itstillhurt | Songerein IC Inbox

( It helps. Of course it helps. Azula is always doing things that will help, while he stares on pathetically...

Is it fear causing that? Is he going to lose all of this because of fear, some day? Shealtiel wraps his arms back around Azula, and behind him, his good wings stretch out large and wide, the four of them curving inward in an attempt to shield Azula and himself further. It's added wind resistance, too, even if he can only manage it on one side.

Still, he squeezes tight, and as soon as the white wings cover one half of her vision, the falling sensation stops. Now, it's like floating, light and delicate, in that same blue sky. The world below them is still so small, and there's an overwhelming sense of safety, wonder, and comfort.

Shealtiel puffs out a little sigh, the tightness of his hug relaxing into a more comfortable squeeze as he blinks hesitantly over Azula's shoulders. )

...Is it over? Are we fine now?

[Despite her efforts, she can still feel them plummeting, and she doesn't know if she's even doing anything. The feeling of him clutching at her isn't helping, it's constricting, constraining, like she's being weighed down. She has to restrain the urge to shove him away, to try to save herself, especially as the wings suddenly emerge and begin to fold around them, obstructing her vision.

She resists the impulse. She has to hang on for this to work. Her fingers dig into his shoulders as she tries to push as much power as she can into the fire jets-]

[...And then the entire tone of the dream seems to shift. Even the air feels softer. Safer.

And the air is no longer rushing past. Instead, they seem to be... floating.]

So it seems.

[She relaxes her own grip as he does, suddenly acutely aware of how close they are. After a moment of awkward silence, one of those rare moments when she's at a loss for what to say, she finally manages-]

...you're flying.

[-an incredibly insightful observation.]

...I don't think this counts as flying.

( That's what he finally replies after a moment, sighing a quiet breath of an exhale. His good wings flex slightly, and sure enough, it doesn't change a thing about where they are in this expanse of sky. His hug loosens further, too, so that he can pull back enough to see Azula's face, and they still stay floating, not falling.

But, at the very least, Shealtiel looks relieved. )

Thanks, though. ...For helping me with all of that. I get stupid nightmares like that all the time.

[She glances down at the ground below them with a frown.]

Semantics aside, we're not falling.

[When she looks back up, she finds him staring directly at her, and is once again struck by how close they are. It's... distracting. Uncomfortable.

Not entirely uncomfortable. More like... odd. She expects a flood of unpleasant memories, of an awkward dance gone wrong back in the city, of a horrible night at a beach party or an even worse day at a Fire Nation prison, but there's nothing but the odd, confusing proximity.

It occurs to her entirely too late that she should probably stop staring and say something. Her voice is a bit shakier than she means for it to be when she speaks, glancing at the ground again.]

Perhaps you shouldn't thank me prematurely, I have no plan past this point.

( Similar thoughts are going through Shealtiel's mind. His heart feels like it's going to beat so far out of his chest that he might wake up and ruin the moment, and he's afraid that releasing Azula might spell a fall for the both of them. So, he keeps his arms around her, even if loosely, his fingers of his left hand slipping just slightly in his deep thought. )

...Isn't it fine to stay like this?

( When he speaks, it's softly, barely above a whisper. His own heartbeat pounds in his ears loudly enough to cover that silence, and as though he realizes what he says only after he says it, he laughs sheepishly, looking to the side to hide his flushed cheeks. )

I-I mean, it's just a dream, right? Nothing bad is happening.

[The confusion wasn't fading, exactly, but there was something pleasant about this, something... comfortable and relaxing. A lack of tension she rarely if ever felt, and she wasn't sure how to-

'Isn't it fine to stay like this?'

She stares at him again when he says that, stares for a long time. She barely even hears the second statement. What- what did he-

'You'll never deserve him. Never.'

Why would-

'Sooner or later, they all find out what you are. Then they leave.'

He hadn't- he never-

'Sorry? You're sorry? That's what you said before you nearly murdered him!'

She was right. She was right, she didn't deserve- she couldn't- she would-

-She reaches down and grabs his leg with both hands, wrenching to one side with the unflinching ease of a machine-
-Without warning, she stops, spins him around her, and hurls him toward the buildings below-

Her vision begins to blur again as she stares wordlessly at him. The relaxation she'd felt moments earlier, that odd comfort she'd felt up here with him, is rapidly fading. Her muscles are tensing again, her heartrate spiking, adrenaline surging. And suddenly, in a blind panic, she shoves him from her, falling back through the open air and away from him.

A moment later, she vanishes from the dream and wakes up.]

Edited 2024-05-29 04:47 (UTC)

A— wait!

( But it's too late. She pushes him away, and it's not just her that falls. He does, too, his wings only causing him to spiral, his hand reaching out to the falling form of Azula and calling her name, but she vanishes right before him.

And he hits the ground, startling awake with a panicked gasp, hands gripping at his chest as he struggles to calm himself.

To be honest, he doesn't know how to react to that. Doesn't know what to do. Had... he said something wrong? Had he done something wrong?

