theleadingman | avalon: inbox

[He can't blame her in the least for looking away, for needing a distraction; even being in the same room as her makes his chest feel impossibly tight, something akin to grief now tangled up in all the rest of what he feels when he thinks of her, speaks to her.

She doesn't want to talk about this. For weeks, he's done what he can to let it be, to respect that a decision was made and that whatever effort he had to put in to talk her out of it would be wasted— because would it ever be worth it, if someone walked back such a choice because they felt pressured to, when it wasn't what they wanted?

But no. This is what she doesn't want. It's what she thinks should be done, and there is a world of difference between those two things.]

I do.

[His gaze moves to where she's begun to adjust the flowers to busy herself, and of course he recognizes them— he had tirelessly taken care of the ones she had given him for quite some time now, though they had begun to droop as of late. Maybe they picked up on her absence, as well.

He sighs heavily as he steps forward, reaching out to lay a firm hand against her wrist.]

Aerith, this is ludicrous. I know what you're trying to do, and it's admirable, but terribly misguided.

[You don't understand at all.

How can he? She won't tell him anything. It wouldn't change anything even if she did. She'd still feel the same. She'd still be trying to do the same thing. He'd still be trying to change her mind. This moment, the very present one where he puts merely touch on her wrist and she can feel it practically resonate along her insides, is precisely why she's not wanted to see him again. He tests her resolve and he hardly knows it.

It's a lot easier to put him aside when he isn't near her. When he doesn't bother to contact her. She just wants to move on. She looks up from her flowers and for some moments, can only stare at him.]

You don't have to agree with why I've chosen to do things as I have.

[After some moments, she settles a free hand atop his and for a breath or two it lingers before she carefully tries to remove his hold.]

Did you really come here to see if I was safe, or was that just an excuse? Did you come here just to lecture me? That's unnecessary.

Edited (don't look at meeeeeee) 2021-11-16 05:19 (UTC)

[When she gently moves his hand away from her wrist, he lets her, though his gaze darkens as his hold falls away, his own brow furrowed. He curls his fingers against the surface of the island, drawing them into a loose fist as he tries to ground himself, and he feels something thick at the back of his throat that he's forced to swallow down.]

No— I didn't come here to lecture you.

[Even though that is, to a degree, precisely what he's doing. Even the word 'lecture' leaves a bitter taste in his mouth, reminding him of the person he's tried very hard not to become over the years. He clenches his jaw, his gaze dropping to avoid hers now.]

I wanted to see that you were safe. Physically, of course, but what we talked about— what you told me, and what I saw of that exchange— I'm worried about you. That's a great deal for anyone to carry— for their mind, their heart.

[That's not the only reason, but certainly a large part of it. Just because she doesn't believe Sephiroth is going to come after her doesn't mean she's safe. There are other ways to hurt, and some are far worse than physical injury, gnawing away from the inside.]

And I've missed you, though gods know why that should be.

[Except he knows exactly why. Even so, he huffs softly, turning his head towards the door leading back out into the living area to further avert his gaze.]

Normally, I take rejection far better than this.

[Normally, he doesn't care this much.]

[At first she isn't inclined to believe him. It's a very good opportunity for him to get out every scathing remark to her face. She couldn't blame him for that either. That's likely why she isn't completely shutting him out. She knows she deserves everything he has to say. She hasn't given him the opportunity to express himself. There's no time like the present, right?

"That's a great deal for anyone to carry—"

At that, Aerith looses a laugh. Kind of. It's a little stilted and awkward, but surprisingly warm. Wearing an amused expression, she turns her attention back onto the lilies.]

I live my every day knowing that each one passing brings me closer to not having any more. I don't even get the chance to fight it or stop it. I just have to accept it and you're worried about my exchanges with Sephiroth?

[She shakes her head, draws in a breath in an effort to cool any additional laughter that might escape from her.]

Sorry—it's a little funny to hear that. I appreciate the concern. I do. I wish you weren't worried, but I understand why you are and I can't stop you from feeling that way. All I can do is reassure you that I'll do the best I can to keep myself safe.

[She can't address the rest. Rather, she won't. For any number of reasons that Balthier is likely already privy to.]

[She laughs, but he pointedly does not, his gaze narrowed as he turns it back on her. Did she think, somehow, that he had forgotten?]

Don't you think that's part of it?

[Part of why he worries— because in truth, he's been concerned since long before what he saw on the network, knowing what he does. What living with that kind of knowledge must do to a person, how heavily it must weigh, how it colors each and every one of their actions, their choices.

He thinks he understands better than she gives him credit for.]

