Archive of Our Own ^beta

Dreary. That's the best word to describe the day. It's been raining all night, the kind of rain that settles in a heavy sheet over your bones and drags you down. With barely enough light to see, the sky is a gray, miserable curtain. And while the rain’s let up into a misty haze for now, the skies are still gray and swollen. The reprieve won't last long. Maybe a few hours, if they're lucky.

And it's cold. Nothing like winter in the mountains, but nothing to sneeze at either. Officially it's 2 degrees out, but with the wind and the rain it feels closer to negative 5.

Her roommates have all but given up on the day altogether, huddled up on the couch with a horde of blankets.

“You're going out in this?” Mei calls from somewhere in the blanket mound. “Again?”

Some people have things to do. While cuddling and watching movies all day might sound nice, the Bronya would go absolutely stir crazy. Her skin is getting itchy just thinking about it.

“Да, the Bronya is meeting with Seele.” The Bronya answers, stepping into her boots.
(Yes)

“I hope you know, you're both insane. You need to be sent somewhere.” Kiana chimes in. As if she has any room to talk.

“Have fun with your children's cartoons.”

“Trolls is a very mature movie, thank you very much.”

She has said her piece. If they want to waste their day watching brainless drivel, that's their choice. Hopefully it is… fun for them. Or whatever value they find in it.

The dark brown jacket she slides into settles over her like a second skin. Still cold from her run earlier, it easily conforms to her once more. It's not her favorite, it's silly to pick favorites of things, but it is the most optimal for the weather. Thick, slightly oversized, waterproof, warm. All things she will need.

After taking a moment to lace up her boots, she's out the door. A gross, misty fog settles around her as she steps outside. The chill worms its way into her bones within moments, her body handing over the heat from the indoors in a well-traced dance. Wind carries the fridged raindrops right into her face. Water pooling on her eyelashes, she looks out at the deserted campus.

It's miserable weather. And something about it is soothing to her.

She's not quite sure what it is. But today her mind is running smoother than it has in a long time, longer than she can remember. All the sharp edges and rust and scraping wheels have been smoothed out and washed away, and she's left with only the calm machine. Nothing is out of place or twitching or screaming, and that's something she knows better than to take for granted. For once, the world isn't so daunting to look out at.

The icy chill against her skin is familiar, in a way most things here aren't. No matter where she is, the wind howls like mad, having driven most people to the warmth of their homes. Empty and barren, the world stands in sharp contrast and contention to the life it's meant to have. The roads are nearly deserted too, littered with puddles and slick with rain that makes drivers think twice. Ice is crusted around the sidewalks, indistinguishable from normal puddles in the gray light. Her surroundings look hostile and uncaring, just like they should. With all pretense of comfort dropped, she finds herself more at ease.

Finally, the city looks something like the Ural mountains she grew up in. It's a crude, shitty imitation, but it's soothing.

There are no car horns blaring. There are no crowds to avoid and almost no visible people to monitor. There are no blinding rays of light bouncing off of every slightly shiny surface– just another reason she's more partial to the rain than the snow.

Even though these things are all part of her life, it's days like these when she remembers how much easier it is without them. How much easier it is to ignore the constant aching of her body when her mind, at least, is clear.

Although, her bike takes a bit longer to get up and running. She supposes that's the price she pays for the cold. And having an old engine. It's a fair trade.

The drive to Seele's apartment is easy. There's one other vehicle on the road, a pizza delivery car, and she runs right through all the red lights in her way. If there's no one on any of the other roads, why bother stopping? It's a waste of time and energy.

She's barely stopped at the sidewalk before Seele is running over to her and tackling her in a hug. One that she would happily return, if only her arms weren't crushed inside it. They're both lucky that she has excellent balance, or they would have tumbled to the ground with the force of her excitement.

“Bronya!” Seele squeals, burying her nose in her neck.

Even though her skin is icy cold, a familiar warmth blooms in the echo of her touch.

“Hi, Seele.” The Bronya huffs a laugh as the other girl pulls away.

The smile she's greeted with nearly knocks her over for a second time. Seele's face is so full of warmth it might as well be the sun, dazzling and radiant and gleaming. For a moment, she believes they're the only two in the world, and that Seele smiles only for her. Words bubble up in her chest, but she doesn't know enough to set them free. They won't settle, constantly shifting and changing and never being still long enough for her to understand them. A thousand responses burn and die at the tip of her tongue, gone as quickly as they appear. Gone before they're even real words.

Vague and nonsensical things pull at her, but she stays steady. She will always stay steady.

“I'm so glad you're here.”

Not even death could keep her away.

“Since it's freezing out, why don't we go to a nice restaurant? Stay out of this terrible weather. I know a good burger place nearby.” Seele suggests.

A sinking sensation slams into her like a truck, although she's not sure why. Who in their right mind would want to be out in this? It's cold and miserable and wet. Obviously they should go inside. Seele isn't dressed for the rain, and it won't be long before it starts up again.

“Да, that sounds perfect.” She answers automatically.
(Yes)

Seele smiles, and answers with a happy little chirping sound that sends shockwaves through her chest.

But the sinking stays.

What's wrong with her? The Bronya should be content to do anything with Seele, should be happy just to bask in her presence. She doesn't need any more than that. Doesn't even deserve Seele's time, anyway, how could she ever ask for more?

Selfishly, the machine demands more. It won't give rest. The pistons are aching for it, bleeding for it, dying for it; the wires thrash and hum and wail for it; the axels are grinding to a halt in protest, their screeches echoing in her empty chest cavity. An ache so painful it might well be a heart attack tears through her ribcage, and she can barely breathe anymore.

Stupid, cruel machinery.

No, she doesn't deserve it. But Seele has tolerated her far beyond what she deserves already. Maybe she can push it a little further?

A foul sensation rises in her gut. She can't do that. She can take advantage of almost anyone else, but not Seele. Even the thought turns her stomach. It's better to say nothing. Be content with what she has, which is more than she could have ever asked for. Letting these stupid feelings overtake her will only lead to terrible places.

Emotions are irrational, and have no place in her decision making. She is better than that. She has to be. There is no other option for her.

“Bronya?” Seele asks gently. “Is something on your mind?”

Speak when spoken to. She must have missed a cue somewhere, too busy in her own head to keep any eye on what's real. Fuck, she's been quiet too long. Seele isn’t upset with her, is she?

Sharpness in her jaw, tightness in her face; Seele looks annoyed, irritated at her inattentiveness. The Bronya has to say something, anything.

Her mouth opens before she has fully constructed her sentence.

“Do you think that maybe–” The words come tumbling out of her mouth in a dizzy haze, before the valves in her throat slam shut and she stops. “Nevermind.”

“Are you sure?”

“It's a stupid idea.”

She has no right to ask.

“Well, I want to hear it anyway. Maybe I won't find it as stupid as you say.” Seele gives her hand a gentle squeeze. If only she would take it between her hands and crush everything back into place.

She has no place to think these things and Seele has offered her a place to say them, anyway. The Bronya shouldn't. She knows better. But she can't lie, either.

Is it possible to have two feelings at once? She isn't sure. If there's any other explanation for the pressure bomb building in her, she doesn't know it. One she recognizes as “nervous” is there; coiling springs, crushing down around her intestines, their steam hissing from the cracking metal. That one rears its many heads far more often than she would like, and always in the most nonsensical places. The other is harder to name, but far less nauseating. It aches deep beneath her lungs, burning and bleeding like something is missing. It is the ache of something she knows should be there.

They do not make for a fun combination. The Bronya would honestly rather tear out her own heart and present it to Seele than figure out what she has to say next, because her tongue has also decided not to cooperate.