Wasn't that the real Azula? And not just a dream...? )

[She sits bolt upright in bed, wipes a hand across her forehead, blinks-

Tears. She'd been- ugh, insufferable. Ridiculous. Weak. Always so weak when it mattered most.

And-

Shealtiel.

Spirits, what was she going to do about him? As if she hadn't done enough to push him away, now she'd done it literally, and for what? For some... ridiculous bout of inexplicable panic? Some irrational fear of hurting him?

It's not irrational, though, is it?

Well. She was doomed to drive him away anyway, after all, she supposes it's better it happen sooner rather than later.

...and yet the thought stabs at her unreasonably. Insistently. A nagging clenching feeling in her chest, and she can't seem to make it stop. More sleep, clearly, isn't happening. She gets up, scrubs at her face, and starts pacing around her treehouse, debating. It doesn't help.]

( His feet lead him outside before he can even register what he's doing. He doesn't know what he's doing, really— is he going to run away? Is he going to reach out to Azula? But as the door clicks behind him, Shealtiel gazes across to the other treehouse, as if he wants to see if Azula might be up, too. If she might be doing the same thing as him.

Or if she's going to avoid him, now. )

[When she sees him step outside, her initial impulse is to do just that- to leave him in peace. Perhaps he'll- she's not sure what. Rethink things. Decide she's not worth the pain, like everybody eventually does.

And then he turns and looks directly at her treehouse, and another wave of clenching discomfort rises in her chest again. If she was near him, she would hurt him. If she avoided him, she would hurt him. What is she supposed to do here? What's 'right?' It's the one thing she was never good at, something she never even cared about until recently, how is she supposed to...

... She finds herself wishing Zuko was available to ask, which is a horrifying prospect in its own right.

She doesn't know. She hates not knowing. She hates how bad at this she is. She hates having to ignore her usual instincts, hates knowing that they're probably wrong, hates feeling like she's just going to hurt him either way. Hates caring about hurting him. Hates the thought of losing him.

She hates the thought of losing him.

She growls in frustration as she hastily slips on proper clothing and heads outside to intercept him.]

( The moment Azula moves to step outside, she'll be greeted by Shealtiel, standing with his hand reaching out like he was just about to knock. Flinching back at the shock of the door just opening before he could, he stammers.

He sure isn't in proper clothing. Just a t-shirt and some sleep pants... )

Azula! Uh, hi.

( Great, real fucking smooth delivery. God. He hates himself. Bringing that hand back, he rubs at the back of his neck, glancing to the side. )

Er, were you just leaving...?

[She freezes with the door half-open, eyes wide, staring. Clearly, she was not expecting him to come to her- once again, she assumes that she would have upset him, alienated him, driven him away, and once again he's there anyway. Persistent. Loyal, even though she's done nothing to earn it.

You'll never deserve him.

Shut up.]

...I-

[She's anxious. No, not anxious, terrified.

It's ridiculous. She's faced down the most powerful bender in the world. Hostile armies. The finest warriors of all four nations. She orchestrated a bloodless coup of the most powerful and fortified city on the planet without breaking stride. She faced down the Mother of Faces without even flinching.

So why- why would this, of all things, have her adrenaline pumping, her heart racing? Why can't she even find it in her to speak? Why was this- this silly, ridiculous man, who had never once threatened her, why was he the thing that had her too panicked to talk?]

...I saw you come outside. I was... concerned.

( So she came outside for him?

He's not sure whether he should be relieved or not, but that doesn't stop the feeling from dripping into his chest, a soothing warmth over the cooling panic of the rest of his thoughts. Shealtiel's hands are in front of himself now, and he doesn't realize he's practically wringing them as he things, smooth right hand running roughly over his scarred left. )

I just—

( He has to say something. He crossed a line, he thinks. That has to be it. That has to be why she pushed him away, why they both fell, why that dream had to come to an end. But he can't look at her right now, while he's worrying about this. Can't get past the overwhelming anxiety that has him about half ready to vomit. He squeezes at his own fingers. )

I'm sorry. For...— If I was too much.

Don't be absurd.

[Quickly. A little too quickly, a little too snappishly. Urgh. Control yourself for one conversation, Azula, surely you can still manage that.]

I just-

[Why is she terrible at this? Why is she so terrible at just being normal for once?]

It doesn't matter. You did nothing wrong.

( It doesn't add up. Shealtiel hesitates, considering Azula's words as he continues to fidget with his own hands. If it really doesn't matter, if he really did nothing wrong, then— )

Why did you let go?

( His eyes are more cautious than they've ever been with her, before. Fingernails dig into the existing scars of his hand, his breathing slow. Cautious. )

...Why did you push me away, if I didn't do anything wrong?

Because I did, you ridiculous fool!

[It rips out of her before she can even think about it, harsh and snappish, and she takes a sharp shuddering breath to try to steady herself.

It doesn't help much.]

I attacked you, or did you forget? I broke your leg.

I already told you I didn't care about that!

