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[evocation]

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[evocation]

Yeah?

[Kyna pulls back a bit.]

I'm not going anywhere.

[withmeinparadise]

Longer'n we have time for.

[ There're things he can make into fun stories, but I might've killed my brother, and I definitely fucked him over isn't currently one. But Kyna's looking at him, waiting, and even he's only known her a month or two, that's long enough to know she's not going to let it go. The best plan he can think of, in the moment, is offering her a different tale. ]

Y'know I almost got picked up for murder when I was seventeen? Not a murder I did. Wasn't even a real murder, just...y'know, a real inconvenient death.

[evocation]

[Yeah, that's not a subtle change of topic, but she lets it go. For now, anyway.]

Wait, what? How?

[withmeinparadise]

[ Mission accomplished. ]

Me and Nathan, we kinda broke into an old lady's mansion.

[evocation]

Did you give her a heart attack or something?

[withmeinparadise]

Not right away? We had a conversation first. [ And with a puff of a laugh: ] She nearly shot me.

[evocation]

You totally deserved it.

[Look, she loves Sam, BUT.]

How the fuck did she die?

[withmeinparadise]

Maybe a heart attack? She was sick. [ Thinking of that makes his ribcage tighten a little. ] We didn't exactly stick around--the cops were already showing up when she, uh. Y'know.

[ A very vague gesture with his free hand, one which clearly means "seized up and died in front of us." ]

[evocation]

Jesus Christ. Why did you break in?

[withmeinparadise]

She had something that belonged to us. [ Despite himself, there's a tiny edge of defensiveness to his voice. He never would've cased the place, let along broken in, if not for that. ] Had to get it back.

[evocation]

[Her head tilts slightly.]

What was it?

[withmeinparadise]

[ Doesn't matter, he wants to say, but Kyna's Kyna. She'll punch him in the leg and make him answer anyway. Normally, her stubbornness is a big part of her charm, but he's managed to talk his way into a corner of this story he isn't wild about revisiting.

Great job, Sam.

After a too-long silence, his fingertips tapping idly against her side, he gives up. ]

Our mother, she, uh. She was a historian. Left behind a lotta unfinished work when she died. You wouldn't believe how long it took me to figure out who got her stuff after Dad sold it. [ Is that enough detail? It's more than he wants to say, possibly less than makes sense. ] Should've been ours, so I figured we could get it back.

[evocation]

Oh.

[She says it quietly, expression softening. Not exactly legal, but she gets it, and she feels for him.]

So what was it? Books? Some cool artifact?

[withmeinparadise]

Books--journals. All the stuff she wanted to write about.

[ That ache in his chest is back, a boy's indignance hiding inside a man who pretends he's beyond it. They escaped with one book from one box. Sam's spent almost thirty years trying not to wonder what else they had to leave behind. ]

And I'll have you know, she was ready to let us have 'em. Problem is, you can't just tell the cops she decided it was okay you broke into her house after she called 'em up.

[ Not when she's dead. ]

[evocation]

Yeah.

[She reaches for his hand and then hesitates, fingers a hair away from his. He can complete the motion if he wants, but she doesn't want to force it.]

I'm sorry.

[withmeinparadise]

[ He's staring at the wall on the other side of the room, but when she shifts a little, he glances down. And there's her hand, hovering over his.

Taking it's a stupid idea. He's awash in old loneliness he doesn't want to talk about, a faint (faint) sense of shame, the weird nostalgia of the whole thing, whatever the desire to kiss Kyna manifests itself as when she touches him--but hell, he's never going to kiss her. He might as well wrap his fingers around hers. ]

Don't be sorry. [ His voice is a little quieter, but there's still some cheer to it. ] S'a pretty good story.

[evocation]

[Kyna laces their fingers together, biting her lip. She's still not really sure what to do with that little undercurrent of desire that always seems to leak through the empathy bond. She likes Sam, and she's rapidly coming to trust him, and she doesn't know how to deal with those sort of feelings from someone she's actually close to. It scares her a little.

So she ignores them, oh so responsibly. Instead, she just squeezes his hand, lets that understanding and sympathy pour through instead.]

Yeah, it is pretty good. What about the other one? The one you said was long?

[withmeinparadise]

[ He'd rather just ignore them, given the choice. It's a hell of a lot less embarrassing than acknowledging them. You're here and I'm here and we're both pretending I don't look at you like a ninth-grader dying of infatuation--and for whatever reason, she just tolerates it. ]

It...ain't really a good story. [ What little shame he has sort of hiccups through his skin, along with something stubborn and sad all at once, an amorphous not-quite-grief. ] Tell you another time, maybe.

[evocation]

[That gets concern to flare up in her, though she tries to tamp it down. Her voice is gentler when she responds.]

Are you sure? It's okay if it isn't a great story. You can tell me.

[withmeinparadise]

Easy for you to say.

[ He's joking, an amused note in his voice that doesn't really come through under the mix of tension and--hell, what is that, guilt? grief?--that Kyna gets. Telling her means she'll never look at him without seeing possible fratricide again. Maybe he'd feel better, someone besides Nathan knowing--but saying it out loud risks a hell of a lot more than he's ready to lose.

He's too selfish for this shit, and he can't lie his way through it with Kyna's hand in his. ]

Maybe I'll tell you sometime.

[evocation]

Okay.

[She's not going to push, not when she's picking up those emotions from him. It's not her place to push, but she's still worried. Kyna hesitates for a moment, looking away, suddenly fascinated by the fabric of the couch.]

Um... You know, if you ever need to talk about anything... I'm not going to judge you.

[withmeinparadise]

[ Sam squeezes her hand and lets go, reaching up to push his hair back from his face. ]

I know.

[ He doesn't, as it happens, and he doesn't want her to feel that coming though his palm--but he's been looking down at her, so maybe his hair needs to be pushed back, too. It's the best cover he's got at hand, anyway. ]

When I'm ready to go to confession, I'll call you up.

[ A super trustworthy statement, considering that she's experienced the cognitive dissonance of what he says and what he feels, but maybe he's telling her the truth.

Maybe. ]

[evocation]

[It doesn't feel entirely truthful, but she's not sure. Whether it is or not, it doesn't feel right to argue, so she just lets him pull away.]

What, am I supposed to give you a bunch of Hail Marys or something?

[withmeinparadise]

Not a bad idea.

[ Though the teasing grin he flashes her is a little too wolfish for Hail Marys. ]

You wanna assign me penance for my sins, be my guest.

[evocation]

[She scoffs, swatting at his shoulder.]

Weren't you raised by nuns or something?