Inexplicably, the urge to chew at her lip and fidget pulls at her mind. She's better than that, she won't– especially not here. Not here, in a place so exposed and open, where anyone could be watching. If they sense such weakness, they will think her an easy target. And then where will she be?

A waste, she knows. She will have failed her only purpose in life; keep Seele safe.

It won't happen.

“She was just going to ask if we could go for a walk, afterwards, because she does– she does find the weather… enjoyable.” She manages to say, stumbling over her words like she is still five years old. “But you are not dressed for that, and she doesn't want to make you uncomfortable. The weather is gross, and she can understand you wouldn't want to be out in it.”

Some kind of gross, squirming thing has infiltrated her machinery without her notice. It wriggles under her cheeks, sending a wasteful amount of heat rising through them. She won't fidget. She won't look away. She won't show weakness. She's better than that.

This feeling shouldn't be here, and yet it is.

Stamping it out should be easy. It's supposed to be easy, she's supposed to be good at destroying things. But its tendrils run between her fingers and bleed out into nothing; always evading her, always managing to wriggle away. Vile creature.

When she catches it–

“That sounds good too! Oh, and can we stop for hot chocolates?” Seele smiles at her gently, running her thumb along the side of the Bronya's hand.

She is asking the Bronya, as if she should get any say. As if she isn't already being terribly selfish.

“You won't be cold?”

“No, my sweater will keep me plenty warm.” Something in her expression must give away that she isn't quite convinced, because the other girl laughs. “I'll be okay, I promise. You worry too much, you know?”

“She worries the exact right amount.” The Bronya huffs.

“C'mon, let's get going. Before you worry yourself into an early grave.” Seele pulls her along and she lets her.

How lucky she is that Seele tolerates her so completely. That she rolls right over her rough edges without a word. That she indulges her selfishness, even when she really shouldn't. She makes it easy to forget everything the Bronya has ever learned about how to be, and it doesn't even feel wrong. Being with her is easy.

Too easy. Dangerously easy. Anyone with half an eye could see how pathetic she acts with Seele. How soft she's grown for her. If Seele is there, she folds into a mess of wet jelly and becomes incredibly useless.

All it takes is the wrong person to be watching. And then where will they be?

Her mind flinches away from that thought. That weakness is only another example of her decaying willpower.

“You insult the Bronya. She has been worrying over you her whole life, what makes you think it'll kill her now?”

“It builds up over time, I'm pretty sure. Like smoking.”

“As if you know anything about smoking. She has had to stop you from eating cigarettes.” The Bronya scoffs.

“Yeah, ten years ago. Have a little faith, my dear Bronya.”

The nickname doesn't send her mind spinning and she doesn't trip over nothing. That would be ridiculous. She knows how to walk, there is nothing wrong with her, and the terrain is smooth. There's no reason for her to stumble, and so she doesn't.

She is completely composed.

Like before, the streets are empty. They talk kind of quietly anyway; it's not as if their voices have to travel very far. Some of the pressure building up falls away as they walk, although not enough to let her relax completely. That's good, she wouldn't want to have them be caught off guard by an attack. She couldn't risk anything happening to Seele, and so she keeps a lookout for anything potentially dangerous.

It's easier on a day like this, when there's not so many people to keep track of. They pass by a jogger and a group of five men heading into a restaurant, but that's all. A singular car passes by, a white pickup truck with an expired license plate.

The man behind the wheel stares at them as it passes. It's probably nothing. People stare all the time, especially when they're holding hands. She commits the plate to memory just in case.

Even in the coffee shop, it's almost deserted. There's someone in the corner booth on a laptop and a group of three sitting around one of the tables, and only two people behind the counter.

Seele orders for them both, even though the Bronya knows it makes her anxious. It makes no sense. Why can't she just let the Bronya do it for her? She doesn't mind. It's such a trivial thing, too, something so easy for her to do. Doesn't she know that the Bronya would do anything to make her happy?

At least she can pay for the drinks.

“Oh, I'm sorry, but our reader isn't working. You'll have to use cash.”

That's inconvenient, but it can't be helped. She's sure she has cash in her wallet somewhere. Not a lot, but enough.

It's taking too long.

Maybe she should start carrying more? This is getting ridiculous. Far too many seconds have passed without her being able to locate it. She should know where the stupid things are, but they elude her at the moment.

The people in the store must be watching. They must be glancing over at her, wondering, what's wrong with her? Why is she too stupid to find money in her own damn wallet? How long is that going to take? That poor worker. Probably only in passing. She's not self-centered enough to think that she consumes other's thoughts, but that passing weakness is enough to make her fingers shake.

“You must get a lot of complaints about that.” She says, mostly just to fill the empty space and stall for time. People dislike silence.

It doesn't matter what she says, or what they answer with, particularly. The point is only to smooth things over, to give her hands time to remember their purpose, to give her a moment to breathe.

Nervous is back, for no discernable reason.

Ridiculous. It is a coffee shop. She has skated through much more dangerous situations without any of this nonsense.

“You have no idea.” The worker huffs a bitter laugh.

Still, she turns up empty. She couldn't have used the last of it, could she?

As she's searching through the pockets– too many pockets, what was she thinking when she bought this thing– her ears alert to the metallic chime of the register opening. She glances up to see the cashier passing Seele some change.

Where the Bronya has an orderly system, she seems to pull things out of her pockets at will. Writing implements, money, rubber bands, screws and nails and cables and books and, once, an entire tape dispenser. Not for the first time, she's considering switching sides. How does she manage to have just the right thing for everything?

It's just ridiculous.

Seele catches her staring, something she hasn't meant to, and a confusing slurry of emotions flash across her face. She ends with a grin, though, so the Bronya doesn't worry. Every smile Seele can make is engraved on the hardware of her brain, and she knows this one is genuine.

And she feels her throat lock up. Her mouth opens, ever so slightly, but she snaps it closed again before anything can come out.

Something is there, something wrong and twisting and uncertain. Murky, muddy waters lap at her ankles and she has no idea what she is trying to say.

This thing, whatever it is, is deafening.

So instead, she picks up the drink that's for her and intertwines their hands again. It isn't important for right now. She has a task to complete. Maybe later, when she has nothing better to do, she can unravel it. Not now.

“The Bronya will pay next time.” She says, as they leave the shop.

“You pay for everything!” Seele laughs. “Let me treat you every now and again.”

“Why shouldn't she pay for everything?”

A reasonable question. She has more than enough money for the both of them, and Seele is working to save for her first paid apartment. The Bronya has no future to save for. Why should it matter what she does with her money?

“If you want to pay for everything, then you'll have to let me… ah. Hm. I'll think of something, just you wait.”

She would wait for Seele for a lifetime. She'd wait until the flesh melted off her bones. She'd wait until death, if that's what it took.

“She's sure you will.”

The hot chocolate is pleasant. Hers is slightly bitter for whatever reason, and she's more partial to that than the explosion of sugar Seele is drinking. Seele has at least three different colors of sprinkles on hers, whipped cream, peppermint, and some chocolate shavings; and that's only what the Bronya can see. But so long as it makes her happy, it doesn't matter.

And besides, her sweet tooth is adorable. Especially when she does her little happy dance– every time she sees it, the Bronya is convincing her heart is going to give out– a smile, a couple shrugs of the shoulders, shaking one leg and then the other, and a bit of rocking side-to-side. Seeing her happy is worth everything in the world.

It always has been and it always will be.

Being here with her is such a wonderful thing. There's no snow, but the wind carries an echo of Russian winters. Of being smaller, of caring less. Seele leading her through the forest, searching for the perfect spot to build a snowman, and the Bronya trailing behind in her footsteps.

