and i know that none of it matters

Just like that, he returns to you. He reaches out and you fall tiredly into his embrace, pressing yourself closer to the warmth of his chest, all of the comfort that you find within the thrum of his wild heart. Just like that, the anger that had given way so easily to pain, to grief, dissipates, leaving within its wake a throbbing numbness within your chest. His words force a soft and short but breathless laugh, your mind flooding with answers that would only upset him, drive the two of you apart yet again. And so you remain silent, leaning in to his strength as if you are afraid of falling, as if you need him (you do, you know, the thought breaking the thin line of your lips into a secretive smile), as if he is the only thing keeping you from drowning. ‘If you just say the word, I’d hunt them down for you.’ There is an uncomfortable twist within your gut as his words begin to sink in. You cannot imagine him the man that he claims himself to be, washed in violence.

Cannot imagine that the boy, spun of childish devilry (the way he danced with his flames, smiled at you as if he knew your heart) would ever truly harm without his own reasons, not only yours, spoken out of anger, out of hurt, allowing him visions of your shame, your deepest regrets, all of the things you have tried to keep hidden as if not speaking of them would keep them from being any more real; cannot imagine that his words were said with any conviction. You cannot, and yet some sheltered part of you knows it to be true. You remember what it had been to see him fall, unable to stand, to see the blood, his blood, seeping from angry wounds. Beneath the fear, the rivulets of electric emotions that had overwhelmed you, there had been red-hot anger.

To think (just in those few moments before Ashamin had explained) that anyone had dared to harm him—even now your blood rushes, bitterly hot—you would have gone to the ends of the earth to see them suffer in turn. But he is different. He is different, and never would you allow him in harm’s way if you ever would have a say. You move against him, shaking your head gently in rebellion of his words, offers, promises, your eyes watering all over again. It would be a lie to say that you have never thought about it, never thought about harming them, stealing from them their very breath. But that is only thought (all you had to do was push, and he would have bled out, alone in the snow), only thought, not promises made for the sake of someone else’s skewed perception of happiness (what is the point of chasing a ghost? It would never bring her back, would never fix a thing). ‘You deserve him.’

Your head turns, gaze following his own until it finds your boy, still so diligently (obliviously) at work on a mound that is no less a shapeless mound than when he started, but a sense of pride fills you nonetheless. “I just hope I can be what he deserves.” For all of your imperfections, he is more than enough reason to try where you had already failed too many times. The silence that finds you is quiet in its contemplation, questions that had been asked and left unanswered crawling back into your focus. You cannot help the tentative bubble of curiosity that grows within, nearly cannot help it as you pull back from him slowly, head tilting upwards. A distinctive anxiousness grasps at your heart as your lips part, ears falling back in apprehension, uncertain of how you would be received. “I want to know what happened before.”

I want to know you.

as long as i'm inside this dream with you