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[ she's cold.
like the last time alisaie woke in one of these pods, at first, that cold is all she can feel. it sinks deep into her flesh, clings to her bones, and though she does not feel faint or hypothermic when she stumbles out of it, she nevertheless feels deeply chilled. her mind and memory feel fogged, and as she stands amidst the rows of pods she is confused, disoriented, until -
like a heavy weight, the realization crashes down.
alisaie does not think, she only moves, sweeping past the endless rows of pods as quickly as her trembling, aching legs will carry her, her heart beating wildly in her throat. she must get home. she must find them.
how long as it been? memory flashes in the back of her mind, images of home, of where she has been and what she has been doing and gods, the entire time she had forgotten this place, she had forgotten her home here, and peo, and prompto. a cold hand squeezes her heart tightly, painfully, as years of longing begin to set in at once, for though she had not remembered him then, she remembers him now, and all the time that has passed since last she set eyes on his beloved face. she's desperate now, to throw herself into his arms, but moreover she is.. afraid. how long has she been asleep? what if he is sleeping as well, no longer here? what if he has moved on? panic clutches her insides relentlessly.
but she does not need to get home. when alisaie turns the corner to the exit, he's there - she would recognize that hair anywhere, even if it looks a little less ostentatious than usual (and a little darker?), and her heart, that had been pounding hard, now stills. ]
Prompto -
[ his name feels so sweet on her tongue, riding on a rasping breath, but it's only the briefest of moments before she's moving again, surging into his arms, her hands clasping his jaw to pull him into a hard, needy, desperate kiss. ]
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The thought is petrifying, like an electric shock to his heart, and thankfully, the pancakes are almost done cooking. Hopefully the smell has already wafted up to their room to reassure her of his presence, but still...he should have at least said something...
Right?
That he still isn't sure is the worst part of all.
Quickly, then, he finds a tray, loading it up with fresh pancakes and syrup that have stayed on the shelves. There is no fresh fruit or juice in the house, so she'll have to settle for a glass of water, and he nearly trips over himself in his eagerness to get back up the stairs to her.
But it's not until he reaches the doorway that he hears the sounds of her sobs, and his heart sinks down into the pit of his stomach, shrinking and writhing. She's...she's crying, weeping, in a way he hasn't often seen her do, and it tugs in his very soul.
Without hesitating, he sets down the tray of pancakes on the dresser, hurries over to her, and folds her up into his arms. ]
I'm here. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry...
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she'll manage. she must. but right now she has to cry, she has to allow herself to feel the pain, to expel it.
the last thing she expects is the sudden grasp of his arms around her, his voice in her ear, the wonderful, familiar heat of his body. it's a shock, and she gasps audibly through the cracking sound of her sobs. at first she tenses, her hands at his chest to push him away. he shouldn't. she does not want his pity, she does not want him to feel guilty for all that has happened, because it is not his fault any more than it is hers, but feeling his arms around her - she can hardly bear it for all it reminds her of what she stands to lose. she doesn't want to hope where there is none.
but how can she resist it? he's so warm, his arms are so strong and familiar and she feels her heart breaking all over again. pressing her face into his collar, alisaie curls all of herself against him, into him, her hands grasping tightly in his shirt, her tears spilling freely. ]
I- I'm sorry -
[ she croaks through her sobs, her eyes squeezed shut. ]
You don't.. you d-don't have to..
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[ He murmurs back, a sob caught in his throat, as he holds her near, stroking her hair and inhaling the scent of her hair. It isn't fair. It sure as hell isn't fair, not to Alisaie, not to Prompto, and not to Cindy who still slumbers on, that the trappings of this world have caught them in this tangled web. He is no closure to knowing what to do than when he tossed and turned the night before, but he does know that holding her like this feels right. That even those they have changed and grown, they still somehow fit against one another so perfectly, two halves of a greater whole. The love he had for her didn't flicker out when he had been on Eos. It had merely gone dormant, and it has been stoked back to life, slowly but surely, since he woke up in this place once more.
It isn't fair, and he shouldn't allow himself this, the comfort that comes from holding her, the peace. But when he lets his eyelids fall shut, nothing else matters but her, and being here for her in her moment of pain, because he wants to be. ]
I want to.
[ He repeats. He isn't here because he feels sorry for her or because he feels obligated. He's here because he still loves her, her fire and her brass and her unyielding heart. ]
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still, for his own good she knows that she should not allow this, she knows that he does not need this burden when he has a terrible choice already to make. part of her is tempted to cling that much more tightly, to fight for his heart, to fight for what is theirs, but that would.. that would not be right. she should not sway him. she should not convince him. even if she fought and won she would never know if his heart was entirely true, and like as not, neither would he. this is not something she can force or strongarm, much as it might be in her nature to.
nevertheless she cannot resist his arms, not when her heart is aching so fiercely, not when his voice is what soothes her most in this moment. she breathes in the scent of his skin, and bittersweet though the feeling might be it calms her even as it breaks her heart, and soon enough she has cried all of the tears she is capable of, emptied her soul and her heart. as she falls slack, her breathing begins to slow, and then to even out, though her eyes sting and itch and her nose and ears feel stuffed.
at last she pulls back, scrubbing at her red-rimmed eyes with her hands, her face pale and blotchy, the collar of his sleeping shirt soaked through. alisaie sniffs, and breathes, and sits up a little straighter, clasping her hands tightly in her lap, keeping her distance now, allowing him his space, though the heat of him that still clings to her clothing is sweetly alluring.
she wishes he had not seen that.. ]
I'm all right.
[ she says, and hiccups, pulling in another deep breath. ]
I'll be fine.
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He searches her face for a moment, silent, before his gaze falls away and over to the pancakes waiting on the dresser. ]
...made one of your old faves. Been awhile, but it all came back to me, just like riding a bike, heh...
[ But now pancakes hardly seem like enough to make up for all the grief and anguish he has caused her. Even if he decides it's okay to be with her again, will she even want him? After this betrayal, could there still be love for him in her heart? ]
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she can't help it. she laughs, or something like it - the sound is hollow and brief and mirthless, but it just seems so.. absurd, in the face of this great upheaval. pancakes are so simple and easy, one small part of their lives that had been common and integral, it almost feels like trying to put a bandaid on a gushing wound.
of course, that isn't how he meant it. surely it was a simple gesture of kindness, of peace, even if it feels like another little cut. he made pancakes for her all the time, served them in bed with a smile on his face and a kiss to follow. though the gesture is sweet, it reminds her of what is not coming with it, that once always did. ]
.. pancakes?
[ she exhales, flicking her gaze to the plate on the dresser. they've no doubt cooled by now, but they still smell sweet. ]
Thank you. You.. did not have to.
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...I know. But I wanted to.
[ He emphasizes that again, that he did it because he wanted to, not because he had to or because he felt sorry. None of this is done out of pity, but love, even if he struggles with...exactly what that entails.
After a lingering moment, he rises, clearing his throat in a vain attempt to cut the tension that is thick upon the air. ]
Um, think I'm gonna hit the shower...yeah.
[ He can't think of anything else to say. What will they do after that? He...he doesn't know. But for now, a hot shower sounds amazing, and with any luck, maybe it will bring him some clarity. ]
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that is the question, and over a week later, alisaie still does not have the answer to it. they fall into something of a routine, not unlike their usual one, and yet so vastly different. it is a farce, the framework of what they once had, but without all of the filling that made it what it was, that made it real, and special, and intimate. he will not watch her change, nor will he change in front of her. they do not reach for one another in bed, she does not wake up tangled in his octopus limbs, or with her arm thrown over his face. they do not even always eat together, and when they do it is silent and strained, their conversation civil but strained. they no longer know how to exist together, not even as friends, barely as acquaintances.
every day it tears at her already wounded, bleeding heart.
she settles back into life on el nysa, back into work. the knightryders welcome her back into their ranks without question, she remembers all of her old haunts, her favorite bakeries, the walking trails she took, but everything still feels.. empty. prompto was always a warm presence in her heart, even when they were not physically together the thought of him made her smile - knowing that she would go home to him every night, able to complain about the stress of the day, or tell him an amusing story before they fell into bed together, tangled up.. it gave her days meaning. now she dreads returning to their little home, she stays at work as late as possible, she spends more time outdoors, or in the library, anything to avoid the tension and heartbreak that weighs heavy on her the moment she passes through that door.
to think, this home had once brought her so much joy..
but it isn't only prompto that weighs on her heart. everyone is gone. her friends. her family. there is no one that she can talk to about what she is feeling, how she is hurting, there is no real outlet for the pain. it stagnates, she suffers, and every day she hopes it will be the day that prompto will finally give her the answer to the question they both know needs fulfilling, that neither of them particularly want to address, but that they must.
but he gives her no answer. sometimes, when she looks into his eyes, she thinks that he is about to tell her, that what he wants to say is right there behind his lips, and her guts twist up in terrible anticipation.. but then the moment passes, and he makes an offhand comment about his day, or their dinner, or the weather.
she is calm at first, because she does not want to push him, she cannot push him, this is something he must decide for himself, but as time wears on, her patience grows thin. it is agony, living this way, being close enough to touch him, yet feeling a thousand malms away, seeing all the familiarity in him, yet feeling still that he is a stranger to her, someone she does not know.
at last the tension snaps like a dry twig over dinner, when prompto hesitates over a sentence, like he has something important to say, then once more swerves around the topic and asks her how her day had gone, instead. the tension in her body is evident, her jaw clenched and her eyes hard, and at last alisaie slams both fists hard onto the wooden table, rattling their plates. ]
That's enough -
[ she snaps, her knuckles white, fingernails biting into her own palms. ]
How can you ask me that? How can it matter how my day has gone?
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It's seemed inevitable for some time now, that something had to give. At first, he had been sure, so sure, that his feelings would sort themselves out in a matter of days, once he had all his memories back and he could have some time to reflect upon how he really felt. He was sure that between the two of them, they would find a way to reconcile, even if he didn't know what that would look like. After all, they always had been able to in the past. Even when he had broken her heart at the gala, and he had thought he had lost her, they were able to reconcile.
But this has created a schism between them unlike any that has ever come before, and what's worse, is the more he thinks about it, the more he realizes that it isn't his fault — not really. That doesn't make it any easier to bear, because he is still the one who betrayed her trust and love and fell for someone else, but no matter how he slices it, he didn't remember her. He couldn't have. That's how it goes when you're in stasis, and Alisaie had done just the same. She just...hadn't fallen in love with anyone else while she was home.
So the problem is still him, but it isn't his fault, and so he doesn't know how to fix it. He can't apologize, he can't take back what's been done, and he can't move forward knowing that Cindy is up there in stasis, and he promised he would come back to her after Insomnia was reclaimed and the sun rose again. Their relationship had been new and exciting, only a kiss to their name, and then Prompto wakes up here, remembering the intensity he shared with Alisaie, the love, the heat, the passion. He's never felt for anyone what he felt for her, but that was ten years ago, and while he loves her still, and he knows she needs an answer from him, how can he give it, unless he is absolutely, unequivocally decided?
So he puts it off. They go through the motions living their lives, side by side, but it isn't the same. It leaves him feeling hollow and empty, devoid of the spark of joy that he carries with him. But...still, this must be better, right? Better that they hang onto some semblance of peace and coexistence before the dam bursts?
But he's waited too long. Hesitated one too many times, avoided the elephant in the room, and now she's furious, her fists hitting the table as she shouts, and for a moment, all he can do is stare at her with quiet desperation as he sets his fork down on his plate.
He's asked for too much long. She can't wait any longer, but he still doesn't have an answer for her. ]
A-Alisaie, c'mon...can we do this...later? After dinner?
[ He has no room to ask for this, and he regrets it immediately. ]
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After dinner?
[ she retorts, her voice a sharp bite. ]
Why not tomorrow, then? Or next week? Or in another ten years?
[ she can't stand it. the dam is giving way, these long days have been torture on her, looking at him, living beside him, knowing that his heart is no longer hers, knowing that she is utterly, completely alone. and honestly, whether it is fair or not, the fact that he needs this much time - the fact that he needs any time at all - to decide, cuts deeply.
the prompto she had known would not have hesitated. he would have loved her completely, fully, he wouldn't have had to choose at all, because his choice would always be her. that was the promise that they had made to one another. that he wavers at all in coming back to her, in chasing what they had.. it hurts in a way she's not sure will ever heal, and undermines the trust she had so painstakingly built with him. the longer he makes her wait, with each and every day, the more she begins to think that his love for her might never have been so strong and pure and and fierce as she had been so sure it was. cynicism comes naturally to her, and it is all too easy to be sure of it.
shoving her plate aside, alisaie rises, her face alight with pain and fury. ]
I will not wait forever, Prompto. I should not have to wait at all. I can't do this anymore.
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[ But she's firing like a pistol, her words sharp and barbed, and he deserves every single one of them. He's made her wait way too long. But what else could he do? Give her an answer he didn't mean, or one that he might regret? Gods, what is he even supposed to do here?
She isn't the only one breaking like a dam, and the pain that has been festering in his heart for these past weeks begins to boil and bubble over, spilling into his blood and bones. He rises, too, an unusual heat in his expression that is not often there. It takes a lot to make Prompto truly angry, and it wouldn't be accurate to say that Alisaie is the cause. He isn't mad at her — or, well, he is, but only insofar that he is mad at this whole shitty situation that they have to endure, purely because of the whims of this world and those that bring them here.
He shouldn't — he should keep himself in check, stay calm, try to talk through their feelings rather than shout, but she's obviously not going for that, so why should he? Why should he? ]
What do you want me to say? You don't want to hear me say I'm sorry, even though I clearly have something to be sorry for, since you've been treating me like some kind of traitor since the moment I told you the truth!
[ Doesn't she think he beats himself for it enough already? That his heart has ached like a disease since the moment he realized what had happened? What does she want him to say? If he told her he still loves her at this point, would that even be enough? ]
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[ disbelief flashes over her expression, but it does little enough to quell her anger, which only seems to grow stronger once it passes. she rounds the table to meet him, fire in her eyes, her fists still tightly clenched. ]
That is always your problem, isn't it? You assume to know what I am feeling, you don't ask -
[ ever since they met he has been this way, quick to assume that she is always thinking the worst, that she is always blaming him, thinking little of him - is that what he thinks when he sees her? that she is cruel and hateful, that she thinks this way of him, always? ]
I do not want an apology, if you would talk with me you would know that, but you would rather hide, and put it off, and tuck away everything that is difficult and painful because it is easier than facing the truth!
[ it's a truthful enough problem, one they have always struggled with, but she is getting away from the point, and she knows it. a frustrated sound catches in her throat, and she shakes her head. ]
I do not want you to be sorry, I want you to give me an answer!
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[ Sure, he's been going through the motions in this awkward coexistence they had made, but so has she. She hasn't tried to start a conversation to figure out what they should do, but it should fall to him, of course it should fall to him, because he's the one who caused this, he's the one who did this, who broke her heart and stomped on it and kicked it to the curb.
Why did she ever love him to begin with? When he's like this? All he ever does is hurt her. Before, and now. Time and again she has had to put up with so much heartache because of him. Wouldn't she be happier if he just left?
...He tried that, once. He remembers the look in her eyes that night, when he had given her ring back to her, and he had left her at the gala. That was so long ago now, yet he feels just as young and inexperienced now as he did then. ]
You don't think I want to give you an answer? I've been tryin' to figure out what to tell you since the second I woke back up here, but guess what! I still don't know. You deserved an answer on day one but I—I'm still...
[ Conflicted. Broken. Guilty. Nothing has gotten better. It has only grown worse. ]
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[ she shouts, her voice pitching higher, her face flushing hotly. painful though anger might be, by the gods it does feel good to vent it.. ]
But it seems all the time in the world would not be enough! You would keep me waiting forever rather than make a decision!
[ she isn't being fair, and she knows it, but seven hells she is furious, and hurting; alisaie has ever been quick to fly off when provoked, and anger is her first reaction to pain. the deeper the pain, the hotter her fury burns. it does not make it right, but in this moment she cannot help herself, it's spilling out of her like pus from a festering boil, she can hold it in no longer.
glowering, she tips even nearer still, her eyes sparking like flint. ]
So is that it, then? You still have nothing at all to give me? Nothing to say? After all we have been through, together?
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[ Of course he does. He has so much, so much is threatens to suffocate him, and yet none of it feels fair. But then again, is any of what they're saying now fair? It isn't. It's painful, it cuts, it rends. He so rarely get heated like this, but when he does, it floods him with fire. She draws nearer still, and he doesn't back down, the line in his brow hard and sharp, his eyes burning and fierce as they lock dead-on with her own. ]
I know you're hurt, but — but so am I! You know what happened right before I woke up here? I watched my best friend walk off to die so the light could return to Eos. You know how badly I wanted to talk to you about it? But I can't talk to you about anything, because I'm afraid of telling you something you don't want to hear. Don't act like I'm the only one who hides things that are painful and difficult!
[ But once again, they are getting away from the point, so he redirects himself, his voice lowering to smoldering embers that will burst to life in an instant if provoked. ]
You want an answer? Fine. I still love you, I still love you more than anything, but even if I don't love her that doesn't change the fact that if she wakes up someday, I'm still gonna have to break her heart.
[ So, there it is, the conflict that has been weighing on his heart, bearing down upon his soul. She can judge him for it, she can hate him for it, and she should. But it's still there, and he doesn't know how to fix it. ]
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and she asked for it, she wanted him to speak up, but it still hits her like icewater dumped over her head, for a hundred reasons. not only are the things he's telling her a terrible revelation, but it.. stings, it stings badly that he thinks that she would not want to hear it. she is angry, and hurt, but how could he ever think that she would be so cruel and callous as to be ambivalent to his pain?
there's so much she wants to say, she has answers to all of it, but she can hardly decide where to begin - ]
Prompto, I -
[ she starts, her voice lower, cracking, her expression more stricken than angry. ]
Why would you.. why would you think I would not want to hear about that? About any of that?
[ noctis - gods - she had not known him as closely as prompto had, of course, not by a long, long ways, but he was still her friend, and moreover, she knows how very important he is to prompto. he knows that she knows. how could he think that even through all of this she would not be sympathetic and understanding? all of this is so different from what she had expected to hear, from what she had thought he meant when he told her everything. she's confused, and reeling. ]
If you love me you would know that - that I would never.. I would never think that - how many times have I said that it is not for you to decide what I want to hear? When have I ever turned you away when you needed me? How much have you forgotten, that you would think so - so lowly of me..
[ she shakes her head, her brows drawn and her heart in her throat. ]
I.. I-I'm sorry. You should have told me..
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verse ii
[ Of course he does. He has so much, so much is threatens to suffocate him, and yet none of it feels fair. But then again, is any of what they're saying now fair? It isn't. It's painful, it cuts, it rends. He so rarely get heated like this, but when he does, it floods him with fire. She draws nearer still, and he doesn't back down, the line in his brow hard and sharp, his eyes burning and fierce as they lock dead-on with her own. ]
You want an answer? Fine. I still love you, I still love you more than anything, but even if I don't love her that doesn't change the fact that if she wakes up someday, I'm still gonna have to break her heart.
[ So, there it is, the conflict that has been weighing on his heart, bearing down upon his soul. She can judge him for it, she can hate him for it, and she should. But it's still there, and he doesn't know how to fix it. ]
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but she can certainly be angry with him, and annoyed, and exasperated. she should be relieved to hear that he still loves her, and she is, but the anger is a tide that cannot be easily stopped, most especially when he meets her fully, challenging her with his eyes and body language. ]
That is all?
[ she scoffs, clearly shocked by his admission, but it cannot knock her ire away. ]
You have kept me waiting so long, for that? Why would I not be able to understand that? You let me think - all this time you let me think you did not love me any more -
[ and the injustice of that swells inside of her, urging her forward; gods, she could clock him right in the jaw, but she settles for prodding his chest hard with her fingers. ]
You allowed me to torment myself because you were too afraid to admit that?
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[ Does she have any idea how difficult that was to even say? And yet she's making light of it, like it's nothing. Like the anguish he has been going through these past few weeks is trivial, like if he had just told her this sooner, everything would be okay.
But it wouldn't, and it isn't. He needed time to make sure he still loved her, but even now that he has come to terms with it, that doesn't change the situation. Anyway, shouldn't she have known that all along anyway? How could she think he would stop loving her, even if he had feelings for someone else too?
She jabs at his chest and he doesn't relent, instead stepping nearer, their faces only inches apart, as he looks deep and hard into her eyes. ]
How could you think I didn't love you? Even if it's been ten years, even if I forgot, even if I liked someone else — how could I ever love anyone but you?
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Do you think I wanted to believe it? It certainly would not have been the first time you decided you knew what was best for me, and tried to throw away all we had built!
[ it's a low blow, she knows, but nevertheless a true one. she has not forgotten the gala, how such a wonderful night had gone so terribly wrong, how he had returned his ring and left her alone, assuming that she did not want him, when he could not have been more wrong. bringing it up now, flinging it in his face - it is no more right or fair than anything they have been saying, but they are angry, and tense, and old grievances rise to the surface so easily. ]
You can hardly stand to be around me, you hole yourself up to change your godsdamned shirt, you will not touch me, you will not even look at me - how can I feel wanted? How can I feel loved when you are positively repelled by me at every turn?