The wind would howl and wail, kicking up the snow again or carrying fresh powder, and they would huddle together until it passed. Trees formed a towering barrier against the rest of the world, and it was only the two of them. Just two little kids together, building a snowman, and the Bronya could forget that she was ever anything but a child. She could forget, for a time, that there was anything other than this crystalized happiness.

She has many positive memories from her time at the orphanage.

A warm fire and a cup of hot chocolate waiting inside when they finally came in from the cold. Smiles and laughter that were just as warm, in a place that was steadily growing into a home. Red noses leaking ice-cold snot and frozen fingers fumbling for coat buttons. Most of all, Seele.

So many times, she remembers walking in Seele's footsteps; not just in the snow. Anywhere Seele led, she would follow; in those days they were never seen apart.

They walk side by side, now. Hand in hand. It's more efficient that way. Better for talking– the Bronya was not a chatty child. Most of their conversations were one sided at best. It must not have been ideal, for a social child like Seele.

Still, Seele kept her around anyway.

“Do you want to walk through the park?” She seems to catch the Bronya's wandering mind and keep it safe in a jar.

Summers spent catching bugs, and holding them close. Butterflies and beetles and moths and millipedes. The Bronya had never really noticed bugs before, had never really bothered to pay attention to the tiny creatures all around her. Each time they found one, Seele would squeal with delight and watch it with an infectious joy. She was always sad to let them go, but the light in her eyes never faded.

Something far under her ribs shifts screeches out a metallic wail. These components are moving in ways they were never designed to, and she is floundering, stuck in memories that haven't bothered her for years now.

How could she dare to ask any more? She's already burdened Seele enough. Seele deserves some choice in what they do.

“We don't need to do anything you don't want to.”

“I’m asking if you want to, silly.”

“If that's okay with you.” She doesn't mean to say it, and yet she does, in a voice that sounds so incredibly small.

Smaller than it ever did when they were young. Where has all that confidence gone?

“Of course it's okay.” Seele smiles, tugging her along the path. “The rain's pretty romantic, isn't it?”

This is wrong, she knows. The question was a test, and she has failed, miserably. She doesn't know what her punishment will be, but she selfishly hopes that it will be soon. Waiting is the worst part.

She isn't supposed to want. It's not her place. She’s hardly fit to stand at Seele's side, let alone ask things of her.

And she isn't supposed to love, either. Love is selfish. It's cruel. To love is to want, and she can do neither.

It's not particularly novel, that idea. She's known her whole life that she isn't someone who should love, or even can. The closest she could ever come is devotion, something tangible. Something useful. Love isn't useful, it doesn't mean anything or matter at all.

Love won't make her a better soldier, a better protector. It's a flimsy emotion that can be easily overruled and sidelined. It flips sides and wanes and can never be depended on.

But devotion will. Devotion is something physical, something visceral, something with teeth, something she can use. Devotion burns in the back of the throat and overrides pain and pushes her always forwards. If she's devoted, if she's obsessed, if she serves– that is useful. She can be useful, then. Her devotion can be weaponized, sharpened into teeth and harnessed into bullets.

She doesn't love Seele. She can't.

But she is devoted to her, hopelessly so, and that is what matters. That is what carries her forward when everything has gone to shit, that is what drives her when she has lost everything else, that is what powers her endless resolve.

Without Seele, without that devotion, the Bronya is nothing.

That is how it always has been, and how it always should be. That is right. She likes it that way, although that is irrelevant.

Her thoughts scatter in the wind as Seele's knee locks up. The ground under her is bloated with rain and soft, and her foot has begun to slide. A fall like this wouldn't seriously hurt her, but the mud getting on her clothes would be extremely undesirable.

Immediately, she steps forward to catch her. It would be pure negligence not to. By the time the other girl's foot slips fully into the mud, the Bronya is already there.

Her hands clasp around Seele's upper arm and shoulder, steadying her. The added weight and stability is enough for her to easily regain her balance. Although it will take her a moment to realize that, and for her body to catch up. That's alright. The Bronya stays steady. She manages to save her before the mud can ever reach her.

What she doesn't manage to save, though, is the cup of hot chocolate. The lid bounces and rolls further into the mud.

Seele sucks in a sharp breath as she rights herself, gathering her feet under her once more. Once she's sure Seele is stable, she releases her grip.

“Thanks, Bronya.”

“Of course.” She nods, then pauses. “... She is sorry about the hot chocolate, though.”

“Why are you sorry? You're not the dummy who spilled it.” Seele laughs.

She bends to pick up the empty cup and nearly loses her footing again.

Again, the Bronya catches her.

She keeps her eye out for more mud patches as they keep walking.

They don't get very much further before Seele makes it clear that she's cold. She keeps taking her hand out of her pocket and rubbing it on her shirt, trying to force warmth back into it. Although they're holding hands, she knows that doesn't bring much warmth. The Bronya's hands are slightly above room temperature on a good day, and barely any heat can escape her gloves anyway. Without the heat from the hot chocolate, it must be unbearable.

“Ah, damn it.” Seele mumbles, and hearing her swear is unreasonably adorable. “I always think I'll be fine, but now I'm wishing I brought my gloves.”

Some things never really change.

“Here, you can have mine.” She says, already having pulled them off and held them out to her.

“Are you sure? Won't you be cold?”

“Да, the Bronya will be fine.”

She won't notice her hands going numb, anyway. In all honesty, she won't notice very much at all.

Not with Seele here.

And how could she? How could she ever tear her eyes away?

Some stupid, irrational part of her shrieks that if she looks away, Seele will be gone again. The moment her eyes close Seele will cease to be, she'll slip away while the Bronya lets down her guard. Looking away will shatter the illusion she's worked so hard to craft, and she simply can't bear it.

But mostly, she doesn't find anything else nearly as interesting. What could the trees and sticks and mud offer her eyes that Seele doesn't have? The forest is an easy place for a date. No one else is crazy enough to be out in this weather, and so there's nothing to distract her. She can stare until her eyes fall out.

And she is staring, she knows. Seele knows it too.

There's something mischievous, almost, in the glances she steals back at the Bronya. Like they're playing a secret game again, one that only the two of them know the rules to. Her eyes dart over their hands, up her arms, over her shoulder and sneak a look at her face. They make eye contact. Seele flushes and quickly looks away. The Bronya squeezes her hand, and their eyes meet again.

It's easy. Being here, with Seele.

She knows now, what she wanted to say before.

Она любит тебя.
(She loves you)

Lies, she knows. These words that come from the disease within her are lies, falsehoods that can never see the light of day. She thought she was rid of them, but these words that she doesn't dare speak have crawled their way to the front again– a beast she can't seem to truly kill.

How strange that they're in her first language, though. She hasn't had a reason to speak русский in a long time, but it boils up just as easily as it always has.
(Russian)

It must be these wandering memories. This won't be a reoccurring problem; she won't allow it. Only this, and nothing more.

Wandering snowfields alone. The uneven gait of crutches under her, her footsteps in the snow a three-tone oddity.

It doesn't matter. Seele is here, now, and those days are done.

The chill settling around her bones doesn't do her old wounds any favors, though. That's one more downside. Her bad knee is starting to creak and whine under the pressure, rattling obnoxiously. Somehow the pain stabs at the back of her eye as well as through her leg, which is incredibly irritating.

But she's hiding it well.

Well, she thought she was hiding it well until Seele steered them over to a little pavilion overlooking the water. As they settle against the worn wooden picnic table, her leg creaks with relief.

It's really not necessary, the pain is nowhere near as bad as it gets. She would've been fine walking around for the remainder of their time together.

… It is thoughtful, though. And kind of sweet.

She wants to protest and insist that she's fine, but Seele is still smiling and her arm is slung about the Bronya's shoulders. If she minded, she would say so. Seele's just like that.

So if they're going to sit anyway, she might as well take advantage of it. Relieve a little pain.

