ifionlyhadthecourage | Awash: IC Contact

"I could have." There's an unsaid 'but where's the fun in that?' that he knows goes heard all the same. "The same could be said of you--perhaps if you had told me to wait, I might have considered it."

He cants his head gently to the side, but before Caramia can offer his inevitable disagreement, he continues.

"I'd been thinking," he starts, letting his eye fall back to the cup in front of him. It's his job to think. A lot has happened since they arrived here... from the furniture in the beginning, to the bogeyman now. And people have died... hell, kids have died. And when he thinks of the brushes with danger the two of them have had themselves, even if those who died seem to have returned... well, he can't say it bodes well for a stress-free future. Yet, if they go back... there's a very good chance Caramia won't remember any of this. But Kyrie's smile doesn't falter. "During the dance, I had a certain conversation..."

A pause. Then, with a quick glance back to Caramia:

"Dex spoke with me, briefly." Does he look pleased with himself? Probably.

"Inevitable" indeed, since Caramia instantly opens his mouth to begin bickering with Kyrie, obviously taking the bait that Kyrie laid for him. But this time, he isn't able to take it, which is probably a good thing, in hindsight, but surprising all the same.

"That's dangerous," he teases a bit, unaware of just how true of a statement that is. He's glad that he was called over here for an actual reason, at least. Rather, he was glad, but then Kyrie drops the "certain conversation" line with a long pause to boot. This makes Caramia's heart catch in his throat.

This is it. They're... they're finally going to talk about it. He is actually bringing up the fact that Caramia gave some semblance of a confession to Kyrie, and... that's terrifying? He doesn't know how he's supposed to address this. He never thought he had to so he didn't prepare himself. Now, he... He swallows heavily, opening his mouth and praying that he doesn't look like a completely flustered mess so he can try to respond with something that hopefully came out coherently, and--

...? Wait, what?

"S-sorry...?"

Hm... no, he definitely looks flustered. Sorry, buddy.

Kyrie isn't sorry, though. He might've been pleased with his effort to derail Caramia's train of thought, but as with any of his tricks, the reaction is the most satisfying part--and Caramia falls for it beautifully.

He can't help but laugh, leaning forward once more. This time, as he settles his chin over the back of his hand, his expression softens for just a moment. For as often as Caramia might fall into their easy rhythm of banter and teasing, it isn't common to catch him quite so unsure of himself, not since he'd gotten his courage... Like this, it's almost endearing.

"Dextera," he repeats, as if he needs to clarify. "He didn't seem to understand the concept of an anonymous vote... It seemed he was curious to know who had nominated him and Guren for the position of 'cutest couple.'"

What a weird topic to be on. Surely he'll have a point hiding in here somewhere.

A point? Absolutely not. Knowing Kyrie, he did this intentionally to see what kind of reaction he could illicit out of Caramia. And he took the bait, hook, line, sinker, and even the fucking pole. Damn it.

He looks away from Kyrie, reaching a hand up to hide his face with the guise of scratching his cheek. He hates this. A lot.

"Oh." Is all he says. He's too embarrassed to offer any more. Can he go back to cutting up fruit?

No, he can't. At least Kyrie doesn't seem too bothered by this shift in Caramia's attitude. If anything, the disappointment reads painfully clear--or maybe he's just looking into things...? No, he shouldn't get his hopes up... he's staying strictly in the present, here... but it sure does make it easier to press on.

"He was so insistent on it, too," he muses. "Asking if I'd voted to tease him..."

There's another small pause here, as he plucks up his tea with his free hand. He sits up just enough to take another sip, sets the cup down again, and taps lightly against its side with a finger as he heaves a particularly dramatic sigh.

"Of course, if I'd known Guren would vote the two of us for the same category, I wouldn't have even bothered to read the nominations..." A sharp glance, to gauge his reaction. Kyrie doesn't know that Caramia's well aware of Guren's vote already, but... perhaps that's actually for the best. "But then, I suppose it worked out for the better in the end! They seemed especially close during their dance--and they seem to have worked everything out, haven't they?"

