[ It have a name? he wants to ask, but who knows what's gonna be weird to her? There's a little more caution in him than there might be if he were talking to someone else: less joking, a faintly concerned furrow to his brow. ]
So what happens when this stuff doesn't "go well"?
[She hesitates, because for the first time, she realizes that if she tells him the rest, he might look at her differently. Oddly enough, this is the easier part of the story to barrel through. Her father was practically a stranger. She's never thought what he did had anything to do with her, and Ian didn't either, but Ian's always been preternaturally chill. Maybe other people won't be.
So Kyna looks down, eyes locking on her drink. She wrestles with it for a long moment, weighs the option of just bailing.
Screw it.]
So he... Um. He started... feeding other people to it. And when I found out, my brother said to leave it, that the cops would deal with it, but I couldn't, you know?
[ Not in the same way at all--this is something he maybe could've turned a blind eye to, if he'd had reason to--but he knows what it is to need to do something, what it is to disbelieve the cops' ability to do anything besides make things worse. ]
So, um... we knew where he was, and I went to find him. My friend—his name is Sam, too, uh. He tried to talk me out of it, but I wouldn't listen, so he came with. But it all just went... As bad as it fucking could have.
[ The way she says it, he kind of has to pause: does that mean I killed him or something else? He's trying to think of the alternatives, and all of them sound like something out of a bad movie from his childhood. What, she locks him in some other dimension with her spooky, definitely-not-weird magic?
What exactly happened isn't really the point, he knows--that look on her face is, that sadness trying to masquerade as mere seriousness.
But she said she wanted to talk about it. So he asks. It comes out more like a statement than a question. ]
[Her voice is quieter now, halting, like she's forcing herself to continue. She has her eyes locked on a loose thread on his jeans, and she reaches for it impulsively, twisting it around her finger.]
Sam got hurt trying to protect me. And he must have called my brother before we left, because he showed up, and it was just the two of us with Sam unconscious, and...
[Deep breath, Kyna. Get through it. Sam isn't freaking out so far. It's fine. She's practically radiating anxiety and regret, though, and she knows it.]
So we tried to, you know... banish the thing. I mean, I did. Nico can't use magic, so. [So he couldn't.] But sometimes when a binding goes wrong, or whatever, it's like... like putting two pieces of tape together sticky sides down, you know? The person and the spirit are too tangled up. So it didn't...
[She clears her throat, eyes still locked on that little thread, catching it with her fingernails.]
[ There's a lot of he in the things she says, and he has to think about it to untangle it all. For a second, he thinks: wait, your brother got killed? But no, it's her father, isn't it? She tried to save her father, and she killed him instead.
Sam doesn't want to think about how familiar that sounds. ]
C'mere.
[ He's no good at this shit, but this much, he knows: if you're talking to a girl, and she gets a look like that on her face, you gotta do something. Usually, he'd find a way to make a quick exit, but Kyna's different--and anyway, she's picking at a thread on his jeans, and somehow, that connection between them feels unbreakable. It's a thread, and it's more than that.
So he sets his drink down on an endtable and puts his arm around her and wonders if this is what he's supposed to be doing here, pulling her into his side and trying not to think too much about what it feels like to hold onto her. ]
[It's exactly what she needs him to do, but her breathing hitches and her vision blurs when he pulls her close. She hasn't really talked to anyone about this who wasn't there, minus Ian, and somehow that's different. There's still a little part of her that's always afraid she'll get a negative reaction opening up like this, so Sam's arm around her feels like a sort of acceptance, and it makes her heart twist.
It's not even grief, really. She'd given up on her father a long time ago. It's confirmation that he was always everything she thought he was, and the knowledge that her stubbornness hurt someone she cares about so much. Guilt and a sort of shame, all tangled up. She really, really does not want to cry all over him, but she thinks she's going to, and so she buries her face in his shoulder, voice shaky.]
[ Now's clearly the time to tell her she's hot, right? Look, there's a reason he's a thief and not a therapist.
But maybe it'll be all right. She'll curl up and maybe cry, and he'll just be careful not to brush her skin, and--hell, he's already screwed that up, and now she'll feel a sort of amorphous worry. But no real judgment, just the inevitable combination of Kyna's so pretty and Kyna's so sad.
He doesn't know what to say, so he doesn't really try to say anything. He just tries to keep her close (and tries not to get her skin again). ]
[Maybe most other people would consider it crass, but it gets a choked, ragged laugh out of her, almost a sob.]
Shut up.