With clumsy, numb fingers, the Bronya starts to work the tenderness out of her muscle. She starts at the bottom of her left thigh and slowly moves her way down to her calf.

It's a simple exercise her physical therapist taught her, that's all. Nothing serious. There isn't much she can do about it, other than rest, anyway.

Without a word, Seele hooks her hand under the Bronya's knees and drapes them over her thighs. She radiates warmth, even though her thick jeans, and the heat hugs her bones like it'll never let go. Pulling off her gloves, she sets about massaging life back into her legs. Fire blooms under her touch; the Bronya hadn't realized just how cold she was until now. Although it burns, and she'll just as soon be cold and in pain again, she can't help relaxing. Her eyes slip closed without her permission, her head falls against Seele's shoulder.

“Is this okay?” Seele murmurs softly, watching her expression with concern.

A feverish, fervent pressure explodes at the back of the Bronya's throat– Она любит тебя, it screams, its voice full of fire and violence and devotion. Она любит тебя, she needs to say. Она любит тебя. The words burn and fester under her skin, bursting into pinpricks of blistering heat in her lungs.
(She loves you)

Seele's hands are gentle, much too gentle for someone like her. Her breath softly rustles the Bronya's hair.

She mumbles some nonsensical, guttural reply, something she hopes sounds affirmative.

It seems to work just fine, because Seele laughs and presses a gentle kiss against the side of her forehead. And although her face erupts with all the wind and ice she had grown numb to, she wouldn't have it any other way. Wouldn't dare trade this moment for the world.

If she could capture this eternity in a box, she would do it in a heartbeat. Keep the fuzzy, comfortable haze close and Seele's touch even closer. She isn't shy about physical affection; and even still, the Bronya finds herself savoring each and every little touch.

Memory is a terrible record keeper. It will have to do.

“Thank you.” She rasps at last, once her voice has started working again.

“Anything.”

It can't be true, but she hopes it is. More than anything in the world. She should know better; she does know better. Someone like her is not deserving of that kind of care, least of all from Seele. But the starving thing in her head snatches up any sliver of attention it can get, deserved or not, and this moment is going to play in her mind forever.

They fall silent after that.

For a while, the only sounds are of the wind whistling through the trees, the rain pattering against the ground, and the hum of their breathing. That's for the best, honestly, because the Bronya couldn't think of an intelligent thing to say anyway.

That creature is back, settling on top of all her whirring machines and crushing them beneath its weight. Its claws bat her tongue back and forth like it's some kind of toy, and it never lets her make up her mind. One moment she needs to scream her wordless feelings to Seele, the next she couldn't bear to defile them with the brutality of speaking. The overwhelming nature of the beast leaves her gasping for some resolution between the two, but it's not a bad feeling.

Actually, she's pretty sure this is the one called “happiness”

Soon, or maybe hours later, the rain begins to fall harder. But Seele doesn't say anything about leaving, so she doesn't either.

Everything is so soft and peaceful. She doesn't know that she's ever felt more at ease. The tension is pouring out of her like water down a drain, like the rain rolling off the roof. It doesn't feel real, it can't be. But if this is a dream, it's one she never wants to come back from. To be lost in this space forever, nothing could be better.

That train of thought is incredibly selfish, but she can't bring herself to shut it down.

Later, she will.

Now she lets herself drift through time, lets the moments stretch ad nauseum, and lets herself relax.

Maybe this is what it would feel like to dissolve.

“... It's getting late.” Seele mumbles. “It'll be dark soon.”

“We should go.” The Bronya agrees.

Neither of them move.

The rain keeps on.

“This is ridiculous.” Seele huffs, and stands.

That must be Veliona, then. She's standing with her back high and her shoulders hunched down, and her hands are balled up into fists. Her weight is distributed evenly through her feet; meaning that she doesn't walk on her tip-toes like Seele does. It's minute stuff, if she's being honest– the biggest tell is that Veliona scowls almost constantly.

The Bronya finds it adorable, but if she ever told her so, she'd be missing a few teeth.

“It's nice of you to join us.”

“Shut up.” She huffs. She doesn't really mean it. “I'm only here to make sure you dumbasses don't sit out in the rain all night.”

“Aw. That's too bad.” The Bronya murmurs teasingly, taking one of her hands and playing with her fingers. “She enjoys your company. Maybe we can spend more time together soon?”

There's a startled deer in the headlights in front of her, and Veliona's face goes adorably red. For all her big talk, she's so easy to fluster.

“Hey!” Seele grins. “You can't be making plans with other women while we're literally on a date!”

She's just teasing, of course. Seele loves seeing them get along; she constantly worries how Veliona is going to be received and treated by others. The Bronya is more than happy to cherish both girls.

“Love is in the air, Seele.”

“I think you mean rain.”

“What? Is the rain not romantic anymore?” The Bronya teases, an air of smugness creeping over her.

“Bronyaaaa…” Seele whines.

The rain is pouring down in those heavy sheets– each raindrop colliding with the intensity of a wounded animal, thrashing and flailing in a violent frenzy. Like heavy paw steps, the rain sounds furiously against the roof above them. And in rivers it pours off the edge, making a wall of water between them and the outside world.

It's mesmerizing; and not unlike the movements of a snake.

And Seele's sweater, while warm, is not at all waterproof. She'll be soaked, and the walk back will only make her colder. That just won't do.

“Come here.”

She steps closer, face scrunched up with curiosity, and before she can protest, the Bronya sets her jacket around her shoulders. It's only fair.

Seele catches her hand.

“Are you sure? I know you don't like water. It's okay, really, you can keep your coat.”

“She doesn't mind.”

It's not really the rain or the water that’s miserable to be in. It's the wet clothes she'll have to wear, they way they suction to her skin and refuse to move; or worse, when they slide over her skin and leave trails of electricity buzzing behind them. Thankfully, it isn't a very common problem for her, as she can plan her outfits around it.

But for Seele? It's nothing. Wet clothes are a minor annoyance at worst, and she would go so much further than this.

Reluctantly, Seele slips on her jacket.

A glow spreads through her stomach; she has to bite back a sharp grin. Finally, she's managed to do something she's supposed to. The machine is purring its praises, a joyful rumbling echoing in her ribcage.

Even the vile, off-putting chafing of her wet clothes can't tamper that glow.

So the walk home is overall a pleasant affair.

She doesn't acknowledge the way Seele's concern makes her feel. It's not appropriate for her to get anything out of this exchange, much less feel good about making Seele worry. The other girl shouldn't even give her the time of day. This is expected of her, she doesn't get any points for doing the bare minimum.

Her bike isn't far, tucked carefully away under the awning. She gets in approximately one step towards it, before Seele snatches her up by the wrist and pulls her into the building itself.

Of course, she follows without a word of protest. She'd follow Seele anywhere.

Muddy footprints creep behind them through the halls, trailing memories after. They'd hide in closets, away from the threat of a bath, and Seele's giggling would always give them away. It's giving them away, even now; people are staring and glaring and the Bronya thinks she should never shut up.

Her laugh is the best sound in all the world. Each echo she leaves is tucked carefully into the Bronya's ribcage, treasured with all the rest. She can't help but laugh, a little, too.

When they come to Seele's flat, the Bronya freezes in the doorway.

The way Seele slips out of her coat is mesmerizing– enchanting, even, if the Bronya were silly enough to use such a word. She pats the shoulders so sweetly, almost tender in the way she wipes rain from the sturdy fabric.

And to top it all off, she hangs it up in the closet with her own coat.

The Bronya is acutely aware of how her heart stutters.

Stupid thing.

It's only her coat. It's only part of her daily wear; it's only an object. An object that's part of her skin. Thinking this way is ridiculous. She has nothing to be so flustered over.

“Oh dear, you're soaked. I'm so sorry, Bronya.” Seele scrambles to grab her a towel from the closet.

“It's okay. She'll dry off.” She shrugs.

Seele insists on patting her somewhat dry anyway. Her head is spinning from the attention, and she can barely keep her breathing regular.

“No, no, you need something dry to wear. I'll get you something of mine.”

Her breath snags on the twisted wires in her throat and stretches until it's the consistency of fucking taffy. Everything comes crashing to a halt, landing in a heap of scrap metal. The silence rings, the dust settles, and all the while Seele is leading her to her bedroom.

“Something of yours?” Her voice croaks out.

“Yeah, I mean, unless you have a secret stash of your clothes hidden away somewhere in my apartment.” Seele laughs. “Which, you totally should– not a secret one, but like if you wanted to keep some clothes over here I wouldn't mind. You're over so often, it's basically your apartment anyway.”

And she thought Seele offering her clothes made a mess of her. Suddenly that's nothing. A drop in the sea, endless and eternal and hungry. Does the ocean hunger? She doesn't suppose it has much to hunger for. With what teeth could it eat, anyway?

Too many teeth gnash in her ribcage. It's an omen of something, a premonition, a warning of danger. But she can't bring herself to listen, too caught up in the giddiness and unbridled warmth bleeding out of her. It's ridiculous, again, but like her coat hanging by the door, it makes her dizzy.

She stands awkwardly in the corner as the other girl rummages through her dresser, doing her best to keep her breathing even and her heart rate down. It only takes a moment for her to find what she's looking for.

“Here, try these.” Seele says, and the Bronya does.

Truth be told, it never crosses her mind that changing in front of other people is considered weird. Privacy is not something she has ever needed. It's only a body– only flesh and blood and skin and bone. Hers may not be pretty, but it serves its purpose and she is not ashamed of it.

So it's puzzling, and a bit amusing, when Seele makes an adorable little squeak and leaves the room so fast the door slams behind her. Her shirt has snagged on her hair, so she doesn't see Seele's face as she goes, but she can imagine it's an endearing shade of bright red. Seele is ridiculous sometimes.

But once she tugs her head free, that train of thought is replaced by a new, squirming kind of feeling.

Squirming in the way a liquid metal does, cooling slightly and forming a haze and falling back in and shimmering faintly all the while. Convection currents churn within her and she can only find one reason why.

Of course, it all leads back to Seele.

More specifically this time, her clothes. Because… because why?

She can't understand her own self sometimes. Why? What brings this bubbly, giddy warmth?

Her hoodie is a size too big, with sleeves too long and the end landing midway down her thigh. It's soft on the inside, so much softer than any of the Bronya's own clothes. Whatever is on the inside of this thing, she's sure it's softer than anything she's ever felt in her life. It's a dark red with black flower patterns– definitely more Velionia's taste, and appealing nonetheless– and black hoodie strings that have definitely been chewed.

A softness pulls at her mind. She can imagine Velionia absently chewing on them, scowling at whatever she's doing in concentration. Maybe from time to time Seele will scold her for damaging their clothes, but she wouldn't pay any mind.

The sweatpants, too, are soft and well worn, the waistband having lost its tension and loose threads trailing around the ankles.

They're only clothes. And yet.

Irrational thoughts plague her. If Seele will have her, she w– her mind stamps out that word before it can take hold again, before it can take root like the disease it is– will be hers forever.

“... That okay? Should I get you something else? I wasn't too sure what you'd like.” Seele asks as soon as she steps out, tugging gently on the ends of her hair. Her shoulders are tense with nerves, her tone conveying a sense of anxiety that she is barely trying to hide.

“Don't doubt yourself, Seele, you and Velionia know her better than anyone else. She likes it, да.” The Bronya answers, rolling one of the strings between her index finger and thumb.

Seele picked these clothes out with purpose, she knows. Her wardrobe is about as far as it can get from the Bronya's, and Seele found something more neutral that she would be comfortable in; knowing she wouldn't refuse anything even if she hated it. She's not even sure she's seen Seele in a hoodie and sweatpants before. The only reason she's trying to play off the thought she put into it is because she's worried, worried that the Bronya won't like it.

As if she could bring herself to dislike anything Seele gave her.

“That one's V’s favorite– she wears it like, everywhere. Don't tell her I told you this, but she absolutely insisted I give it to you.”

The gears controlling her voice jerk harshly out of alignment, scraping against each other with a metallic shriek before locking up. She couldn't speak if she wanted to– even if she could find anything to say. For just a moment, the incessant spinning has stopped, and only when she needs it most.

Velionia’s hoodie. Her favorite. A girl who's notoriously possessive and bad at sharing. She's watched Velionia break people's noses for taking her food without asking, let alone borrowing her clothes.

Она любит тебя, is all she can think to say.
(She loves you)

She's already been silent for much too long, but her body just won't cooperate. Breathing– let alone thinking of something to say– eludes her. Her treacherous mind can only consider one possibility. The words claw to the forefront, leaving a muddled, bloody mess behind them. And she's left sifting through the corpse of her brain, looking for something remotely intelligent.

Without her permission, her body leans forward. All it can think to do is tumble, to toss herself off the edge of her feelings and plummet into the abyss. Even if it's endless. Even if she shatters upon the rocks at the bottom. Even if it's wrong.

Seele's face softens, she leans in closer too. For just a moment, they're kids again, sharing some stupid secret that they'll both forget within the hour.

Again, the words settle on her tongue. Она любит тебя. How easy it would be, to let them plummet from her teeth.
(She loves you)

They're close now, so much closer than they strictly need to be. Echoing in her ribcage, she can feel Seele's heartbeat as her own falls into step. The Bronya's hands ghost up over her arms. Seele lets her eyes drift shut and tilts her head down, melting into the Bronya's demands for her space.

This, she thinks, this is the only sight worth seeing.

If she leaned up just a bit more…

Fuck, what is she doing? She can't kiss Seele.

“Sorry, she…” The words dry in her throat, and she pulls away awkwardly.

Screaming fills her ribcage the very moment she leaves. Unworthy, disgusting, selfish, they decry her; and still they bleed for Seele.

She must be making up the disappointment in Seele's face. The feelings in her chest are far too loud for her to focus. They weep like friction burns, like hands scraped far too fast against the concrete earth. All of the protective coating over them has been ruthlessly rubbed away, leaving the ugly truth exposed to the open air. She isn't deserving. She never was, never will be. These things in her that want and cry and bleed, they are wrong. She should have been rid of them long ago.

Her hands are shaking. They shouldn't be.

Everything in her is straining to curl in upon itself and crumple, but she can't. Can't stand strong, can't crumble down. She's stuck here, in this sinking pit, and she can't even fight against the things pulling her down.

What's wrong with her? Stupid, this is stupid. She has no business feeling this way.

Gently clasping one of the Bronya's hands in her own, Seele watches her with gentle eyes she cannot meet. That's when she notices they've curled up to her chest, as if they can protect all of the squishy, bloody feelings inside. How can she ever be expected to take care of Seele when she can't even control her own body? Really, this is just pathetic.

They're moving now, the Bronya easily trailing after Seele. As always. It doesn't matter where she goes. The Bronya will follow her anywhere.

They settle together on the couch. Side by side. Very little space settles between them, even as the wind shifts and the air changes.

“Thank you. For the clothes.” The Bronya murmurs at last. Better late than never, she supposes.

“Anything.” Seele says again.

There it is again, that terrible wanting. The longing tears through her chest with the force of a freight train and she can barely choke back the words stacked on her tongue. All the howling wheels and roaring engines and the wailing machinery slam against the back of her teeth and beg to be set free, to let their devotion be known. Shrieking beasts claw desperately at the fences she's put up, and it's all she can do to keep them at bay.