Kyrie is... teasing him, right? Bringing up such a seemingly random topic at such a seemingly random time while he's busy making food for them. This is all just to catch him off guard... right?! This is just to be weird and unpredictable, right?! Caramia can't tell. And that's not even the worst of it-- if Kyrie really is doing this and not just to tease him...

Caramia hides his face more, really wanting to just outright ask him where he was going with this, but he feels like if he does, and Kyrie really was just fooling around, then it was just going to get worse.

"Mhmm..." No reaction to the Guren thing. Sorry, Kyrie. "I wasn't really paying much mind to them."

Look, Caramia, work with him here. Damn.

But fine, that wasn't really important anyway!! He's just sort of... beating around the bush for a minute. He's better at subtlety with this sort of thing. That's probably why he shifts the conversation again, rather than dropping the whole thing and blurting out what it is he's trying to say, even though the latter would honestly be so much easier at this point.

"No, you were likely busy with your own dancing..." Unlike a certain someone, Kyrie only danced with three people that night... if Kaoru can even really be counted, since it was all but against his will. "Perhaps if you had spaced your time out better, you might have caught a glimpse... although, you would have run out of time if you had."

See? He's got a point. He's just taking his sweet time getting to it. When he continues, he's just a bit quieter.

"...Admittedly, even I didn't think you would be stupid enough to take 'falling' to mean something quite so literal that you would take me down with you, idiot lion."

Edited (I can't remember my own shit) 2018-07-16 13:05 (UTC)

He would, except he doesn't trust this. And besides, even if Kyrie is taking this in the direction he very much wants it to go, in the end he doesn't actually want it to go that way. After all, it's... too sad to think about. ~~He never should have said anything to begin with.~~

"I'm sorry." Don't. "You just..." Don't. "It'd been a while since I'd seen you smile like that." Stop!! "I... I realized how much I... wanted to see you... happy..."

Fuck.

He's sorry? For knocking the both of them down, certainly, but he sure is latching onto all the wrong points here, isn't he?

"My, my," Kyrie gives a soft laugh as he speaks, "now that is a delightful expression you're making... For such a bold statement, you sound awfully troubled by it."

Although he holds his composure flawlessly, carefully steadying his breath so his traitor of a heart won't give him away, he can feel his chest tighten. He knew already, of course--Caramia had suggested he'd wanted him to be happy before, perhaps not in words, but in other ways the don might even not be aware of. It might be a silly thing to hope for, for someone like him. He'd destroyed so many of his own chances at happiness so long ago. Does he really deserve this one...?

"It's funny, isn't it? That you would wish for me to be happy... while I quite enjoy seeing you upset." Is that really funny though? Hell, it's practically criminal how easy of a time he's having here, while Caramia struggles so desperately just to stay afloat. He lets his gaze linger on Caramia's face a moment longer, his lips quirking into a gentle smile... and then he sighs, just once more. "Regrettably, with a face like that, it seems you've provided an even exchange..."

He trails off for a beat. Takes a breath. Should all of this fail, he has a plan to disentangle himself from it--but that small glimmer of hope is enough to allow him to steel himself, speaking in a clear voice that seems almost... reinforced, as if he's shifted all of his walls away from himself and into the words themselves.

"Although," 'if you would let me,' "I can't say I would mind causing you trouble like this again and again."

He may be less dense than our lovely protagonist, but, alas, still fairly dense.

The more Kyrie talks, the more of Caramia's resolve crumbles away. He can hear all the thoughts in his head deciding to take a stand here on this day and argue loudly for what they believe the right thing to do is.

This is what you started. This isn't what he wants. You do want it! But not in the end! He's coming to you about this! Can you imagine how much worse he'll feel if I agree to this?