[It comes out muffled but with no real heat, and his joke is enough of an anchor for her to get her emotions mostly under control. So, while her breathing is still trembling and her throat is still aching with that urge to cry, she manages to keep herself from breaking down and sobbing.
She feels bad about that brush of concern from him, though, and so she presses her arm intentionally into his. He gets lingering guilt, sure, but also a rush of gratitude and affection. It's easier for her to show him than explain it, especially while she's still getting his shirt all damp with quiet tears.]
[ Sam doesn't laugh, but he does breathe out, a sort of relieved sigh and quiet snort--if she's laughing, at least she's not crying. Or not crying as hard, anyway.
He doesn't know what to do with what comes through her skin, though. It's all at once, that insistent sense of appreciation, and it spooks him more than hearing about the way her dad bit the dust. ]
Kyna--
[ But for once, he doesn't know what to say after that. After a moment or two of uncertainty and fondness mixed up together, he moves his arm away from hers again. Still holding her close, but more carefully now. ]
[At least he knows, which is all she wanted. For a split second when he breaks contact, she's afraid she did something wrong, but he doesn't pull away, so maybe it's fine. It's probably fine, right?
Kyna shifts, head turning so that her cheek is resting on his shoulder instead.]
Sorry.
[Her voice is still unsteady, but she's getting herself under control now.]
[ The only thing she's done wrong is remind him that he's sitting here with her, out of his depth, a weird ache in his chest when he thinks about that sadness and shame and affection coming from her. So he tries not to think about it, or about reaching up and running his hand through her hair. ]
[ He pretends he doesn't notice her swiping at the tears in her eyes, the same way he's pretending one patch of his shirt's significantly wetter than the rest of it. At least this part is easy, his feelings masked somewhere under his skin, safe from observation. ]
[ If this is the worst she's ever done, then hell, by Sam's standards, she's still in the running for Time's Person of the Year award.
He's still struggling to say something helpful, so he defaults to the kind of pep talk he'd be inclined to give his brother. ]
You solved the problem. Didn't all go your way, but, eh--[ a shrug: when does it ever? ] It, uh, sucks about your dad, but it sounds like he walked into that one.
[ He doesn't have anything to add except shit like how the hell do you live with having a cop in the family?, and the answer is that Kyna hasn't spent her life in and out of jail, obviously. Or the other option, my brother's pissed at me, too, and there's no way in hell he's spilling that.
So he sits there in silence for a second or two, Kyna's cheek against his shoulder, and tells himself that he's not actually stuck on how nice this is. When he does speak, he clears his throat a little first. ]
[Kyna swallows, nods a bit against his shoulder, but doesn't pull away. She's not afraid to admit to herself that this is nice—this sort of physical contact is what she's made for. The empathy bond makes it more complicated here, and so she doesn't get it as much.]
Yeah. Um, thanks. You're better at this than I thought, you know.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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[ It have a name? he wants to ask, but who knows what's gonna be weird to her? There's a little more caution in him than there might be if he were talking to someone else: less joking, a faintly concerned furrow to his brow. ]
So what happens when this stuff doesn't "go well"?
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[She hesitates, because for the first time, she realizes that if she tells him the rest, he might look at her differently. Oddly enough, this is the easier part of the story to barrel through. Her father was practically a stranger. She's never thought what he did had anything to do with her, and Ian didn't either, but Ian's always been preternaturally chill. Maybe other people won't be.
So Kyna looks down, eyes locking on her drink. She wrestles with it for a long moment, weighs the option of just bailing.
Screw it.]
So he... Um. He started... feeding other people to it. And when I found out, my brother said to leave it, that the cops would deal with it, but I couldn't, you know?
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[ Not in the same way at all--this is something he maybe could've turned a blind eye to, if he'd had reason to--but he knows what it is to need to do something, what it is to disbelieve the cops' ability to do anything besides make things worse. ]
So you, ah...what'd you do?
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What exactly happened isn't really the point, he knows--that look on her face is, that sadness trying to masquerade as mere seriousness.
But she said she wanted to talk about it. So he asks. It comes out more like a statement than a question. ]
How bad's that?
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[Her voice is quieter now, halting, like she's forcing herself to continue. She has her eyes locked on a loose thread on his jeans, and she reaches for it impulsively, twisting it around her finger.]
Sam got hurt trying to protect me. And he must have called my brother before we left, because he showed up, and it was just the two of us with Sam unconscious, and...
[Deep breath, Kyna. Get through it. Sam isn't freaking out so far. It's fine. She's practically radiating anxiety and regret, though, and she knows it.]