I have thought about what awaits you every day since you told me, wondering how knowing something like that must change a person, and it's too much, Aerith, for you to bear on your own. Not because you're not strong. Nobody could do it— and even knowing what you know, even being so certain as you are, I don't believe in inevitability.

[Not that he can change it for her, not that anyone can— but if he had learned anything, anything from his time caught up in the struggle for Dalmasca, from the Occuria themselves, it was that fate has far less of a hold than such powers would have men believe.]

It hasn't happened yet. You're living life as if you're already gone, pushing people away from you.

[So it was a mistake to tell him, is what she's hearing. It's what has made it so difficult to tell Tifa what little she could. She's kept it to herself because she knows what it does. Balthier has never deserved to get pulled into all of that and now he can't even look at her without thinking about it. If he's trying to reassure her, it's not working.

"Not because you're not strong."

Is she, though? What she displays--is that strength or cowardice? Both, maybe. Why can't it be both. She can feel her heart steadily attempt to lodge itself into her throat. She's never talked about it like this with someone before. Talking about it makes it weigh heavier. It's still heavy just thinking about it, but in her thoughts at least she can distance herself.

She feels boxed in. As in she doesn't have a place she can retreat to.]

I should just be grateful that I have your attention, right? That I have Tifa and the others to look after me? [She can feel herself getting heated over it, something she wants to crush under foot.] ...I am grateful. It's so much more than I deserve. I want to sit here and say that just having that is good enough. If I say it, I'm lying. I feel like a part of me is dying every day. Before, at least I could just keep it to myself. Now I have to live with you feeling the way you do. With Tifa feeling the way she does. That only makes it worse.

[She has to force out another laugh because she knows it she doesn't, she might just cry instead.]

I never should have said anything to you.

["I feel like a part of me is dying every day. ... I never should have said anything to you."]

Aerith, that's not—

[And for the first time in the months that she's known him, his voice breaks— just a little, and only for a moment, but it wavers briefly with the sort of emotion that he never allows to come to the surface, soft and just a little bit desperate.

He can hear the shift in her voice, and he hates that he's caused it.

Suddenly, the island is no longer between them. Somewhere along the way, he'd turned off the burned as something in the back of his head insisted that this was not the time for further interruptions, but both of his hands come to rest on her shoulders as he stands behind her. It's different from when he'd reached for her wrist, cautious and tentative and knowing full well that she might shrug him him away— she'd be well within her rights, to be certain, but in this moment, his focus isn't on his own feelings or his pride.]

That's not what I meant in the least— and it's not about how I feel, it's about how you do. It's—

[He knows how he feels, but still finds himself at a loss for words. Expressing things like this, real and difficult things, has never been his forte.]

I just... wanted to help make your life here one worth living. Conceited, I suppose.

[She doesn't even have a chance to stop him. Not a chance to protest. Aerith folds her hands together tightly, pressing them up against her chest. She could shrug him off. Tell him to get lost. Both of those are more harsh than she rightfully is, however, and she's trying very hard just to keep herself together.

She hates how he sounds then. That's her doing, too. All of this is her doing. That's inevitable, isn't it? It's a stupid, foolish idea that she thinks she can even find happiness and hold onto it. For a day? Maybe. Only to be riddled by the immense guilt that follows after. It's not worth it. But that isn't his fault. She doesn't hold it against him.

Aerith has to force herself to hold onto something that is like composure. A rocky foundation to be sure, but something is better than nothing. In the back of her mind, she thinks of the tea, but that's a greatly distant thought.

Slowly she shakes her head.]

I know what you were trying to do. I know that you didn't mean any harm. You didn't do anything wrong, Balthier. The issue was never you to begin with.

[A part of him thinks he should step away, give her space, but a much larger part cannot bear the thought. He can tell that it's taking more effort than she would want him to know to keep herself together, that her composure could break just as easily as he fears his own might at this point.]

In all this, you're still the one reassuring me.

[It shouldn't be that way, not when she's hurting so badly, has been for who knows how long— and that's the exact reason he worries as he does, because she will give of herself again and again until there's nothing left as dread and knowing hollow her out from within.]

I'm not sorry you told me. You shouldn't be, either.

[He doubts that will change much. She'll feel guilt over it regardless, still worried about how her lot impacts others and determined she would be better off to suffer it alone.]

I don't know that I can convince you that you don't have to do all of this on your own, but there's nothing I wish for more.

It's... never been a case of thinking I didn't have a choice in the matter. I chose to handle things on my own. I chose not to involve you or anyone else. I chose not to permit your input.

[Drawing in a breath, she releases it in a sigh taking the moment to worm her way past him onto her feet, though she does stay footsteps within reach. It's her own home. Why should she have to be the one to run.]