And through all this, there's this one stray thought just screaming in the back as Caramia's almost unable to believe Kyrie's even talking to him about this to begin with. His face just gets hotter, and he averts his eyes away. Not from fear, but because he's pretty sure if he looked at Kyrie now, he might toss all of his rational thought to the wind, and he couldn't afford that right now.

"I..." Caramia wants nothing more than to tease Kyrie for such a silly confession. He chose a bad time to do this, though. "I c..." He had trouble getting the words out. "...I can't..."

Whoops?

...Haha, what?

The smile is still on Kyrie's face, his expression wholly unaffected by the sudden, crushing weight in his chest that seems to have put a halt to... everything. His thoughts, his words--the world around him, probably. As illogical as it might be, he could believe it for how still everything suddenly feels.

He was so sure of this. He'd thought there was a chance, seen that spark and so selfishly reached for it. He must have gotten his hopes up after all.

...Words. Conversation. He needs to say something, needs to fall back on his plan B; he feels his heart flinch back from the pain he'd willingly--stupidly--exposed himself to, reels back into himself to steadily begin rebuilding the walls he'd cast away. And for a moment, it works. He feels almost lightheaded as another laugh bubbles up in his throat, bitter on his tongue despite how natural it must sound. As if this really is nothing more than another silly prank, when he's the one who feels the most like a fool.

'Of course you can't,' he tries to say. 'Surely you didn't think I was serious?' The words ought to come easy to him, lying more of a first language to him than honesty anymore. In using it to protect himself so often he's been numbed to the taste of his own venom; he should find it easy to cut this off before his composure breaks. 'It was all a joke, after all. Forget everything I said, stupid lion.'

But... he was sure. And perhaps it's that certainty that refuses to give in, because instead, after he laughs, all he manages is a soft, "...Why?"

Caramia shakes. He has been trying so hard to keep himself together with what little composure he had left, but he just begins to shake. He hates this. He hate how much he is internally fighting with himself so much that he can't even think about what he needs to say to Kyrie.

"What if..." he starts, uncertainly, like he knows he shouldn't be talking about this. "What if we go back home and I don't remember any of this? What if you do?? What if everything goes back to how it used to be and I just upset you because of something I've forgotten about again? What if I hurt you because I can't remember any of this?"

The more he talks, the more confident he is in his words. His pendant, clearly, since any other person would still be just as unsure of themselves. Despite the sudden surge of courage, though, he still shakes, and tears prick at his eyes. Still, even if he may have looked a mess, he makes sure to look at Kyrie now.

"I can't- I can't do that to you. Not again. I saw how much it hurt you when I forgot. I-I... I can't... I can't, I won't. I never want to hurt you like that again." Despite hurting him now. He figures this is the worse of the two evils. After all, this Kyrie can get over. If they... continue like this though? And if Caramia forgets??? That would hurt Kyrie so much more. "To go through all this, to love you so much, and..."

A beat.

"I'm sorry."

Edited 2018-07-17 07:03 (UTC)

Kyrie listens, but the more he hears, the harder it becomes to convince himself to cut his losses. It would be one thing, he thinks, if this were just a misunderstanding. Or, somehow, a change of heart. If his 'can't' meant 'no', he thinks he would have backed down well before this point.

But his 'can't' means 'I'm afraid', and Kyrie always has had trouble accepting that from him.

At some point his expression shifts from vaguely puzzled to just... sad. Even if Caramia's said he loves him, should he really keep pressing on this when all it's going to do is hurt him in the end...? Even if Kyrie gets what he wants out of this, how is it fair to either of them?

The answer, of course, is that it isn't. His wish continues to plague him, even now.

"...Perhaps I didn't make myself clear."

Despite the sureness in his words, his voice is hardly more than a whisper. As he speaks he leans back, lowering his hands to fold them over one another on the table.

"I'm a cruel man, Caramia... If you tell me such things, how can you expect me to let go...?" A pause, as he takes a breath. Gathers his thoughts. "It did hurt, then. And I can't tell you that it won't, if it happens again... but if my options are to be hurt now and have nothing to show for it, or to be hurt later but have everything I want, I'll take my chances on the latter."

He's a gambler, after all. If he's dealt a bad hand and folds immediately, he's lost before he's even played the game; if he holds out and still loses, he's no worse off than he would be, but at least he had a chance at winning. Given the chance, he's going to hold.

"I love you... And even if it means you'll grow to hate me--even if it's just this once... I'd ask that you let me be selfish. You can blame me, if you have to." If Caramia still says no, he no longer has a safe way out. He's burned his bridges as he went; the only way to go now is forward. "When that day comes. You can say it's my fault... that I forced your hand in a terrible situation. But, just until then..."

'Please.'

Caramia doesn't understand how Kyrie always knew exactly what to say. It isn't fair. He's supposed to protect Kyrie. He's supposed to make sure nothing ever happens to him or any of his famiglia. How can he do that while also being a source of pain for Kyrie? How can he set Kyrie up for such a failure? And most of all, how can Kyrie so diligently be fighting for this...?

Caramia reaches up to clutch his pendant- both their pendants, really- as if looking for some source of comfort from the "boundless courage" he has. It is still there, of course, for if it wasn't, Caramia would have run away, just as he had done all the time before his courage. Now, he certainly doesn't feel like disappearing or running away, but wishes that this could be easier for the both of them. This shouldn't be so difficult. He loves Kyrie, and-

He chokes on a sob. How can he do that? Call Caramia, this repeatedly called "idiot lion", his everything? Then say "I love you" to top it off? His heart aches, telling him- no, pleading with him that maybe all of this is okay. And even if it isn't, who cares?! How can he tell Kyrie no, even if it is the right thing to do?!

Caramia stands from his chair, still the shaky mess from before, but somehow still manages to force himself forward to pull Kyrie up slightly, so he could lean down and hold Kyrie in an admittedly very awkward, but warm and desperate hug. Kyrie's free to stand to straighten ~~gayen~~ things out, but until then, they're going to be stuck like this for a moment.

"I could never, never, never hate you, il mio amore," he whispers, followed by a sniff as he squeezes this idiot scarecrow closer. "I have always loved you and I always will. I... I just... I want..." How could he tell Kyrie all this again? He isn't sure. "Se sei mio qui, allora non voglio andare a casa."

He knows, all too well in fact, that what he's asking of him isn't fair. His tears are proof enough of the fact that, even now, he's managed to hurt even the strongest person he knows, and for a brief, terrified moment, he frantically searches for some way out of this.

There isn't one. And as Caramia stands, he can feel his own words tightening around his own neck like a noose, his I love you choking his panicked, 'Wait,' before it can even leave his lips. If he walks away now, he won't know how to pick up his own pieces. He won't know how to go back to how they were, or if they even could--he won't know, and it's his job to know, if he doesn't know then he's lost--

But Caramia doesn't walk away. He steps nearer, and as awkward as the hold may be, Kyrie doesn't fight it as his arms fall around him. His own remain on the table for a moment, the angle of his body lending more to the odd positioning than the fact that Caramia is standing over him, but after a beat stunned still by both the hold, and his words, he swallows his uncertainty and shifts to turn and bring his arms up as well.

The closeness itself... isn't all that foreign, really. They've spent more nights here in a shared bed than not, but the warmth that spreads through his chest is something entirely different. He can feel his expression slip into something unfavorable, something vulnerable, and he tightens his own hold so he can duck his face into the curve of Caramia's shoulder.

"Allora non lo faremo." Whispered against him, a lie he has absolutely no power over. 'We won't go home...' It's perhaps the most selfish wish he's made yet. They might be leaving Axel behind, and... Dorothy... And he's certain it won't last, but... In a place like this, as terrible as it may be, he's been able to grasp at happiness for the first time in centuries. "We can stay here, as long as we're able... it wouldn't be the first time we started over."

