[Alina touches him, the world beyond them both becomes trivial in his awareness, and the moment hangs in perfect stillness—until that distant ache comes rushing up on the current and crashes between them, louder than anything else. His fascination and suspicion, the pleasure of seeing her face, even the frustration that blooms after it like a dark stain: all of it, muted by that exquisitely loathsome ache.
In the liminal instant before their hands jerk apart, that black feeling shudders and spreads in an aggressive streak. He snatches after her, but she's too quick—]
Alina—
[No. Some shrill fragment of thought jerks his awareness like a rein, stops him following her directly; he can manage his impulses better than that.]
no subject
In the liminal instant before their hands jerk apart, that black feeling shudders and spreads in an aggressive streak. He snatches after her, but she's too quick—]
Alina—
[No. Some shrill fragment of thought jerks his awareness like a rein, stops him following her directly; he can manage his impulses better than that.]
You shouldn't have left.