Она любит тебя.
(She loves you)

She wants it. More than anything she wants it to be true, wants to keep it close like a promise, wants to be able to sink her claws in and hold on to it. She'll won't take too much. She doesn't need much. Barely anything.

It grows in her like a tumor, this wanting. A disease of the mind, something she should have stamped out long ago. But the Bronya wasn't strong enough, then, and now it is devouring her from the inside out.

How disappointed Seele must be.

Seele opens her mouth like she wants to say something.

This is it, she knows. All of her failures have brought her here, and she will finally be punished. It's only right. It's only fair.

This is just what she's earned. What she deserves.

She doesn't let herself hope this time. That's not someone the Bronya is supposed to do, either, so she doesn't. She doesn't hope for forgiveness or mercy or any of those other pointless things she doesn't deserve. She doesn't hope that Seele will let her stay beside her anyway, because she has no right to.

But before Seele can say those condemning words, a shrill ringing fills the air.

Not a dangerous ringing. This one is the sound of an oven timer or a phone alarm going off. From the location of the sound, she's guessing it's an oven timer.

“My cookie dough is done.” She says, instead of whatever she was going to.

“Да.” The Bronya answers numbly.

Neither of them move, for a moment.

When Seele stands, her absence is the latest of many stakes driven through the Bronya's ribcage. And it's the last one she can hold; her bones will shatter and explode into shrapnel if just one more thing happens today, she's sure of it. But she stays behind.

It's not her place to assume Seele wants her anywhere she isn't invited. If she wants the Bronya there, she'll say so. It's as simple as that.

So she waits. Silently, of course.

Speak only when spoken to. Was Seele speaking to her about the cookie dough? Maybe the target was Velionia, instead. Maybe that is why she has been left behind. This last notch in a long, long list of transgressions.

Maybe this is finally the time Seele will leave her for good. Maybe she has finally grown wise to the Bronya's cruelty. It wouldn't be unexpected, and it wouldn't be unfounded.

But she'll always wait for Seele. It doesn't matter if she intends on coming back or not.

“C'mon, why don't you help me? It'll be fun.”

It sounds like a question, but it isn't. She knows a command when she hears one. The Bronya stands.

“The Bronya has never made cookies before.” Pausing at the edge of the kitchen, she finds her hands are still shaking.

Irrelevant. Her experience in the matter is unimportant to the command; if Seele has asked this of her, then she will do it.

Stupid, stupid. She isn't supposed to hesitate.

She's not nervous. Not even a little. The Bronya is not a nervous person and she has no reason to be so hesitant. It's nonsensical. There is no danger. There is no threat. Seele would never, ever hurt her– and if she did, it would only be the Bronya's fault– she knows that. Knows it more than she knows anything else; better than the rumble of a storm, better than the taste of blood, better than the air in her lungs. She's wearing her damn clothes, for fuck's sake, there's no reason to be so nervous. So she isn't. She's not nervous.

Even if she was, it's no excuse for weakness like this.

And so, when the other girl takes her hand, she deftly ignores the screeching and wailing that redoubles its presence in her chest, as well as the horrible stuttering of the engine she calls a heart. Utterly irrational. Her blood is pulsing as though she's ran an hour, she's fighting back the urge to hold her breath, and something inside of her is going to explode and die. Stupid things can't seem to make up their minds. One moment, they're aching for her, bleeding for her touch, whining and crying all over the place; the next they're in hysterics over the thing they needed so bad.

It doesn't make any sense at all. Stupid, stupid feelings.

“Don't worry, I'll show you.” Seele smiles.

Won't they just go away? These stupid words that plague her mind have no mercy.

But each denial only makes them grow louder, only adds fuel to their fire, only sends more cracks spidering through her resolve. They build up in her mouth, as if it is an arcade machine; one of the brainless ones filled with coins perched on an ever-moving shelf, meant only to waste money. There's no skill here, only luck, and the Bronya has been incredibly lucky. The coins poised at the tip of her tongue threaten to destroy everything she has worked so hard for.

Она любит тебя, they repeat. Она любит тебя так сильно, что это причиняет боль. Она любит тебя, with everything she is. She'll love you until there's nothing left of herself, until the universe melts back into emptiness; and nothing can change that. It doesn't matter if you hurt her, if you hate her, if you want her gone. She’ll love you forever anyway.
(She loves you. She loves you so much that it hurts. She loves you)

Luck is again on her side, so she just smiles back. But she can't keep this up forever. Not while relying on something so fickle.

The smile is uneasy between her teeth and she's sure her lips are wrong, but she tries. Even if it's harsh and stilted and feels more like a grimace. She'd carve any shape into her face if it made Seele happy.

Somehow, that makes her smile even wider– she's sure Seele's face should have split in two with the force of it.

“Here, hold the rolling pin like this.” She says, gently pressing the Bronya's hands into the smooth wood.

With her standing behind the Bronya like this, it's hard not to be acutely aware of their height difference. Seele's hair brushes against her cheek; the soft, floral smell of her soap floods the Bronya's nose and wriggles into her brain.

She's never felt quite so little before, but it doesn't bring any of the unease it normally does. If she must be short and small, Seele's arms are the best place for it. She's small enough to be cradled, to be enveloped completely, to be consumed whole.

And her hands. Seele has her hands on the backs of the Bronya's, showing her the movements to make. Her skin is soft, her grip is gentle, her thumb runs carefully over the Bronya's own. The heat of her touch is melting the flesh off the Bronya's bones, leaving her an aching, bleeding mess. For Seele to put her hands to her chest and scoop out her heart from the smoking rubble, that would be all she wants.

There it is again, that terrible disease. She needs to focus. The Bronya has been given a task to complete.

Admittedly, it's extremely difficult to focus on anything else when Seele is so close. There's a reason she always does her work alone, and part of it is that Seele's so damn distracting.

If she were any more beautiful, the Bronya is sure that she'd collapse in on herself like a black hole. The world just couldn't handle that. Physics itself would bend around her, and just standing here, the Bronya would be obliterated into “noodle-matter”– as Kiana so eloquently puts it.

She might as well be “noodle-matter” for all the good she's doing helping with cookies. Seele's doing all the work. The hands holding the rolling pin are hers, the hands applying flour are hers, the hands cutting out the dough are hers. If Seele stepped away, she's 88% certain she'd collapse. Her bones have decided to transform into gelatin, which is extremely helpful for standing upright.

And she's so patient as she explains how and what to do, even though the Bronya can barely process her actual words over the blood in her ears. Just the sound of her voice is enough to turn her brain into mush.

Seele rests her chin on the top of the Bronya's shoulder for a moment, and she wonders how common spontaneous combustion is in human beings.

Fuck, she's so pathetic.

It can't be helped, at this point. No amount of wishful thinking is going to return her malfunctioning systems to normal. No amount of self-control will stop her mind from doing a flip inside her head each time Seele readjusts her grip on the rolling pin. She's past the point of no return.

It's comfortable here, honestly. Fighting everything inside her that screams for Seele is excruciating, worse than doing stitches without anesthesia.

That can't be helped, either, though. She has to fight. And she can't lose.

There's a rot inside her, a disease, a blight. It'll hurt Seele if she lets her too close. She knows that. She's always known that.

She can't let that happen, no matter what.

Harsh smoke in her nose brings her out of her fever induced haze, and for once she's glad for its burn. Getting lost in her head doesn't help anyone. She has to get a grip.

“Золотце, something's burning.” The Bronya murmurs, glancing over at the stove.
(darling)

The nickname slips out before she can bite it down, and she's infinitely grateful that Seele doesn't seem to notice.

“Oh, the butter!” Seele yelps.