Edited 2018-07-24 07:52 (UTC)

As Kyrie shifts, Caramia does, too. Much akin to when they danced, their movements seem commendably in sync with one another. Only this time, there's not any lighthearted playfulness driving their (or, at least, Caramia's) actions, just a strong sense of desperation. A feeling of want so grand it hurt. A need to be closer. A need to be reassured that he's there.

Despite this new clinginess, he does tense up when Kyrie speaks again. There's a brief look of shock on his face and a soft breath carrying a silent "what...?" That's... a dangerous thing for a consigliere to tell his don. Someone that Caramia is supposed to listen to. Someone Caramia goes to for advice. To tell him that he can indulge in his want to stay here like this? There's a part of Caramia- a rational, calm part that has been working so hard to keep himself composed- that tells him that they couldn't possibly do that. It is selfish and extremely unfair to everyone else here, and everyone back home! But this part is overwhelmed by the thumps in Caramia's chest, and all the little heartstrings that hummed a stupid, irrational tune one hears when foolishly drowning in reckless amounts of love.

It's okay, he hears. Kyrie said it, so it must be true. You're both happy. It feels right. So what's the problem? There are, of course, many problems with this, but none of them seem to immediately make themselves known to Caramia, so, instead, after letting this soak in, he simply pulls Kyrie back just enough to make him lift his head so he can lean down and gently lock their lips together. Should he be worried about being so confidently wrapped around Kyrie's finger? Absolutely. But that isn't going to stop him from gladly allowing him to pull his strings.

Edited 2018-07-25 08:54 (UTC)

Dangerous? Yes. Selfish? Absolutely. Kyrie knows full well that the idea is objectively a terrible one. Even now, every ounce of logic in his body is tearing the possibility to shreds with as much certainty as he has in knowing that this, too, will one day end in tragedy. There's evidence enough in how easily Caramia gives in, his blind trust in his consigliere so easily contributing to his own downfall.

But whatever guilt Kyrie may feel is, at least for the time being, overruled by the fact that Caramia is kissing him. Surely having his thoughts slow to a stop so often isn't good for him...?

Sure, there's the uncomfortable wetness of tears still clinging to Caramia's face--he recalls the first time they had kissed here, if one could even really call it a kiss at all, and hopes this won't become a pattern--but the kiss itself feels warm, feels safe, like finally coming home after years and years away. His arms slip from where he'd wrapped them around Caramia, one trailing to press a palm against his don's arm as if to steady him there, while the other reaches farther up, fingers smoothing themselves carefully along the side of his face. Without his gloves on he can feel the warmth of his skin directly, and the sensation of it comes as a clear comfort as he lets his eyes slip shut.

He doesn't intend to stay like this long, he thinks, so he's careful to keep things soft. Nothing more than a gentle acceptance, with an unspoken promise of more written in unhurried movements that remind them both that they can take their time. And, although he's the one to pull away, he keeps himself in close for an added beat when he does. Looks up to Caramia with a quiet laugh, as genuine as the smile playing over his lips.

"You always have been such a terrible crybaby at heart," he teases, his thumb shifting against the other's tear-stained cheek. "If you intend to cry each time I say I love you, you'll only make me want to bully you more, you know."

Caramia's eyes stay shut, even as their kiss parts, even if his lips may have followed for a brief second in an attempt to rectify that much. Eventually, he can settle for just having Kyrie so close, and take comfort in the warmth he provides. It's hard for Caramia to wrap his head around the fact that this is actually happening. He's not sure if it's because of all the emotions threatening to burst his chest open are making it incredibly hard to keep his grasp on reality, or just because of the sudden burst of affection he was finally able to show Kyrie, but the best bets would be solidly placed on "Both".