( It wasn't the same. Wasn't the same as the intentional type of hurt people have inflicted on him. He brings a hand over his own chest as he says this, fingers curling into his shirt. )

Why are you trying to decide whether or not I should be hurt by that?! Isn't that up to me to decide?

Because it will happen again!

[There it is again. The clenching in her gut. The blurring of her vision. The seething discomfort that nothing ever seemed to-

- She manages not to yell, instead muffling it to a harsh, strained whimper. She's not even conscious that she lurches forward and grabs Shealtiel's shoulder the instant the joint snaps back into place, only realizing once the pain begins to subside that she's clinging to him rather roughly.-
-She doesn't remember making the decision to gently lean against him, pressing her side against his as she cries, but it happens all the same-
-His arms slip around her, bringing with them bewilderment, confusion, shame, but also an inexplicable relief, an odd pang she can't quite place-

...Nearly nothing, then.

"You'll never deserve him."]

Because that's what I do. That's all I've ever done. Hurt people. Defeated them. Conquered them.

[She takes a ragged breath and averts her gaze, if only to hide the traitorous tears that she can't control. Again.

She used to be so good at this. She used to smother these emotions as easily as breathing. Now, she can't even keep her voice from quavering with weakness when she speaks again.]

...made them leave.

...Pushing me away hurts, too.

( Shealtiel isn't sure what he's hoping to accomplish with this conversation. Is there even a goal? He's afraid, afraid and emotional, and so he reaches to try and grip Azula's shoulder, desperate for her to understand. )

It hurts more. I'm tired of being alone. I've hurt people before, too, and I know I'm nothing but a burden, but I...

( His voice wavers as he speaks, but his eyes look straight at Azula, not wanting to part. )

I want to work past that! Can't we work through things like this together? Aren't we friends? Can't we be... ( He cuts himself off there, though. )

Edited (I can't WORDS) 2024-06-18 05:55 (UTC)

['Pushing me away hurts, too.

Maddening. It was maddening. If she was near him, she'd hurt him. If she stayed away from him, she'd hurt him. She really was incapable of anything else.

And he called himself a burden.]

Why? Why would you want to subject yourself to-

[She stops herself short, wiping at her eyes irritably, not quite able to meet his gaze.]

You've had enough people hurt you in your life, you deserve-

[Kindness.

It sticks in her throat. The sincerity, the vulnerability, it still feels unnatural, still makes every instinct scream at her to hide it, to deny it, to protect the weakness, and she can't even make herself finish the sentence.

Which only proves her point.]

I deserve to decide what I want for myself!

( Shealtiel is emotional, right now, and so he answers before he can think on it too much. The motion that follows is much the same, him trying to pull her into a hug, to tense as he places hands against her back and rests his chin on her shoulder. )

...And so do you.

( There's a pause, fearful. )

Right?

[At first, when he holds her, she doesn't resist- but she also doesn't move, doesn't respond at all, too stunned to do anything but stare blankly for a moment.

You'll never deserve him. Never.

It echoes through her mind, the taunting voice of a petulant child, and she can't unhear it, can't unthink it, can't seem to stop the rising swell of shame and panic, the sudden spike of her heartbeat until it hurts her chest and makes her throat clench, and she tries to keep her breathing even, tries to calm down, tries to ease the desperate terror, to quell the urge to run, to push him away again, to make him understand that he-

'Right?'

... sounds terrified. Not of her, exactly- no, that would be far too reasonable, the fool- he sounds terrified of what she might do or say next.

Ridiculous, ridiculous man.

Angel. Demon. Whatever he was.

She doesn't remember deciding to slip her arms around him in return, clutching tightly to him and burying her face in his shoulder. But she does notice how quickly it seems to drive the anxious panic away. Her breathing seems to come evenly to her again, her heartrate steadying, the tension fleeing her body- except her arms, which still cling to him a little too tightly, a little too urgently, fingers just on the verge of digging into his shoulders.]

( There's a relief that settles into his own body, as his hug is reciprocated. It means that he's relaxing, too, the tension leaving his shoulders, his face turning a little more against her shoulder as he hugs tighter. If he minds the urgent, tight way she's squeezing him, he doesn't show it at all.

After a moment, he speaks. )

...See? Isn't this fine? ( There's still a trace of fear, even behind the calm, that quiet worry of rejection— but they've come this far. )

Stop worrying about what I should or shouldn't think, what I do or don't deserve. ...Stupid.

( That last word is very soft, very fond. )

[That manages to elicit a small noise that's somewhere between a laugh and a sob. When she speaks, she manages at least a fraction of her normal composure, despite murmuring into his shoulder. It's the best she can manage.]

Perhaps if you were less pathetic I wouldn't have to.

[The gently mocking tone, however, slips away a moment later, and her voice sounds shaky again when she adds-]

Don't leave. You can't leave.

[She knows it's demanding, knows she has no right, knows he can't even control it, but it slips out anyway. Childish. Foolish.]

Songerein IC Inbox

no subject

1/2

2/2

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject