rosarianoath

“I do believe you,” he says. “But I cannot in good conscience ask anything of you when I cannot give you what you want in turn.”

"Clive," she begins, holding his hand tighter, "That's not fair to you. Or me."

She’s right.

“I do not know what to do, then,” he says.

"When you ask things of me, it makes me happy," she says slowly, hoping that hearing the words helps in some manner. "And you feeling uncomfortable with something... it doesn't upset me or disappoint me, Clive. I am just as happy and satisfied simply existing in your arms."

To her, it's no issue at all.

“I know you are,” he says, shifting in his seat to face her a little more. “But I still want to take care of you however I can, and if you are content with what I hesitate to do, then the problem lies with me.”

"You do take care of me," she reminds him. When he's not breaking the face of her best friend, that is. Jill sighs, but remains patient. "There's no problem here, Clive. You would be upset if I spoke this way about myself and my hesitations."

He never offers himself any grace or kindness.

“You have never hesitated this way,” he says. He can tell she’s annoyed the moment she sighs, and he knows why. “Jill. I don’t want to hesitate. I want to overcome this… my apprehensions about my own desires, and yours as well.”

"Hesitation isn't necessarily bad, is it? It comes from a place of... love. Concern. And I am forever glad you are the way you are," she tells him. "We all have things we're uncomfortable with. That's all right, Clive."

He closes his free hand over hers.

“So you prefer it if I remain this way?”

"I prefer you be what causes you the least turmoil," she says. "I can live with whatever that is. I love you. I won't ask you to contort yourself into what you think might make me happy when I would be the happiest woman in any world just to wake up beside you."

She’s so wonderful, so loving. He feels her words right to his core, and the fear slips away for an instant, where he can pretend he could settle into whatever she asked of him and never ask for more.

But she deserves better of him.

“I am broken, Jill,” he says. “I do not want to stay this way. I would sooner grow into someone who could serve you better…”

A pause, a softer look.

“Someone who can bear being served without being inebriated.”

"What can I do to help you?" She asks, searching his eyes for some sort of answer.

He wishes he knew. All he can do is hazard a guess.

“Don’t let me off easy. Push me to do better… and I will try my best to face what I fear.”

Her smile is mild.

"Like forcing you into conversations on an empty stomach?"

She's teasing, but she knows he didn't wish to talk now.

He doesn’t smile, but the humour reaches his eyes.

“Exactly.”

"And... I hope you can forgive me, for that night. I should have let you be. It was wrong of me to pursue you."

She holds his hand as tightly as she can. She didn't know it haunted him so.

“There’s nothing to forgive,” he says. “I’m only glad I had enough control to spare you something far more unpleasant.”

He swallows his breath, looking down at their hands.

“I’m glad you enjoyed it. All this time, I thought perhaps you just made the best of it.”

She shakes her head.

"I trust you. I trust Ifrit," she says. "I don't believe that my words wouldn't have reached you if I asked you to stop."

“I never imagined his preferences would come up in conversation,” he says. But more seriously: “That I could have stopped is important to me too.”

"I know," she says. "I never felt like you were a danger to me, Clive."

She looks at him for a long moment before she speaks again.

"I'll remind you of that. You're no brute. I would let you know when anything was too much for me, and I will remind you that there's nothing terrible about us giving voice to what we like or dislike."

She can at least do that.

"Did I cross a line on the sofa, before?"

No matter how long he’s been here, he’s brutalized far more bodies than he has held lovingly. Sometimes he thinks he could love her every day for the rest of their lives and it still wouldn’t put a dent in how many times he’s stuck a sword in another’s chest.

But he hopes she’s right. He hopes he’s a good person, and he hopes he can find himself with her.

His brow knits once more.

“Oh, Jill. No, you didn’t cross any lines. Certainly none I wasn’t goading you to come over with me.”

"We were both naughty, I suppose," she says with a strained laugh. She doesn't want to regret it, and he doesn't seem to, so perhaps it's fine. "You're difficult to resist. But... I'm glad we're sitting here, talking about these things."

“I am too,” he says. “And I’m glad we bent our rules. No matter how I feel about taking our time to know each other again, I think I was going to burst if I did not…”

He pauses, not sure if there’s an appropriate word. He just looks aside.

“I’m grateful.”

She looks at him with a fond smile before scooting over to hug him, attempting to bowl him onto his back this time around.

She'll prove to him that a talk about their boundaries and comfort didn't spoil their day.

He could easily absorb her weight into his arms without budging, but he lets her have it, chuckling and laying back so she can pin him.

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