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Repelled by you? I wasn't doing that because I was repelled, I did it because I felt guilty! I did it because it had been ten damn years since we were last together, and it didn't come back to me as quickly as it did for you! Do you have any idea how long that is? Half your lifetime!
[ It hadn't even been a full day since he had kissed Cindy when he found himself back here with Alisaie. Did she expect him to fall back into it just like that? Every routine they had shared? He couldn't, not without betraying the feelings in his heart that he still had for another girl.
But now that feels almost...trivial. They're so close now that he can see himself reflected in her eyes, a warm feeling flooding his gut, even as the fire burns on, urging him to shout, to fight, to — ]
How could you — how could you throw that back in my face like that? You — you're so —
[ He makes a strangled, frustrated sound, fists balled at his side. He's so, so angry, so frustrated, infuriated, with himself, with her, with this whole goddamn situation — so you know what? To hell with it. Why is he fighting so hard against what he wants?
So he surges forward, closing the space between them, his hands grasping either side of her face to pull it up to his own, his mouth pressing to hers in a hot, hard, fiery kiss. ]
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but she does not have the change to throw those darts, because he is surging in toward her, across what scant little space remains between them, and a part of her had foreseen it. she had felt it, viscerally, deep in her gut where her consciousness does not reach, and so her face tips up to meet his own without voluntary thought. at first she is shocked, the breath stolen from her lungs, and she squeals in fury against his mouth, shoving hard at his chest. ]
How dare you -
[ she hisses against his lips, but the fight leaves her quickly, all but instantly, and with a low, desperate whine she presses back into the kiss, into him, tilting her head and seizing his shirt with both hands, her lips parted and her breath quick, her heart pounding fast in her throat.
this is not how she would have wanted it. none of this is how she wants anything to be, but gods, it does not matter, his mouth feels hot and sweet and good and she has missed it with every fiber of her being. these weeks have been so very long, harrowing and torturous, and however they might be mercilessly tearing into one another it feels so irresistibly good to do so, to sink her claws into him where she knows it hurts, to allow herself to bleed, battered by his words. they've needed so desperately to get it out.
it's a good kiss, hells below it is so good, but it is not sweet, or friendly, or loving - alisaie whines into his mouth, pressing against him with all of her strength, her teeth raking his lower lip hard, her hands pressing over his chest, drinking in the heat of his body, the hard planes of muscle beneath the thin cotton of his shirt. it is hardly a barrier at all, but it still feels like too much space between them. ]
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But right now, he isn't worrying about whether this is right, or wrong. All he's thinking about is how good this feels, and how much he wants her. The heat had built in his gut while he was diverted by their argument, but now it's all-consuming. She is all around him, filling every space, and he groans as she hooks into him, her hands fielding his body, her kiss rough and unforgiving. It's what he wants. These sharp, forceful, course movements and emotions.
With one hand, he pushes the remaining dishes on the table aside and onto the floor, before lifting her swiftly onto it and pressing up against her, their kiss burning with sweet fury as his tongue presses against her own, like he is issuing a challenge. She better not be gentle with him, because gentleness is he last thing he wants right now. ]
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he needs not fear gentleness, for there is nothing gentle about this - not in the way she moves or kisses him, not in her hard, harsh breaths, not in her roving touches.
she doesn't care. no, it might not be what they both would have wanted, but it is certainly better than nothing, and a far cry from the cold distance they have kept these long weeks. every night spent in that bed beside him, so near to him - near enough to smell his skin yet unable to touch him - had been torture, every shower spent alone, every morning waking to an empty bed, or leaving early before he had even risen without waking him, without saying a word.. compared with all of that, that horrible loneliness and grief and self-loathing, this feels like heaven. like all she has ever wanted, and waited for.
impatient and greedy, alisaie presses both hands beneath his shirt, the fabric rucking around her wrists as she gropes hungrily, chasing the heat under his skin. he's thicker than she remembers, stronger and broader but still familiar, still a map that she knows so intimately. her tongue lashes against his own, their kiss like a battle, all teeth and harsh breaths and fighting for territory and dominance. their argument has not ended, it has only transitioned into something different, something more, something easier. alisaie can fight far more skillfully and aggressively with her body than she can with her words, physicality has always come to her far more easily than conversation; all of her pain and fury are out, poured into the ferocity of her kiss, into the hard drag of her nails against his skin, into the desperate grind of her hips to his and the breathless, ravening sounds that escape between their mouths. ]
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