he's hunched over, shoulders bowed under the invisible weight he carries. when he folds in on himself like this, his gaze goes to the night sky, searching for agni-knows-what, and the weak moonlight gilds the planes of his worn, upturned face in a whisper of silver. it's a familiar scene, one she's seen countless times by now. he's always got something to agonize over.
once, she'd go to him, try to ground him by gently but firmly taking his chin and redirecting his attention, or pressing a reassuring kiss to the hard drawn line of his mouth ā something to pull him from the hypotheticals he'd otherwise drown in. it only worked some of the time, other times he'd shake her off to seethe, but, no matter the success to failure ratio, she can't exactly try that tactic anymore. doesn't want to, she reminds herself.
the short distance from where she sits reclined on the chaise and he perches at the window feels as expansive as several li.
at least one constant still holds true : she's plenty capable of fucking up these moments and sending him spiraling into an even fouler mood. mai sighs, like giving up, and turns her head to look up at the intricate woodwork of the ceiling.
āĀ Ā Ā you don't think i know where the door is?Ā Ā Ā Ā ā she intones, a challenge without venom. remember this : she's perfectly capable of cutting off conversation with a curt exit or swiftly putting it down with an arsenal of scathing remarks and bored inattention. occasionally, she'd even turned these tactics on him way back when, and, while she's trying to be better ( whatever that means ), she doesn't blunt her edge for him, either, and that's not about to change just because it's been a few years since they talked this deeply, or because he's the fire lord now.
funny how after all the years ( in some ways ) they've settled into old routines like carts finding ruts in the road.
even down to the moments of disconnect.
she doesn't know how to feel about it but, then, she supposes that some things never change. ( is that a comfort, or something to despair? ) she blows strands from the harsh line of her bangs up with a quick, intentional puff of air.
āĀ Ā Ā so, you want to continue, or what?Ā Ā Ā Ā ā