She tries not to mourn the loss of her touch too much, tries to ignore the burning echo sinking into her skin. A tingling murmur, a gentle warmth, a quiet hum still stinging on her skin. Her touch is punishingly acidic, boiling through the metal circuitry and leaving blistering wounds in her wake, and the absence of it burns just as fiercely. Her body bleeds so fervently, so viciously, that it's almost unbearable. And if she could, the Bronya would beg her to hold her tightly and never let go, no matter how much it hurts.

But she can't. So she'll keep rolling out the dough while Seele tries to recover the burned butter.

It's cold under her hands, colder still now that Seele is gone. The rolling pin’s handles are worn smooth, and the stone shows its age in numerous nicks and scratches.

An odd sensation settles over her shoulders, draped around her neck in a thick blanket. Something new.

It defuses the cacaphony so effortlessly that it must be a trick. Something about this new feeling is weird. Weirder than her “normal” range of feelings, anyway. Like spinning round and round and trying to walk in a straight line, or locking eyes with a distorted reflection, almost. It's wrong, kind of, but not really. Not in any way that matters? Something is not right here, and that's fine.

This feeling is not supposed to be here and she doesn't care.

Hands like hers were not meant to be rolling dough in a kitchen, and yet here she is. Even as she fails repeatedly and makes a mockery of her, Seele still keeps her around.

For what purpose, she can't discern. But if she is given this chance, then she will do anything. She'll roll out this dough. She'll wash the dishes when they're done. She'll hold Seele close and return her clothes clean. Anything Seele wants is what she’ll do.

Laid out like that, it doesn't seem so different from all her other feelings today. But it lacks the teeth that the others have, the violence and the passion and the fury are nowhere to be found. This one is calm. This one is easy. Compared to the others, it is a dog among the wolves, a domestic creature among the wild beasts.

Maybe this new one will stick around. It's much easier to think clearly if she isn't fighting against the screaming constantly.

She sneaks a glance at Seele; frantically stirring the pot and firmly scolding its contents, she couldn't look any more perfect if she tried.

Она любит тебя. She loves you.

This time the knowledge brings some sense of peace. Something inevitable, inescapable, only comparable to death. She was always meant to fail like this. Failure was a forgone conclusion, and trying to escape was a suicide mission.

It's not as though the Bronya can help it– she's endearing. Charming. Seele insisted they go out despite the rain and forgot to bring a proper jacket, took them on a romantic walk and nearly ate shit in the mud, started baking cookies and burned the butter she was trying to melt. Nothing has gone right today, and instead of being irritating, it's adorable. That she would want to see her, even on a day like this. That she would take her comfort into account. That she wants to include her in all her favorite things. Even if she has no place there, Seele seems determined to carve one out for her.

There is nowhere she'd rather be.

If Seele would have her, she’ll stand beside her forever. Whatever that future holds for them both, going through it together would be all she could ever need. She'd be honored to share in Seele's life.

Spending their lives together. Sure, she's thought about it– more than she probably should– but it's never tasted as real as it does now. The Bronya can see it, watching Seele desperately trying not to burn butter.

Maybe in an apartment similar to this one, maybe in a nice little house. Inconsequential details. Seele's book collection spans the wall, her reminders are scattered all over the house, bright colors and vibrancy soaking through the whole home. It smells of her, too, the whole place like an echo of her presence. The sunlight filters gently through the bullet proof windows, highlighting Seele with its radiance. And at night they'll curl up under those fluffy blankets Seele likes, and she'll wait until Seele falls asleep to make sure everything is okay. It will be, of course, for what could hurt them with her there?

Then when Seele goes off to work in the morning, the Bronya will make her breakfast and clean and run all the errands she needs to. She'll go to her own job around 1300 hours, maybe, and still make it home before Seele.

They'll share in almost everything. She'll wear clothes that aren't hers more often than she wears her own, and Seele will take her bike to and from work.

She won't be too overbearing or too possessive or too needy or too greedy. Seele will come and go as she pleases and she will always be there, waiting. She doesn't need much, doesn't take up too much space.

“Ah-ha, I've got it!” Seele cries, grinning triumphantly at her.

The Bronya hums a question and shakes off her reverie. She's been caught staring again. Again, she doesn't question the whirlwind of emotions that pass over Seele's face as she realizes.

If it was a problem, Seele would say so. She's just like that.

“If you get to pay for everything,” She begins, setting the pot of butter down next to the cookie tray, “then I get to make you dinner everyday.”

“What? No, she can't agree to that.”

“Well, then you can't complain when I buy you things.”

“You are impossible.”

“Yeah, but I'm yours.”

All of that sudden clarity evaporates in an instant. Her machinery slams into gear so hard that it knocks all the air from her lungs and leaves her coughing, looking for some kind of purchase. She barely remembers to turn away from the food as she does, her mind whirling around those few simple words.

Yours.

If Seele was looking to get rid of her, this is surely the way to do it. She's going to choke to death on her own spit and all she can think about is how naturally those words left her mouth.

She said them so casually, like there was nothing more simple in the world. This reaction, then, must be wildly out of proportion and ridiculous– but no amount of telling that to herself is going to make her throat open back up or stop her coughing.

Even if she wishes it would, wishing is not going to get her anywhere.

“... Mine?” She scratches out. Her voice is still pulling pieces of itself out of the grinding, whirling engine.

“I mean, if you want. It's totally fine if that's like– if that's moving too fast for you or that's not what you want. I won't be upset.”

Она любит тебя. She couldn't think of anything better to want for.

Her mouth opens.

Closes.

Opens again.

These stupid fucking teeth. They cannot behave, can they? Talking when they shouldn't and not when they should.

“Hey, take your time, okay? I didn't mean to put you on the spot.” Seele murmurs gently, rubbing her thumbs over the Bronya's knuckles.

Trembling hands reach up to Seele's collar and curl up in the fabric there, pulling her down ever so slightly. She can never know what secrets of hers her face is broadcasting to the world, but Seele has nothing but kindness in response. Her hands have slipped down to rest on the Bronya's forearms. Her grip is gentle, steady, calm; where the Bronya’s is so tense that her fingers might very well snap.

She wants her more than anything. Wants to let the words boil over and flood the room, wants to pull her down into a kiss, wants to bite down on her pretty lips until they bleed.

Her gaze drops down to Seele's lips at that thought. To know her touch, her smell, her taste; all she wants is to know her better than anyone else, and to drown in her. Disappearing into the sea of her affections and utterly losing against the waves would be divine. She wants to be dragged down by the current forever, she wants to choke and cough and do her best to expel the water flooding in. But it's a pointless endeavor, and she knows that. The only outcome is to drown, and she couldn't think of anything better.

Here she is now, standing at the edge. If she steps into the surf, she'll never be seen again. The current tugging at her ankles will never let her go.

Wanting clouds her mind and muddies her judgment, beads of her own blood swirling in the seafoam. If only she could. Just one step forward.

When she looks into Seele's eyes again, she catches herself. Returns to her body. Takes a step back from that ledge above the sea. How can she do this? Without conscience, without shame, she has abused the kindness Seele has offered her. She isn't supposed to be like this.

Shakily releasing their death grip, her hands fall to Seele's waist instead. She turns away from the sea, from the waters that scream for Seele, and her head falls against the rocks. Her forehead crashes against Seele's shoulder.

“She apologizes. She doesn't know– she doesn't know what–” She can barely choke the words out.

“It's okay, it's okay.” Seele soothes, running a gentle hand up and down her back. “You don't have to apologize, alright? It's okay if you aren't ready.”

“No, Seele– Seele she… she doesn't–” Fuck, what's wrong with her? She's shaking and stuttering and stumbling like a bumbling idiot. Just spit it out. Stop this nonsense.