Which you've seen fit to remind me of several times.

[For just a moment, her fingers curl in where they reside. Somehow, and she isn't sure how, she keeps her gaze on his. She sounds so much more even than she feels, but it's all so practised. Aerith can even smile through her suffering and so few would be any the wiser.]

I never wanted this for you. Part of me wanted to be fooled into thinking that I could handle it. That I wouldn't... ruin it all. But I know myself. Me being who I am, what I am, how I am. It's just a disaster.

[She shakes her head.]

I keep going and I keep pressing because if I don't, if I stop, maybe I'll never be able to start again. I bury myself in others not just because I feel like it's the right thing to do, but because I need it. I'm not strong at all. I'm selfish and I'm a coward.

[She lets that linger for some moments as she stares up at him and finally she leaves a hand atop the island for little more than the need to anchor herself to the present.]

I think you've sufficiently pulled enough out of me now.

[He releases his hold immediately when she makes it clear she intends to pull away, taking a single step back as she gets to her feet. It's not his intention to make her feel trapped, but he feels a distinctive pang of guilt when she looks at him that way, reminds him of his own sharp words. He'd been unfair, perhaps, but he doesn't regret having come here, even if it means he now has to watch her keep herself steady when he knows she's feeling anything but inside.

"I'm selfish and I'm a coward."

Familiar words— familiar feelings, though he doesn't say so. His own days had never been so clearly numbered, not the way hers were. He had been haunted by the past alone, while her own ghosts include the future, or lack thereof.]

You're not a coward. You're afraid. There's a difference.

[Who wouldn't be? That could never be held against her.]

I apologize if I was harsh before— but I'm not leaving.

[She doesn't have to tell him anything more— she won't, he's certain, because she's said so much more than she ever wanted to, but he cannot bring himself to leave her in this state. Even if she were to refuse to speak to him for the remainder, he would stay.]

Edited 2021-11-16 08:22 (UTC)

Can't it be both.

[It should be a question and it's not. She doesn't feel strong at all. She feels like she's grasping for strength and little things here and there are making that fall through her hold. When she does manage to grab it again, will it be too late? No. Of course not. This particular moment, the one where she stands with one Ivalician sky pirate in her kitchen, will not be the norm. She doesn't believe it herself, but she understands that she's allowed to have a moment where she isn't carrying the weight of everything around her.

Where he leaves himself has her regard him thoughtfully. She knows why he wants to stay. She's almost certain she's had her allotment of handsome boyfriend'ish companion with sharp, but necessary words. She shakes her head at him, though it seems largely dismissive in nature.]

I don't need you to stay here. I'm sure Nanaki or Tifa will be here soon. I'm not... really keen on the idea of you looking after me because you feel as if you need to.

[She's not keen on the idea of him looking after her at all. But she understands why he wants to. It's not a need. It's all to do with feelings.]

It's not because I feel I need to.

[The correction comes swiftly, bordering on sharp, though he respects the small distance she's put between them. It takes every fiber of his being to do so; part of him is desperate to offer some kind of comfort and immediately disappointed in both the fact that he doesn't know how and that whatever he did offer wouldn't be anywhere close to enough.]

I want to be here.

[He's wanted to be here for weeks, and knowing she would much rather keep him at a distance, he fears that once he does walk out that door, it truly will be the last he sees of her for quite some time. She won't let him pull a stunt like this one again, he's sure, and she's set on her course of action.]

I want to be with you. We can better protect one another together. You may not agree with that, but even if it's just for a little while longer, I want to be here.

You can't—

[Aerith hesitates for a breath. Several, in fact. As she considers how to better address him, she scrapes her teeth over her bottom lip.]

You can't say things like that to me. You can't do this 'I want to be with you' talk. I know that you mean it, so it isn't like I don't know that you're being serious when you say it.

[There is the distinct possibility that he doesn't mean it the way she's taking it. That sweetly, sentimental adoration that she knows she feels for him on some level. He could simply mean it as simply as wanting to be in the same room as her. She doesn't think that's what he means, though.

Lifting a hand, she rubs her temple with a sigh.]

Think it all you want, feel it all you want, but you can't say it to me. I can't hear it. I can't listen to it.

[He could attempt to refute it, to say that he had, in fact, meant this particular moment, the present situation— but it wouldn't matter much, would it? The truth was that he did feel exactly as she said, so whether or not that was precisely how he meant what he'd said— and to be perfectly honest, he can't even be quite sure what he had meant— it held true all the same.

He does feel those things, acutely.

He sighs heavily, tilting his head back as he drags a hand over his face to try and keep himself collected, not wanting anything to slip without his permission.]

