[center][img]https://i.imgur.com/ZPETHbP.png[/img] Collab between [@The Muse] and [@c3p-0h] [sub][b][h3]Previous Day[/h3][/b] Sometime around 1am | Location: The Royal Home[/sub] [i][h1]Part IV[/h1][/i] [hr][/center] Amaya’s regret was sharp and immediate as she watched the hurt reverberate through him. Her words struck him like a blade, and Flynn’s face tightened, a faint grimace passing over his expression before he glanced away. His entire body tensed around her, and the fire that had burned so fiercely in him just moments before seemed to flicker, nearly snuffed out. Like running full speed into a brick wall, she had forced him to face reality. The church. The prophecy. Their impending death. The way his heart ached for her, and how impossibly vast the distance between them could still feel despite how close she was now. He’d seen her layers peeled back one by one over the past couple months. He’d memorized her patterns and habits, watched her move like a ghost around him, always trying to slip away. He’d been carefully observant, intrigued, and took in whatever she allowed when he'd made an effort to know her. But this fire he felt—how could she possibly feel even a fraction of it? She’d shut him out at every turn until she had no choice but to let him closer. Yet, even now, she tried to create a boundary. She didn't feel what he felt. She couldn't have, and the ache in his chest grew sharper. With a growing sense of clarity, he realized that the feelings he couldn’t name had been shaped by what she perceived to be her duty. His fingers curled along her face, tempted to pull away entirely. But then he looked at her again, feeling the way she leaned into him. Her words didn't match her body language. She'd wrapped herself around him, softened against him, even made the initial move. He could still hear her breathless under his touch, that intoxicating sound he had the power to command from her. It didn't feel like obligation, duty or pity that had driven her. It felt real. Then again, Nyla had felt real too—bright and fleeting, burning hot and burning out. Had it really been so easy for him to forget her and the way she reciprocated his passion equally? His heart cracked at the thought. Was he just desperate for something—someone—to hold onto? Reality had sobered him in an instant. The crack in his heart widened, but still he couldn’t bring himself to let Amaya go. She felt like glass in his hands—fragile, delicate, and so beautifully breakable. He could shatter her if he wasn’t careful, and she’d leave him bloody for it in return. He finally exhaled, a quiet, defeated sound. [color=337d71]“I suppose so,”[/color] he murmured, the heat in his voice gone, replaced with a flat, hollow tone. It made Amaya want to shrink into herself, into [i]him,[/i] and pull the poison of her words out of the air. He eased back into the couch, creating a small distance between their bodies, his hand slipping from her face to rest on her hips again—holding on just enough to keep her there but not enough to feel like a demand. Her hands didn’t follow him. They were empty with the space he used to fill, before she pulled them back towards her own body. His eyes were somber, reflecting a quiet sadness as he resigned himself to the idea that maybe this was as close as she’d ever let him get. [color=337d71]“Is that why you're here?”[/color] he asked, refusing to retreat back to walking on eggshells. His gaze dipped to where she was settled in his lap before lifting to meet her piercing blue eyes, bracing himself for whatever distance she might try to wedge between them. Some part of Amaya, larger than she wanted to admit, felt betrayed that he’d proven her right. For all his passion and assurances, a single sentence had undone him. His question hurt – but it was a fair one, wasn’t it? Why had she said what she’d said, if not to make him pull away? Shame and guilt smothered her as the ache in her chest grew. Amaya looked in his eyes and it was like seeing her own heart break. The parts of her that he no longer touched grew cold. It was painfully familiar. In her desperation to know when and how this would all be ruined, she’d done it herself. Her gaze dropped. The silence grew like the distance between them, punctuated by the crackling fire as it filled the air with smoke. Finally she managed a shake of her head, so small it was nearly imperceptible. It didn’t feel like enough. [color=d15e5e]“I –”[/color] Amaya cut herself off, the words stuck in her throat. She didn’t know how to lie to him anymore, and anything she could possibly say felt wrong. It was inadequate, or an excuse, or an explanation that was too raw to give. She watched the slow rise and fall of his chest. She couldn’t look up at him and bear witness to the hurt she’d planted, the distance [i]she’d[/i] created. [color=d15e5e]“You didn’t deserve that.”