38.5 Fic: Mirage Reflection 8
The pleasant, dull warmth that curled in Marwa’s belly had nothing to do with the wine still running through her system and everything to do with the Definitely Still Awake Man two doors down.
The light of a gibbous moon drifted through the room’s only window, casting silvered beams through the curtains onto the hardwood floor. A whisper of fog – Nimbus, asleep – floated gently overhead.
Nothing ever felt quite so satisfying as a well-executed heist but even her bones ached for sleep, Marwa’s thoughts raced.
What would he do, she wondered, what expression would he wear if I snuck into his room right now? Floated through the window, perched on his lap, demanded he tell her for the hundredth time that she was his sun, moon, and stars, that he’d loved her for so long in spite of himself?
Would he be annoyed, or indulgent? Would his eyes sparkle with happiness like they did in the graveyard, or smolder with heat?
The thought tantalized, almost drawing her from her bed, but she gripped the edges of her wool blanket and admonished herself,
Go to SLEEP.
Needless to say, the mantra wasn’t working.
Still, eventually she’d get too tired to think about the feel of his hands on her waist, of his long, dark lashes tickling her cheek, the strength in his shoulders. How it felt to breathe in his scent, taste the joy on his tongue, run her fingers through his hair, to look into those brown eyes and see everything he was thinking - that she was indescribably special, something worth cherishing, something he dared not hope he’d deserve. (She’d disabuse him of that ridiculous notion later).
Until her mind settled, she was content to bask in the glow of a love returned from beneath a sea of moonlit blankets.
A cold thought skittered its way down her spine, slipping past the haze.
He’s going to war.
Tonight’s conversation had started (because she couldn’t keep her mouth shut, frankly) because he was still worried that she couldn’t understand the risk she was taking by staying with him.
The look on his face mirrored the look Dad had given her only a few days before.
Of COURSE I don’t know what I’m getting myself into, we’ve established that I am not ALLOWED to know! Does not knowing mean I should run?
Kit’s tearstained face flashed through her memory. How many years had she searched for Isaac? How long before Dad gave up his inquiries, before Baba told him to put his notes away for all of their sakes?
The fluttering sensation in her chest stilled.
Maybe he’d appreciate hearing that I actually am smart enough to be afraid of this thing, that it will take him away from me, that I’ll spend the next twenty years looking only to come up empty-handed.
Another thought darted across her mind before she could stop it.
But what if I open the door? Her breath caught, but the idea lingered. Could we fight it together?
A few minutes was all it took for her to discard that notion as too reckless, even for her.
I can’t be there for him in this reality if I drown in that one. But it’s so hard to stay on the outside of it!
If it meant her immediate safety, she knew he’d leave them. She’d wake up one morning and he would be long gone of his own volition. She couldn’t push this, even after the promises they’d made to each other tonight.
“I’m going to go actually crazy if this thing gets a hold of you, you know that, right?” He’d said, conviction in every line of his face.
But how am I supposed to help if I’m stuck on the wrong side of the door?
Frustration forced a huff out of her throat. Marwa hated locked doors. Trust.
She’d promised him her trust, and she supposed he deserved it. The trust that he would ask for help when he needed it, loop her in when he could, keep loving her back through all of this chaos. The fact that he’d even allowed her this much knowledge was a testament to how much he valued her place in his life, and rushing ahead would only ruin that.
Disgruntled, lids finally heavy, her last thought echoed in her mind as she drifted off to sleep.
I guess sometimes you just have to jump and figure out the landing on the way. Fine. If he can do it, so can I.
The light of a gibbous moon drifted through the room’s only window, casting silvered beams through the curtains onto the hardwood floor. A whisper of fog – Nimbus, asleep – floated gently overhead.
Nothing ever felt quite so satisfying as a well-executed heist but even her bones ached for sleep, Marwa’s thoughts raced.
What would he do, she wondered, what expression would he wear if I snuck into his room right now? Floated through the window, perched on his lap, demanded he tell her for the hundredth time that she was his sun, moon, and stars, that he’d loved her for so long in spite of himself?
Would he be annoyed, or indulgent? Would his eyes sparkle with happiness like they did in the graveyard, or smolder with heat?
The thought tantalized, almost drawing her from her bed, but she gripped the edges of her wool blanket and admonished herself,
Go to SLEEP.
Needless to say, the mantra wasn’t working.
Still, eventually she’d get too tired to think about the feel of his hands on her waist, of his long, dark lashes tickling her cheek, the strength in his shoulders. How it felt to breathe in his scent, taste the joy on his tongue, run her fingers through his hair, to look into those brown eyes and see everything he was thinking - that she was indescribably special, something worth cherishing, something he dared not hope he’d deserve. (She’d disabuse him of that ridiculous notion later).
Until her mind settled, she was content to bask in the glow of a love returned from beneath a sea of moonlit blankets.
A cold thought skittered its way down her spine, slipping past the haze.
He’s going to war.
Tonight’s conversation had started (because she couldn’t keep her mouth shut, frankly) because he was still worried that she couldn’t understand the risk she was taking by staying with him.
The look on his face mirrored the look Dad had given her only a few days before.
Of COURSE I don’t know what I’m getting myself into, we’ve established that I am not ALLOWED to know! Does not knowing mean I should run?
Kit’s tearstained face flashed through her memory. How many years had she searched for Isaac? How long before Dad gave up his inquiries, before Baba told him to put his notes away for all of their sakes?
The fluttering sensation in her chest stilled.
Maybe he’d appreciate hearing that I actually am smart enough to be afraid of this thing, that it will take him away from me, that I’ll spend the next twenty years looking only to come up empty-handed.
Another thought darted across her mind before she could stop it.
But what if I open the door? Her breath caught, but the idea lingered. Could we fight it together?
A few minutes was all it took for her to discard that notion as too reckless, even for her.
I can’t be there for him in this reality if I drown in that one. But it’s so hard to stay on the outside of it!
If it meant her immediate safety, she knew he’d leave them. She’d wake up one morning and he would be long gone of his own volition. She couldn’t push this, even after the promises they’d made to each other tonight.
“I’m going to go actually crazy if this thing gets a hold of you, you know that, right?” He’d said, conviction in every line of his face.
But how am I supposed to help if I’m stuck on the wrong side of the door?
Frustration forced a huff out of her throat. Marwa hated locked doors. Trust.
She’d promised him her trust, and she supposed he deserved it. The trust that he would ask for help when he needed it, loop her in when he could, keep loving her back through all of this chaos. The fact that he’d even allowed her this much knowledge was a testament to how much he valued her place in his life, and rushing ahead would only ruin that.
Disgruntled, lids finally heavy, her last thought echoed in her mind as she drifted off to sleep.
I guess sometimes you just have to jump and figure out the landing on the way. Fine. If he can do it, so can I.