No different from holding hands with a friend, Paxton reminded himself–no different from Piper, before. His thoughts collapsed with a dismal accordion groan, unfolded again–
as Piper’s presence exploded through his head, a comet racing through the blackness of space, blazing hot, not fear but a rocketing hope, eager hungry desperate and there was yes, fear, a child’s cry of PLEASE, NO, I DON’T the tail of the comet a reckless whip of desperate faith, a gamble, hoping desperately that I DON’T UNDERSTAND staggering guilt, looping, twisting itself inside out over and over what have i and over and over what am i WHAT AM I and over again and the fear itself, a furious refusal no get out of I DON’T I DON’T UNDERSTAND the promise a constant oppression the promised ease of it’s just hands hold on
i don’t understand. please. why
The labyrinth collapsed around them, like a shattered hall of mirrors, like the painted set of a stage play. The little sitting room revealed itself dark and quiet around them. For a breath, all they did was look at one another, swaying drunkenly. There you are. Here I am. It was as if Piper had broken a wall between him and the world. No—between him and her.
Now that wall had come up again, and the resulting silence felt just as violent as the—whatever that had been. He felt like he was two days into a ghastly fever, sweating, with a headache that made him deliriously dizzy and skin that ached everywhere, like, between his toes. His vision had spots going off like afterimages. His body said: get down or I’ll put you down, so he sat hard and missed the edge of the sofa, tumbling ungracefully to the rug.
Paxton was half-hoping she’d say see, this was Veelan magic–and he just didn’t understand it! The magic worked like this but not like that, magic had understandable rules, magic had a system, an order, a reason, magic was just another steel beam in the soaring superstructure of the universe he’d spent so much time trying to divine—but Piper’s face only paled, her hand flying upwards.
A silent horror dawned slowly across Pax’s face, his gaze soaring out a thousand miles.
“Okay, look. I’m a little…upset,“ Pax said, approaching the word like a foreign language—halting, at an angle. His shoulders rose as he inhaled shakily, plunging through every emotion he’d felt in the past five minutes. He could feel it better now that he’d been in it: Piper’s presence pulled on Pax’s consciousness, an almost imperceptible tilt; their own private gravity, locking him in orbit around her. He started to shiver, back pressed hard against the edge of the sofa. “That was so—I can’t—I need a lie-down. Something for my head—”
Piper nodded her head slowly, her eyes wide and wary and locked on Pax’s crumpled form on the floor, looking like prey that’s realized it’s just stumbled out into its predators’ open hunting grounds; her hair bobbed along with her head, shifting coral to saffron and back again as it caught the light, a few strands sticking out around her head as if by static. Yes, he was upset—if there was any one single thing in this moment that did not need stating, it was that. Piper knew—so deeply and thoroughly that it seemed to penetrate down to her bone marrow, tangling up in her very own permutable essence—what Pax was feeling; she knew because she could feel it, all of it, still, even now, vibrating through her like earthquake tremors.
She wondered in semi-coherence if she would ever again not feel it.
“I’m—so sorry, Paxton…” Piper repeated, pointlessly, her voice breaking, “…I never intended to—”
“Honey, I’m home!” A voice rang out from the other room, barreling unknowingly into the intimate intensity of the moment. It was Oz, and Maeko, returned from their errand; their muffled voices, talking casually, drew closer to where Piper and Pax were frozen in time, until they reached the door of the sitting room and abruptly stopped.
“…alright in here, you two?” Maeko wagered dubiously, after a hesitant moment.
There was another pregnant beat of silence, and then Piper tried to say something to mitigate the situation, to explain, but it came out as a sob, instead. She flushed and shook her head apologetically, covering her mouth with her hands.
Maeko and Oz, unsure of what to do and what exactly they’d missed, here, looked between Piper and Pax, and each other. Oz’s attention was fairly focused on Pax, like he wanted to go to him—he even took a step in Paxton’s direction before Maeko cut him a very sharp look that communicated something quite strongly, which had Oz then backtracking and moving over to Piper to gather her up into his arms and usher her gently into another room, muttering soft and comforting words that were too quiet to make out above a lilted hum.
Piper went willingly, pliant and without protest, but her eyes never once strayed from Pax, until she was out of the room.
Maeko, as only she seemed able to, moved cat-like and silent within her home, never so much as creaking over a loose board on the ancient flooring. She crouched down in front of Paxton and her penetrating gaze swept over him, her brows knitting together with some emotion that went deeper than simple concern, something that was rooted in memory and years of shared history.
“Hey,” she said. Her voice was low and direct and just to him. It wasn’t quite sharp, but it was to the point; like a snap of fingers to get someone’s attention. She placed one of her hands near Pax’s knee and squeezed lightly, and the gesture looked—not quite instinctive, for her, but like a movement intentionally practiced enough to look natural, like something that used to require some consideration and now came easily. “What’s that about?”
prguitarman
germansingergirl
areudirty
s-u-f-j-a-n-s-t-e-v-e-n-s
romaincrisis
dailybridgerton
gamechangershow
