He had been saving it for some special occasion but Dalit figured now was as good as a time as there would be. Apologies, he mused, were always made better with an offering and this was his thought as he made his way to her house, a case -- a case -- of precious beer tucked under his arm.
The walk was painfully slow, his mind playing and replaying everything that had led up to this sorry half-assed apology and what would possibly happen afterwards.
Yelling was his conclusion.
But at least they would have beer.
And this was his thought as he stood outside the door, as he paused, turned away, knocked.
Stille knew exactly who it was-- knew that step and that pause, that presence, that knock. She drifted from the hearth and came to the door, cat burglar silent as she listened for a moment.
She could hear him breathing.
But he didn't sound angry, didn't sound ragged-- and if he was, still, she would always run faster, always run farther.
Pulling open the door, sharp and keen, she leaned in the doorway, arms crossed over her bare midriff. She looked expectant, pursed cardinal lips unamused and beguiling in the half light of Undercamp sunset.
Dalit said nothing. What could he? She was, as ever, as always, a terrible sight for him. And yet, there he was, pining and smiling--
and he held up the case, his petty, sweet offering. And with those sad lion eyes, those thin lips, and long limbs, he was truly sorry.
"Hey," he managed to squeeze out after a moment's breath. "Look I..." He swallowed. "Sorry. I was being an ass."
She looked from the case of beer to the man who almost looked entirely apologetic. But that girl and her kingfisher heart wasn't sure, deep down, that Dalit knew exactly what that meant. That it meant changing the cycle of his behaviour, altering the inevitable downward swing that their relationship always took when Dalit misunderstood and Stille washed her hands of him.
Stille didn't know that she could hold him at fault. No one faulted a wolf for hunting a yearling deer. No one faulted a wildfire for burning through the forest.
Slowly, still staring at the man, she stepped to the side to allow him entrance to her home.
Dalit waited, breath held, chest aching as he was looked over. He hated this sudden feeling that washed over him. Shame? Was it that?
It had to be, there was nothing else that felt this miserable he figured.
Dalit brushed by when he was allowed entrance and set the case on the table. At once, his hands were moving, opening, lifting, freeing. He tossed her a beer when she was in range and sat down, staring blankly at the worn wood. "So..."
So now what? Damn, he hated this feeling.
"So," she turned back to him as she sat at the table, beer pressed to her shoulder with that curled hand. "I really like him. That guy that you were so pissed about. And either you can accept that and be my friend, like I need you to be, or you can... not accept it. And go."
Bright eyes darkened in the shadow of the room, candle light flickering across her milk skin, soft even with the hardness of her gaze, the ultimatum that her body presented.
That fucking girl was a warzone.
And there it was.
Dalit curled in on himself, snarled, lion eyes so passive one second, filled with disgust. He closed his eyes. One breath. Two.
Three.
Fuck.
"I was really hoping to not be reminded of--" Why couldn't HE be liked? Dalit bit his lip, copper and distress filling his mouth.
"Sure. Whatever." He was sullen, down and gaze averted but he was not moving.
Oh Goddammit Dal.
"Sure, whatever?" she turned on him, unmoving from her seat. She placed the beer on the table. "Do you need some time for this? Because if you need some time to consider it, for it to sink in, that's fine-- you can have as much time as you need. Because I know what that sullen, sad aggression voice is and I'm not budging on this."
Ocean tide eyes traced the lines of his face, fire and brimstone in the cold of the almost dark.
"I don't wanna be like this, Dal, but you're not giving me a choice."
She swallowed and waited for him to snap.
Dalit refused to look up, to turn his attention to her because he knew once he did, it would be something they would both regret.
Besides, the table had become exceptionally interesting.
"No," he responded after a length of time. "I don't need time. I'm..." Alright? Okay with it? He was not either nor any of those things. But what could he did? He didn't want to be away from Stille.
Even if it would be the best thing for him.
He managed a cocked smile. He managed to run his fingers through his hair, pulling the strands away from his eyes. He was especially thin in those seconds, heart beating in a paper chest.
"Who knows, maybe I'll find a guy like him," he joked, if not a bit harshly.
"Look at me and say you're okay with it," the pale girl demanded as she sat up a little straighter, a little more firm in her command as she swallowed, preparing herself for whatever it was she asked. "Please, don't lie to me-- and don't lie to yourself."
It took but a second for the carpenter to look up at his nightmare.
He smiled with those sad lion eyes.
"Stille, I can't lie to you. I can hate what you do, I can curse you. But I can't lie to you." He swallowed.
It hurt so much to say this, to break that part of him that obsessed over the magpie before him. "I'll be okay with it," he finally, finally whispered.
A finger came to her lips as she gnawed on her nail for a split second, before she tilted her head. "And if you ever aren't okay with it, you need to let me know if you want to keep being my friend. You can't bottle it up until you're here and we're screaming at each other and my neighbors are getting pissed and all we do is end up in a circle of violence where you're punching my door and I'm running off into the night to hide. I'm not doing it anymore. Okay?"
She stared, then, at him, to study his expression, micro and macro. She was by no means afraid of Dalit-- but she wasn't stupid.
She knew that, deep down, everyone was a monster.
Even this sad, broken lion of a man.
Once more he was silent, once more he was watching the table, the patterns and invisible faces that swam through his vision. When Stille was finished speaking, he turned his head up, leaned back, stared at her-- through her.
"Alright." It was a simple enough comment, standing harshly against his sad shoulders and soft eyes.
The little thief knew better. She knew when she was being looked through, looked past, and she knew that no matter what was said here, Dalit would always live with the version of her that lived in his head and get angry with her when she wasn't the girl he needed her to be.
The girl who always smiled when he came.
The girl whose knees parted when he spoke sweetly enough.
The girl who greeted him with kisses and saw him off with adorations instead of abuses.
After much thought on the intent of the beer, and after deciding that it hadn't seemed like he'd pulled a specific one for her, she took a delicate sip of the beer. It tasted like ass-- but what did she expect from Perimeter beer?
And she was almost sad, that she'd never be a person here-- but she had no one to blame for her state of personage than herself and the way she protected herself from this travesty of a world.
"Okay."
Dalit managed a smile then, something weak and sad but...it was a smile.
He took a sip of his own beer, staring at it, rolled it between his hands. It was cold, colder than he expected.
But, like her, it existed.
And he would always remember the taste on his lips.