But she can't. Her mouth just won't listen, no matter what she tries to do.

What is she trying to say, anyway? Only the words she can't speak are focused. The rest burn and blur and muddle into a great, writhing mass.

“It's okay if you don't feel the same. I understand.”

Нет, нет– just what does she think the Bronya is trying to say?
(No, no)

What is she trying to say?

Even she doesn't know anymore. But she keeps trying anyways, can't help but continue choking on her own teeth.

“Seele–”

“I want you to be happy, Bronya, and if I don't make you happy I'd rather you just say so. I don't want to be another reason you're miserable.” She's not listening, that's not what she's trying to say– hurry, come on, the Bronya needs to get herself together.

Stupid, stupid feelings, she can barely think anymore, save for these forbidden words shrieking their grotesque answers. But she has to, she has to. How could she go on letting Seele think she's the problem for even one moment more? Her hands tear into Seele's back like they alone can tear out the roots of that thought. If only they could. If only she could speak without going through her horrible mouth. Her teeth will only bring trouble.

Every piece of her yearns to expose all of her brutal, horrible secrets to her lover. There is no beautiful way to put it and so she doesn't try, barely able to stop herself from spewing everything out and fucking it all up. Even so her body refuses to listen. It presses into Seele as though it can crawl inside her, as though it can fuse to her, as if this stolen moment isn't incredibly selfish.

Listen to her touch, please, Seele, feel the echo of how she bleeds for you– don't make her cross that line, please.

She wasn't meant for this.

“Bronya–”
She squeezes her eyes shut. She can't stand to hear another word of Seele's well-meaning deprivation.

To hell with it all.

If the words want to claw out of her, then she'll let them. She'll spit them out, she'll show Seele how selfish she really is.

This can't get any worse.

“Она любит тебя, Seele!” She shouts, pulling away just enough to make eye contact. Tears are falling down her face where they shouldn't be and Seele looks into her eyes and she knows she can see something in there, something that the Bronya has never let her close enough to see before, something that she won't be able to forget.
(She loves you, Seele!)

She doesn't want her to forget. She wants this moment to scar into Seele's mind. She wants her to see, more than anything.

If she is something, if there is something there, if she is anything beyond what she's supposed to be and what she was meant for– she wants Seele to be the first to see it. Wants her to be the one to scoop it out of her and cradle it in her arms and hold it tightly. Because all the Bronya knows how to do is destroy, and she wants it to live.

This kindness and stubbornness and love and wanting, she can't help but to try and nurture it. Her clumsy, violent hands will kill it before it can take root, but if she gave it to Seele, would she hold it a while? Show her how to grow the vines of something new?

Please.

“Ты – все, чего она хочет! Она любит тебя так сильно, что это причиняет боль! Она не может жить без тебя! Не уходи– не уходи, пожалуйста– пожалуйста не уходи, Seele!”
(You're all she wants! She loves you so much that it hurts! She can't live without you! Don't go– don't go, please– please don't go, Seele!)

It's wrong and it's selfish and it's cruel, but if only Seele would stay beside her, she would be all those things and more.

No, she wants more than that. So much more– she wants to love Seele and she wants her to love back and she wants her to see her and to hear her and to know her, whatever that means now and whatever she is supposed to be and whatever she might become, and she never wants to let go–

“Я хочу тебя!” She wails. There is no need for such violence, she knows, Seele can hear her perfectly fine at a normal level.
(I want you!)

But she wants to hear herself say it, wants to hear the words she was never meant to say as they taint the very air they breathe. She wants to hear herself over the groaning and grinding of an immortal machine’s death. She wants to know that she is here and she is real and she doesn't care who is listening.

If she is falling, let her. If she is breaking, let her crumble. If she is ruining everything, let it burn.

Everything she's worked so hard to keep carefully controlled and contained is spilling out of her, and she's unraveling. Loose threads and screws and nails are flying from her now, fragments of her disrepair and destruction. She is raw and bleeding and weak and vulnerable and finally alive.

Dust hangs suspended in the space around them as her words start to settle. Her ribcage heaves in and out, refusing to be steady, and she lets it fly undone. Even as she clutches Seele's face, her hands are trembling and shuddering. Something inside of her has broken, and she never wants to be whole again.

Seele makes a mess of her, and she is tired of pretending otherwise. Let them see. Let them all see.

She is desperate, and she is cruel, and she is so fucking in love that it hurts.

The girl she loves is staring at her, open-mouthed, her eyes round in surprise. As if she can't process the words spoken; and she doesn't blame her. Even this morning, the thought of something so selfish and greedy leaving her lips would have been impossible. But here she is, standing with the fallout of her words, and she wouldn't take a single syllable back.

A beat of silence passes.

It burns her ears with the ragged sound of her breathing and the thundering of her heart.

She's shaking– trembling, all over, and nothing in the world could make it stop.

Self control is kindling, and she is content to burn.

Another.

Seele is holding her breath, not daring to make a sound.

Like she's afraid even the slightest movement will break her.

Like this moment is fragile, delicate like glass in her hands.

And maybe it is.

Maybe words aren't enough. Yes, maybe that's the disconnect. She can prove it all, and she will.

Right now.

Before she loses her nerve.

It's already beginning to fade from her, this fleeting moment of unabashed desire. Already her face is growing warm with what she knows to be shame, and if she doesn't act now then maybe she will try to take back what she's said.

She doesn't want that.

So she quickly leans up on her tip-toes, and harshly surges into a kiss. It's not graceful, it's not clean, it's not any of the things it should be. Her movements are incredibly stilted and robotic. She accidentally slams their teeth together and she can only reach Seele's bottom lip, even standing on the ends of her toes, but she'll be damned if Seele thinks she doesn't want her back.

Because even if she isn't supposed to, she does.

This yearning has devoured her from the inside out, and for a moment she doesn't care. Doesn't care that she's destroying all the things that make her useful, doesn't care that she's desecrating their relationship, doesn't care if it destroys Seele in the process. Let it. Let it tear her up and spit her out as a mangled husk. They'll match, then, the two of them.

She wants, and her whole body is burning with it. She could set herself on fire and that would be a mercy.

Everything she has in her presses into that kiss. The teeth, the fire, the machine, the haze, the peace, the fury; all of it, and more. So, so much more.

There aren't enough words in the world to describe how Seele makes her feel, but maybe there are enough kisses. She'll have to find out, because she is already plummeting and she has no intention of slowing her descent.

When she pulls away, her feelings are silent for once. Blessedly, cursedly silent.

They leave her this moment, this space, this silence with Seele.

“... You meant it?” Seele whispers softly.

“She couldn't lie to you, Seele.”

“Sorry, I don't know, I just–” She sniffles, and the Bronya sees that she's crying too, now– “got scared, I guess. It seemed kinda like you didn't want me the way I wanted you, and I dunno. I'm probably just being stupid.”

“You're not being stupid. She wasn't communicating herself clearly, it's only natural for you to jump to conclusions. She's sorry for dragging things out so pointlessly.” She wants to explain, but how the hell do you tell someone that your love for them violates rules they have never had to live by?

Her jaw works for a moment; those words of radiant clarity have sunk back down into the writhing muck, and she can barely grasp the shape of anything solid.

“... She is the stupid one.” Is what she eventually settles on instead, a bit lamely.

Maybe that will be a conversation for another day.

“Maybe we're both a little stupid.” She chuckles, wiping away some of the snot with her sleeve.

If she could fall any more in love with Seele, it's here and now.

Gingerly, she cleans snot from her face as well.

“Да, maybe. But at least we can be stupid together.”

“Let's be stupid together forever.”

That gets a laugh out of the Bronya.

“That sounds perfect.” She says, and she means it.