I could have said far worse.

[... well. That was a failure, clearly. He clenches his jaw instead, fixing his gaze squarely on her, and he hates that this has become a point of contention between them, that caring for someone has become something unwanted.

They'd talked about it, early on— that he suspected she might try to slip away if she thought it was the right thing, but he'd never imagined it would have happened as quickly as it did.]

I'm worried about what will happen when I do walk out that door.

[Because even if he's refusing to leave at the moment, he'll have to eventually. He can't stay in her home uninvited forever.]

I don't know what you think is going to happen.

[She shakes her head at him slowly.]

It's not as if I dislike you. It's not as if you've committed some great sin against me. It's not as if I would say anything against you. If I've somehow given you that impression, I didn't intend for it. I have nothing except wonderful things to say about you to anyone who would even ask.

[She frowns then, though she's stuck on his words. "I could have said far worse." Is there something worse than hearing he wants to be with her and it's... just not something that can happen? Because to her that sounds like one of the worst things ever.

When she takes note of just how intently he eyes her, Aerith draws her gaze away, a subtle pink touching her features. She feels so worn down when she's in his presence. How is it that the person who brings her the most happiness, a kind she never expected to find, is also the one who inadvertently causes her the most amount of pain. And it's not even his doing.]

I don't know how what else I can say or do to reassure you.

That's not what I'm concerned about.

[He wishes he could sound more certain of that, but he would like to think that for all they don't know about one another, they know the most important things. Aerith is neither unkind nor cruel by nature. She also wasn't the sort to gossip, or spread rumors that were untrue— regardless of whether there was reason for her to do so or not.

He isn't worried about any of that; rather, his concerns are considerably more selfish. He resists the urge to sigh once more, averting his own gaze for a brief moment when he notes the color in her cheeks. He can't even say that it isn't his intention to make this more difficult for her. While he has no interest in causing her pain, he doesn't want her to shove him away and try to forget him.

Moving on is something he's never been particularly good at.]

I worry that once I go, this is the last I'll see of you.

[Save for perhaps random encounters on the street— if that.]

Isn't... it better that way.

[She folds her hands together, quieted by the thoughts that seem to linger over her head. The ones with the same weight that settle atop her shoulders and bind her to the present.]

You'll want to say it isn't, I'm sure. I'm confident that I know you. I... can't forget you if you're around me. I can't move forward. I can't move on. That isn't your fault. It's mine. If I were stronger, it wouldn't matter.

[At least this is what she says. Whether that's true or not... entirely debatable. Whether she sees him or not, Balthier is, undoubtedly, a part of her. A part she was never looking for. A part she never thought she wanted. A part she didn't realise may have been missing. That part is uniquely him.

For just a moment, as she eyes him, it reflects in the way she gazes at him. Not so much pain, but simply... adoration? Devotion? Books would do a far better job of describing it.

"Books are the best kind of neighbour."

...Aren't they, though.]

You have something of mine. Don't you know that I'm always with you, no matter where you go. Far or near.

[Her heart, she means. He has her heart.]

[His expression shifts as his gaze returns to meet hers. He's taken care to be as neutral as possible until now, with varying results, trending more towards firm or irate when he did allow anything to show through, but the expression he wears now is nothing short of crestfallen. They way she looks at him in turn makes something in the pit of his stomach twist sharply, and he feels as though his heart is about to drop out of him entirely, leaving him hollow.]

I wish you didn't feel so strongly that you had to forget.

[Because he knows he won't be. He can't just forget her. He doesn't want to. For all his talk of not wanting to live in the past, he has never been able to forget anyone who has touched his heart in some way. Aerith has done far more than that; she had taken hold of it completely.]

You— have something of mine, as well.

[For all she'd said he couldn't say to her, he's not sure she'll allow this any more willingly, but he cannot leave that unspoken.]

And even if you must forget, I won't.

[Instead of responding immediately, protesting, or otherwise outright rejecting him, she says nothing. Instead, she takes him in, gives what he says the appropriate time needed for it to linger between them. Do their feelings mirror one another? Perhaps they do. As she takes him in, Aerith realises she could eye him for quite some time without tiring of it.

What she might give for just another afternoon watching him sleep, wondering what kinds of things he dreams about. The thought alone makes her heart ache. Sweetly, perhaps.

After a moment's hesitance, she unfolds her hands and reaches toward him. Keeping a careful gaze on him, there's a distinct pause. She's thinking better of this, as if it's some kind of obstacle that only she can see. She pushes past it, whatever it may be, and with an exceeding amount of care, she presses touch right atop where his heart rests.]

You should take care to protect this.