[/color] It was weak and thin, like tissue paper held against the light of the moon. But it was the truest thing she could’ve said, even amongst all the thoughts she didn’t know how to voice. No matter how scared she was, Flynn had never once deserved her cruelty. [color=d15e5e]“I’m sorry.”[/color] His jaw clenched. He didn’t know what to say. The ache in his chest hadn’t faded, but seeing her fold under the weight of guilt felt worse than anything she could’ve said. Silently, he cursed himself for asking the question at all, for letting his pain spill out. Amaya was so very [i]tired.[/i] Every new hurt she’d gained today seemed to weigh her down all at once. She’d almost forgotten them earlier, when she’d been nearly asleep in his arms. The pain in her chest solidified. There was a burning weight behind her eyes. And she was still sitting on Flynn’s lap, like she belonged in his space. She tried to swallow her emotions – at least long enough to remove herself and give him privacy. Careful not to touch him, Amaya pressed her hands into the couch and began to move away from him. He acted without thinking, his hand darting out to catch her wrist before she could get a leg out from under her. The motion was quick, firm enough to stop her retreat but gentle in its hold. [color=337d71]“Amaya,”[/color] he breathed her name like a plea, begging her not to move any further from him. His heart pounded fast against his ribs, his fingers wrapped gently around her wrist, careful despite the desperation in his touch. He realized too late that he hadn’t thought through what to do next. He just knew he couldn’t let her go—not like this. The thought of trying to sleep with this hanging between them felt unbearable. Not when his own barriers had been stripped away, too, leaving him raw and exposed. He couldn't rebuild them against her anymore—couldn’t even begin to try. Not when he found himself still craving her, even if she only stayed for the sake of duty. It would kill him, slowly and surely, but there were worse deaths than being beside her. He’d take it, even if every encounter left him bleeding. [color=337d71]“Please stay,”[/color] he whispered, the words weighted with more than just the physical act of keeping her there. [i]Stay when things got hard. Stay when it was messy and painful. Stay with him, in the moment, without closing herself off. Open herself to him. Let him in. Let him learn all the darkest parts of her. Give him the chance to stay before she made that choice for him by locking him out.[/i] She finally looked at him again and ice met the sea. Glistening and breakable, turbulent and relentless. His hand loosened around her wrist, giving her the freedom to move if she wanted, but his eyes never left hers. Amaya saw her own ache reflected. Her emotions swelled, threatening to drown her. Slowly, carefully, like she was mindful of all the ways they might break each other, Amaya looked down and gently pulled his hand from her wrist. She cradled its warmth in her lap, tracing her fingers lightly along the parts of him she’d seen but didn’t know. His skin, golden in the firelight. The calluses lining his fingers and palm. Faint scars and freckles that spoke of a full life under Aurelia’s sun. Flynn’s skin tingled where her fingertips drew patterns, warmth spreading through him like wildfire. He let her do as she pleased, hand relaxed in her grasp as he watched her—helplessly captivated. [color=d15e5e]“I grieve the loss of things before they’re gone.”[/color] The admission stung like frost, reminding her of silent halls and a vicious crown — of blood splattered across pristine snow. But she didn’t know what else to offer him. [color=d15e5e]“And this,”[/color] Amaya whispered, drifting her thumb along his knuckles. She looked back up at him, trying to be brave enough to meet his eyes. [color=d15e5e]“This will [i]hurt.