their fingers together for him to lead the way. )
no subject
he's not a mind-reader, but he thinks he knows her well enough by now, and that she showed up here for him when he asked speaks loudly enough through her actions rather than words. that much he knows, just like how the last kiss she presses to his lips reassures her that she's willing to listen to what he has to say.
not that he knows exactly what he's even trying to express. her small hand finds his and he threads his fingers between hers, the action coming as natural as breathing itself as they step back toward the stair door.
a short flight of stairs takes them down to his front door. the safe house is one of the penthouse suites, though it occupies only a small corner of the floor plate. he chose it for its view of the city, where he could keep a pulse with a pair of binoculars and watch for activity from the comfort of his couch. big, arching windows let the glow of the city in, though a number of warm, low lights are on. he tucked his tech away behind the folding doors earlier in the night, hiding away the four panels of LED screens, the keyboards, the trackers, and the suit, letting the safe house take on an appearance of normalcy. tonight had been his, and now, it was hers too, and he couldn't be happier about it.
the front door swings shut and there's the little beep-beep of the security system setting all measures in place. she's been here before, slept in the loft bed before, cooked breakfast with him in the kitchen, curled up on the couch before, that now, just being in this safehouse without her feels immediately like something was missing from it.
he shrugs off his jacket and takes her coat to hang them both in the entry closet, before his lips part around a quiet sigh from the way warmth settles into his body. ]
Want a drink? Whiskey? Tea?
no subject
maybe it should leave her unsettled, but she feels safe, here with him. that wasn't nothing.
the suite feels familiar, a seeping warmth that crackles at the cold that'd only just begun to sink into her. quiet, gaze skirting across the open floor plan, memories dotted across it—following him, barefooted and heart heavy in her chest up to that loft bed; palms at her thighs, lifting her atop the counter while breakfast simmered on the stove; cheek on the steady rise and fall of his chest on the couch, the pang of knowing she would have to leave, soon.
shoulders lift, helping him take her coat to hang it with his own, and she's only venturing further when he does so, first. )
Mm. ( a thoughtful sound, running fingertips over the back of a dining chair. ) Tea, maybe. ( a seemingly perfect companion to the cold. )