[To covet it. To treasure it. She's not worthy of it, but she knows better than to say so.]

Even from me.

[He swears his heart stops for half a moment when her hand comes to rest atop his chest, and in the brief silence before it starts to beat again, he finds himself at a momentary loss for words. Her hesitation before her approach should be all he needs to convince himself not to act on impulse, not to do the very first thing that comes to mind, but he finds it difficult to stop himself— near impossible. He lays a hand over her own, his fingers curling against it instinctively, and it's unlike his efforts to reach out to her earlier— it's soft, affectionate, feather-light as though her hand might shatter beneath his touch if he isn't careful.]

I've always been good at that part.

[Protecting his heart. It was, perhaps, one of his most finely honed skills, and yet in this situation he feels absolutely hopeless, as though all of those years of practice meant nothing at all.

He knows he shouldn't, knows he's doing nothing to help her move on as she's so intent on doing, but he can't help but feel compelled to lean in and cup the side of her face for the first time in what feels like ages, swallowing hard before he presses his lips to hers, earnest and maybe just a bit too hard as something like desperation breaks through.

Please, don't.]

[It's a touch she should expect. Certainly somewhere inside of her she does expect it. Regardless, the moment his hand presses to hers in that ever intimate way, she begins to draw back. What stops her is when he reaches over to carefully take hold of her. What follows is nothing short of bittersweet.

Aerith often thinks of the kisses they've exchanged. Of everything they've exchanged, really. Those kinds of things are never far from her mind. There's something about this kiss. Insistent, but not the way it had been the day she'd intruded on his territory. Behind closed doors, Balthier is an entirely different kind of man. It takes one kiss to think of every little impression he's made on her.

For just some moments, she's caught up in it. But before she can fall too far, Aerith struggles to to catch breath he's too easily stolen, dipping her head.]

—I can't.

[Rather, she can. Only that she shouldn't.]

[After weeks apart, that single kiss brings memories flooding back— thoughts that were never buried too deeply to begin with, scenes that he's revisited time and time again, now drawn back to the surface by something other than his inclination to torment himself with what he can no longer have. Even as she pulls away, he chases; she dips her head and he moves his hand to gently rest at the back of her neck, his hold on her hand over his chest tightening slightly.]

You can.

[Of course, he knows why she insists otherwise— she thinks that she shouldn't, that they should stay far away from one another, and she may even be right, even if he can't bring himself to agree with it. He dips his own head to try and reach her, his grasp dropping just a hair to curl around her wrist and draw her close once again.

For a moment, she'd been lost in that kiss right along with him. None of this is for a lack of wanting on either side.

He dares to steal another, insistent as the kiss before, his pirate heart unwilling to give up treasure so easily. Pirates take, take, take, and don't walk away from something they know to be truly valuable.]

I won't say anything else you don't want to hear.

[Kissing isn't against any of the rules she'd loosely set out beforehand, technically speaking, though he knows that in this moment, he's playing a very dangerous game.]

[If it wasn't him how different would this be? She'd slap him, most likely. Right in that handsome face of his. There are many variables that prevent that from happening. One being that she never wants to have a reason to raise a hand against him. Another being that he is... well. He's him. The heart complicates all matters, perhaps none so more than these types.

What if she took just some moments... for them both?

No. That's a terrible idea. Because she'll want more. More than she can rightfully expect of him. The only thing it'll do is make her berate herself for it later. She's already doing that in the present, isn't she? They've gotten here because of her. What's a little more inward kicking.

He draws her closer to him almost effortlessly. He presses upon her another kiss, threatening her heart to racing. She doesn't linger nearly as long the second time around, though his words settle between her ears, competing with the deafening thump of her pulse.]

This isn't a good idea. [She does manage to say.] I... I don't want you to get the wrong idea. I don't want to mislead you. [If she gives in at all, he may think he's changed her mind. She can't let him think that. It's all a terrible idea in retrospect.]

[She's right. On this one thing, they can agree— it isn't a good idea, because they'll both want more, won't be content to let this be enough, and yet how much worse would that be than where they already are? Where he already is, alone and wanting and unable to even begin to think of closure, unable and unwilling to move forward out of sheer stubbornness and what has perhaps become a vain hope that somehow, this can be resolved.

He lets her pull away this time, loathe as he is to do so, and his hand drops away from the nape of her neck, coming to rest lightly against her hip even as distance appears between them.]

No— I know you won't change your mind.

[Because she's just as stubborn as he is. There's an impossibly heavy feeling that's settled over his chest, knowing that a few insistent kisses aren't going to be enough to sway her. At this point, he's certain nothing will.]

It's not misleading if I accept that, is it?

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