Mikhaila’s breath catches, releases in a stuttering sigh, and her face is a deep red in the dark now, and she’d forgotten- she’d forgotten how much of an effect Morgan always had on her, how easily they could send rippling waves of heat through her with just a word, just the way they lean into her, just the heat of their breath on her ear. Her fingers tighten around theirs, and she has to lower her head, force her breathing steady so she can listen to the rest of what Morgan has to say.
(Closets and walls, she thinks, were nice- she liked them well enough- but now, suddenly, she wonders how much more yielding the sand might be.)
The words that follow draw her up short, introduce a measure of tension to her spine, and the reason for her tight grip on Morgan’s hand is something entirely different, now. She stares blankly up at the way the moons cast light across the water, the soft waves mere shadows against the silvery blue of it, and she thinks about her dreams- the quiet of night, the creaking of a swing. Morgan’s pale face in the water.
Her next inhale shudders, and she gentles her fingers, closes her eyes. “… Human nature,” she murmurs, an echo, and traces the fingers not laced through Morgan’s across the back of their palm instead. Is there a heartbeat there? Is she just feeling her own?
“I suppose it is,” she says, slow, careful, and then pauses, trying to work out her words before they come out of her mouth. She hates to ruin this moment, but… but Morgan won’t ever stop pushing, will they? And they shouldn’t- it’s important to them. They probably didn’t even mean anything by it this time- it was probably just a slip of the tongue that they didn’t realize was coming in time to change course. But…
She’s ashamed of herself, suddenly, acid burning in her chest, in her throat. This is something important to Morgan, that they want to talk about, that they need to talk about, and they’ve been holding off. For Mikhaila’s sake. Because Mikhaila’s too fragile to handle the fact that reality isn’t black and white, and never has been.
Another sigh, softer this time.
“… You want to talk about it, don’t you?”
Morgan feels Mika shiver in their arms, and her hand squeeze theirs tightly, and is pleased with themselves. For a reckless moment following, they wonder if this is a window that might be ease open wider, here in the dark... but then Mika grows still and tense. She becomes quiet against them, thoughtful, careful. Ah, ‘human nature’. They shouldn’t have used that phrase.
Morgan leans their head against the hill, lifting it from Mika’s so that they can gaze down at her. A small cascade of dusty sand pours past their ear, eroded by the movement.
“Of course I want to talk about it.”
They pause for a long moment, then, wondering how to proceed after stating that undeniable truth. The sound of Mikhalia’s breathing fills the silence, patient, expectant.
“As you said,” Morgan finally begins, “We’ll never be what we were before. I’ll never be what I was. I - ”
They break off, and shift their head, turning their gaze away from Mikhalia and back up at the stars. They can’t have this discussion, Morgan reflects, the way they’re positioned now. No, to talk about it, Morgan will need to sit up, detangle themselves from Mika, brush the sand from their clothes, be separate from her, again, and speak to her over that distance. They will have to head indoors, into a well-lit room, a place suitable enough to contain such a conversation.
A part of them yearns for it. But another part of them doesn’t want to let go.
“Mika... we don’t have to have this conversation just yet, if you don’t want to,” Morgan closes their eyes, slowly, extinguishing the stars. “It’s a nice night. I can wait - I can wait a little longer.”