So we tried to, you know... banish the thing. I mean, I did. Nico can't use magic, so. [So he couldn't.] But sometimes when a binding goes wrong, or whatever, it's like... like putting two pieces of tape together sticky sides down, you know? The person and the spirit are too tangled up. So it didn't...
[She clears her throat, eyes still locked on that little thread, catching it with her fingernails.]
He didn't make it. But Sam did.
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Sam doesn't want to think about how familiar that sounds. ]
C'mere.
[ He's no good at this shit, but this much, he knows: if you're talking to a girl, and she gets a look like that on her face, you gotta do something. Usually, he'd find a way to make a quick exit, but Kyna's different--and anyway, she's picking at a thread on his jeans, and somehow, that connection between them feels unbreakable. It's a thread, and it's more than that.
So he sets his drink down on an endtable and puts his arm around her and wonders if this is what he's supposed to be doing here, pulling her into his side and trying not to think too much about what it feels like to hold onto her. ]
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It's not even grief, really. She'd given up on her father a long time ago. It's confirmation that he was always everything she thought he was, and the knowledge that her stubbornness hurt someone she cares about so much. Guilt and a sort of shame, all tangled up. She really, really does not want to cry all over him, but she thinks she's going to, and so she buries her face in his shoulder, voice shaky.]
Sorry. I'm sorry, I'm fine.
[Totally fine.]
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[ Now's clearly the time to tell her she's hot, right? Look, there's a reason he's a thief and not a therapist.
But maybe it'll be all right. She'll curl up and maybe cry, and he'll just be careful not to brush her skin, and--hell, he's already screwed that up, and now she'll feel a sort of amorphous worry. But no real judgment, just the inevitable combination of Kyna's so pretty and Kyna's so sad.
He doesn't know what to say, so he doesn't really try to say anything. He just tries to keep her close (and tries not to get her skin again). ]
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Shut up.
[It comes out muffled but with no real heat, and his joke is enough of an anchor for her to get her emotions mostly under control. So, while her breathing is still trembling and her throat is still aching with that urge to cry, she manages to keep herself from breaking down and sobbing.
She feels bad about that brush of concern from him, though, and so she presses her arm intentionally into his. He gets lingering guilt, sure, but also a rush of gratitude and affection. It's easier for her to show him than explain it, especially while she's still getting his shirt all damp with quiet tears.]
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He doesn't know what to do with what comes through her skin, though. It's all at once, that insistent sense of appreciation, and it spooks him more than hearing about the way her dad bit the dust. ]
Kyna--
[ But for once, he doesn't know what to say after that. After a moment or two of uncertainty and fondness mixed up together, he moves his arm away from hers again. Still holding her close, but more carefully now. ]
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Kyna shifts, head turning so that her cheek is resting on his shoulder instead.]
Sorry.
[Her voice is still unsteady, but she's getting herself under control now.]
I totally dumped on you.
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[ The only thing she's done wrong is remind him that he's sitting here with her, out of his depth, a weird ache in his chest when he thinks about that sadness and shame and affection coming from her. So he tries not to think about it, or about reaching up and running his hand through her hair. ]
I, uh, I asked, right?
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[She breathes out, reaching up to wipe her eyes in what she hopes is a surreptitious way, though she doesn't pull back.]
Do you think I'm a total fuck up?
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Course not. A fuckup would've skipped town.
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I sort of did. Just... you know. Not on purpose.
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[ If this is the worst she's ever done, then hell, by Sam's standards, she's still in the running for Time's Person of the Year award.
He's still struggling to say something helpful, so he defaults to the kind of pep talk he'd be inclined to give his brother. ]
You solved the problem. Didn't all go your way, but, eh--[ a shrug: when does it ever? ] It, uh, sucks about your dad, but it sounds like he walked into that one.
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[She pauses, nose wrinkling, wondering how awful this is going to sound.]
It's not really my dad, it's more... Everything else.
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Your friend?
[ Your brother, he doesn't say. ]
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[And while he doesn't say it, it's still hanging there between them, so she does.]
And my brother was... really upset.
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Since you didn't let the cops handle it.
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[So, you know, salt in the wound or whatever.]
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[ He doesn't have anything to add except shit like how the hell do you live with having a cop in the family?, and the answer is that Kyna hasn't spent her life in and out of jail, obviously. Or the other option, my brother's pissed at me, too, and there's no way in hell he's spilling that.
So he sits there in silence for a second or two, Kyna's cheek against his shoulder, and tells himself that he's not actually stuck on how nice this is. When he does speak, he clears his throat a little first. ]
Well, uh. You feel any better?
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Yeah. Um, thanks. You're better at this than I thought, you know.
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You think so?
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