When he finally opens his eyes again, he's embarrassed to say that there's a new batch of tears that sting his eyes. To see Kyrie so happy, just because he got the chance to say he loves Caramia, and that here they were, being stupidly close with one another... it's a wonder how this boy managed to keep any semblance of composure at all.

His head turns, and there's suddenly a hand against the back of Kyrie's, pressing his palm against Caramia's lips. There's a few gentle kisses, before he slides it back to his cheek so he can just stare at his consigliere's face and appreciate that, for once, he's so genuinely happy, and it's all because of Caramia. That alone is enough to release several dozen armies of butterflies all throughout Caramia's insides. Relentless bugs, weren't they?

"So long as I can call you mine, you can do whatever you'd like, tesoro..."

Edited 2018-07-26 04:46 (UTC)

He's managed to keep his heart calm this whole time, he's not going to let it win out now... even if a defiant skip might slip past his guard before he can breathe himself steady again. He's sacrificed enough control in allowing himself to take this path in the first place, dammit!! He can afford to reclaim some of it, at least for now.

"That's all?" A dangerous trade, really, but Kyrie surely isn't about to argue. "I definitely won't let you take that back..."

He's about to lean back up to close the distance between them again, purely because he can, when the kitchen behind him catches his eye. There's the fruit, abandoned on the counter, but more importantly: the oven. Caramia had been cooking before all this, hadn't he...? Haha whoops...

"...Caramia." It's a sigh that doesn't quite hide his disappointment, but he still sounds vaguely amused all the same as he indicates the kitchen with a nod. "Your questionable cooking skills aside, I'm certain whatever recipe you're using doesn't call for smoke."

Hey, maybe don't burn the house down? Thanks.

"I don't plan to."

Of course, Caramia understands that this is just an invitation to allow Kyrie to do all manner of awful, manipulative things because he's just Like That, but in the end, he doesn't really care. It's not like it's anything new, but beyond that, there isn't anything that Kyrie could throw at him to change how he felt.

Caramia tries to meet Kyrie halfway, not pausing when he did simply so Caramia could give him a few gentle kisses against his nose and cheek. That is, until he's cut off with a sigh, and...

...Ah.

He shoots upright and turns around, giving a heavy sniff of his very runny nose in the realization that he can't smell anything when it is so closed. He darts for the oven and dowses the fire instantly so he can yank the food out with a towel.

"No, no, no, no, no--" As if speaking to it is going to fix the fact that it's burning. He does his best to wave out the smoke, but... doesn't look like this is edible any longer, no matter how much he'll try to save it. "...'M sorry."

Looks like food's just going to be fruit tonight.

How to Romance Your Scarecrow: A comprehensive step-by-step guide, written by Caramia himself. Step one: Reject him. Step two: Cry yourself into a gross mess. Step three: Burn dinner. How step four isn't said scarecrow promptly seeing himself out is, honestly, a miracle.

While Caramia panics, Kyrie leans one elbow onto the table and props his head up against a hand. The other--the hand the don had kissed--he brings carefully to his chest, fingers folding over his palm and squeezing gently, as if that might be enough to dispel the feeling leftover there. It wasn't anything special, not really, but... the unfamiliarity of such a sudden, tender action seems like it's just enough to draw his focus, now that he isn't otherwise distracted.

He spares a glance to what's left of his tea, now cooled to a delicious room temperature, then to the, uh... well, whatever it might have been, with tiny wisps still wafting off of it from the countertop. Looks like fruit's about the only option, yeah. He lowers his hand to lay it flat against a leg.

"Honestly..." For someone so desperately confessing only moments before, he certainly bounced back quick. Old habits really must die hard... but hey, even though his words might come off harsh, his voice softens them to a gentle chiding, rather than a direct attack. "In case you've forgotten, the goal is to make something that doesn't taste like ash--although, I can't say it would have been much of an improvement regardless."

Awash: IC Contact

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I don't have an icon with this so u can have this one

Thanks, it's just what I wanted

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