[/i]”[/color] Her voice broke, choked by fear and grief as a heavy tear slipped down her cheek. He looked up at the sound of her voice, just in time to see the tear stream down her cheek. His chest clenched, a painful, powerless feeling wrapping tightly around his heart. She wasn’t wrong—it would hurt, especially if they couldn’t find a cure before the clergy decided that their time was up. It hurt even before he’d found himself wrapped around her finger, and now it felt like there was even more at stake—more to lose if he let himself fail. But for him, the hurt felt worth it. Whatever time they had left, he'd take every moment she offered. Straightening, he leaned in and lifted his free hand to her face. His thumb swept over her cheek, catching the tear, and he kissed the trail it left behind—slow and unhurried. Pulling back just enough to meet her eyes, his fingers lingered along her jawline, tracing the delicate angles of her face. [color=337d71]“Then let it,”[/color] he whispered, silently asking her to take his hand and leap off the cliff of uncertainty with him. Take the risk. They'd already lost so much. What else could they possibly have to lose, except each other? His heart pounded rapidly against his ribs, vulnerable and bracing for more of that painful rejection he wasn't used to. But still, Flynn refused to retreat. Whatever the church’s aims—whatever cruel plan had brought them here—he couldn’t bring himself to entirely hate it anymore. Not when it had led him to her. He’d never known someone quite like her—someone who could make him feel so raw and exposed while still leaving him wanting more. So he’d let it hurt. They could hurt together. For a moment, he thought, perhaps the Goddesses had truly fated them together after all. [color=337d71]“Stay.”[/color] It wasn’t quite a demand, but it slipped out before he could think better of it. Then he kissed her, pouring all his longing into that gentle touch. He pulled back just a fraction, his breath brushing her lips as he whispered, [color=337d71]“Let me stay.”[/color] [i]Let him mend her when it hurt. Let him kiss every broken piece of her. Let him hold and protect her. Let him love her.[/i] Eyes shut, Amaya’s dark world was only the sound of his plea, warm and low like the crackle of the fire. It was only the breath he gave her, the gentle way he cupped her face in his hand. [i]His hand[/i]… filled with a heat that he wielded as second nature. He held it so lightly against her, little more than a touch when before it’d been firm and sure. It was like he’d finally realized he might burn her – or perhaps that she might leave him numb and bloodless. But still, he held her. Amaya found herself tilting her head again, leaning into it. Her eyebrows pulled together, face tensing as she tried to fight back another wave of emotion. A shuddering breath escaped. Flynn asked too much of her. So much of her life had been about weathering one pain after another. Hadn’t that been enough? Wasn’t it cruelty to ask her to [i]choose[/i] to bear one that could very well shatter her? Amaya turned her face into his touch, feeling the roughness of his calluses scratch against the delicate skin of her cheek. Her lips were still and soft against his palm. When she opened her eyes and let light back into her world, it remained as it was – small, fragile, and composed solely of Flynn. He was beautiful in a way that stopped her heart. Or maybe he was just that moment between one beat and the next, the brief, quiet terror as she waited to see which would be her last. One day, that stillness would be all that was left. Slowly, she nodded. The sharp edges of his hand caught on the curve of her lips. Relief flooded through him, the tension in his shoulders finally easing. But Flynn watched her carefully, as he always did, looking for the words she couldn’t or wouldn’t say. There was more she wanted to say—he could feel it in the way she hesitated, how she shuddered against him, how her expression tightened. This was a small victory, but it felt bittersweet. Amaya leaned into his body, more cautiously than she’d done before. He knew she must have heard the way his heart pounded—steady but quick, almost frantic—but he didn’t care. His arms wrapped around her and Amaya let herself be thankful for it. In the absence of his warmth, a chill had seeped through the meager layer of her nightgown and deep below her skin. The fireplace simply couldn’t compare to his embrace. Sighing, she closed her eyes again and let him adjust the way they fit together. When he settled she pressed a kiss to the tender spot between his collarbone and neck. He closed his eyes, nerves alight and sparking in ways he couldn’t quite control. His hold on her tightened. All the better, she told herself, to chase away the cold. Nestling into him, she pressed herself closer in return. Amaya stayed, and tried not to count all the reasons to pull away.