evocation | ⚡ ML INBOX

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.

[ 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.

[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?

[ 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.

[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.

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.

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.

[ 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. ]

[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?

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.