en natt så kall och månen den var klar

And it's there—that cold wedge of darkness between them, an entire glacier spanning nothing more than an inch of cold, night air. He could practically feel it between them, crawling in to claim the warm space he'd abandoned, pushing them apart. And it was his fault. It was his fault, because he'd moved in the first place, pity and empathy only driving the dagger deeper into her heart. His fault, because he'd touched, his fault, because now he pulled back. White fell like a veil before his eyes. Could he ever do anything right?

"No one ever does."

Idiot.

He glanced down from the sky at her, eyes downcast, trailing figures in the sand. Pretentious bastard. There were many things he wanted to call himself, but none quite fit the bill of how hard he felt like kicking himself. "At least not as much as we like to think we do," he managed to say, a faint, self-deprecating smile curving his dark lips. She saved herself from having to listen to more of his rambling, about how you could only ever know what you meant but not foresee how it would be taken, though, by speaking; "You don't realize the effect you have on me, Mauja." I'm beginning to have a hunch. Still, his eyes remained kind, and soft, reflecting the distant stars. Honesty was better than disturbing advances, because words he could counter with words; actions, what could he do? Kick her away?

Fortunately, she recalled how badly it'd gone, because she remained where she was, isolated on her plot of sand as the invisible ice walls rose between them. It hurt him, to see her like that, to know that he'd hurt her, too—to know that he would keep hurting her, simply by virtue of his existence. He couldn't change for her. He couldn't change for anyone. He'd go around like this, forever, breaking hearts because he never knew to think deeply enough before doing, or opening his mouth.

"You are who I want. I like you how you are."

There was too much honesty in this.. in the desolation of her voice, and the crestfallen look she bore. Another humorless smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. "Even when I'm thoughtless and insensitive?" he asked, because what else could he say? He'd been through this before.. and rejection would always hurt, wouldn't it? He sighed again, but didn't take his eyes off her this time, but kept watching—trying to read the nuances of her face, gaze. Wanting to know just how deeply it ran, and how much it hurt.

"I'm sorry," he said after a moment, heaviness in his voice. It was the only thing he knew how to say, and it was completely useless.

Just like me.

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