“I will never leave you.” --treasuryagent
;I will never…
He didn’t even say anything.
His eyes meet hers and he blinks, almost startled at her clarity of understanding. Am I so obviously afraid of that? To her, perhaps.
Yes, sometimes, he is afraid she will leave him. For someone who fits into every future she imagines for herself. For someone who doesn’t need these constant reassurances. For someone who isn’t terrified of falling short of her standards, imagined or otherwise. For someone who doesn’t struggle to navigate the simple, normal things in life. For someone who knows of something other than blood and war.
Yes, she loves him, she loves him. He knows this. He understands. He hears her reassurances even now, and he tries to let it settle in his heart, tries to keep it somewhere he can find it when he doubts again. But, he is only beginning to unlearn his fear and all its irrationalities. He has come a long way; he has so much farther to go.
“Cyar’ika, Besany. I want you to know that if you really wanted to leave me,” he stumbles his way through the words. It is difficult to say, but he must–he cannot be fearful now. He reaches across the table between them and squeezes her fingers in his, willing the action to communicate all the sincerity he cannot capture in words. This is not a plea. “If you ever change your mind about it, it’s your choice to make.” He’d be a hypocrite otherwise–to affirm that he makes his own choices but to deny that she can make this one, simply because it hurts. It doesn’t work that way.
But it is more than hypocrisy and idealism. This is all he can offer. He cannot give her anything but support. He cannot give her anything but love.
To love is very different than to possess. “I will never stop you.”
Even if that means allowing the worst thing he can imagine right now.