timewasting | OPEN POST 2020.

[ Twenty minutes isn't so bad. So that meant most of the time would likely be spent flipping through the books, picking out the ones of interest. He isn't sure how much reading he'll get done while here, but it would be something to fill the extra time back on the ship.

With the shop being relatively close, it also meant they really don't have to rush about in the morning. He spaces out briefly as he eats his dinner, thinking about a relaxed morning and getting to hold Inej for that much longer. If he were the type of person to sigh, he would've by now. ]

Down the same area we were in? [ If the question sounds distracted it's because he definitely is, as his gaze sweeps over her curled up legs. ]

[ she notices the slight change in his expression, her eyebrows raising slightly at his distracted tone. and as she finishes her bowl, setting it aside on the nearby tray, she says: ]

A little further past that, but it's the same district.

[ and inej unfolds her legs to stretch out, the movement easy. it feels . . . nice, to be comfortable in doing something like this. and it feels silly, to be proud of such a thing. but she honestly can't remember the last time she felt so comfortable in her own being. ]

There are more clothing shops down there, too, if you want to explore more.

[ He isn't too worried about the walk, though it's always good to know how far something is in advance. Just to take his leg into account on days when it decides to be more painful than usual. Today hadn't been a bad day and he'd made it all the way to the hotel again with only a twinge of cramping. A night's rest should be enough to relax again.

Inej stretches out and he watches the movement briefly before finishing off his dinner and setting the bowl aside. After all, he'd much rather be doing other things with his hands.

Which means: ] Can I touch you?

[ And there's the reason for distraction, easy to see. ]

[ she glances toward him, at the question, head tilted slightly. he always asks, when he's unsure, which is . . . endearing, and comforting, in a way. because she knows she has an out.

she idly thinks to herself when the last time someone touched her legs was, that wasn't herself . . . and, with an odd lurch in her stomach, she thinks of van eck. chaining her to that table, threatening to smash her legs into pieces if she didn't crack. but this is so far removed from that moment. she's in a hotel room, on a comfortable bed, with kaz. there is no safer place to be in the world.

so she gives him a small, but warm smile. ]

Sure.

[ easily enough, without hesitation. ]

[ As always, he gives her time to think it over. In the same space, he watches her expression, making sure he hasn't asked something that dredges up a bad memory. He isn't the best at reading all of her expressions, but he's gotten decent as picking up on some of the more distressing ones.

Right now, she simply looks thoughtful. And then she's smiling a little, giving him the okay.

Which doesn't result in an immediate move, because he has to mentally brace himself for touching that much skin. After a beat, he reaches for her ankle, fingers curling around the delicate bones and slowly stroking upwards, palm pressed to her shin. He feels a twinge of disgust and stops, swallowing it down with the reminder that she's fine, she's breathing and living. This isn't the skin of someone who's been in the water too long, limbs bent out of shape. ]

[ not for the first time, inej wonders to herself why he has such a visceral reaction to touching skin. she vaguely knows some things, but not everything . . . and because she doesn't know every detail, it's hard to figure out what would make him feel better.

she does know that talking helps, though, and so inej shifts her weight to scoot a little closer, reaching out to take the hand that's paused on the smooth skin of her shin to gently move it up, pressing his fingers against a scar, just above her right knee. ]

I fell off the high wire, when I was a child. When I was still learning. . . I thought I could make it across, fell, and I got caught in the net.

[ ruefully. ]

My mother was furious.

[ He's about to take his hand away when she moves closer, placing her hand over his. Moving it up the line of her leg, pressing his fingers to the shiny-smooth scar above the knee. Some of the nausea subsides, the motions all physical reminders this isn't some memory of his. That it's reality and he's here with Inej, in a hotel in Ravka.

No harbor, no wet and too soft skin. Kaz breathes in slow, listening to her talk and appreciating the familiar cadence of her voice. Finally, he lets out the breath, fingers running over the small scar, as if memorizing the shape. ]

Never would've imagined you falling. [ Though he knows, realistically, one isn't just born with such skills. They're learned with time and practice, failure a natural part of it all. How many times had he fumbled cards before he could shuffle them without paying close attention? Too many to count. ]

[ she smiles a little at his comment, her eyes watching his face carefully. trying to see if he's being lost to whatever demons cling to him in the dark. but he seems present, albeit struggling . . . and kaz exhales, his fingers moving of their own accord, and inej feels the tension release in her shoulders, too. ]

The net hurt more than the fall.

[ how annoying, really. ]

I have another one, here. [ it's a murmur, as she gestures to press her fingers against her thigh, to show another scar. ] I forget where it's from. I've had it as long as I can remember.

[ The tension in the room releases and he feels like he can breathe a little easier. His aversion to touch is getting better, but he still has that frustration that he can't just do it without thinking. That it's always a hitch in his breath as he unconsciously prepares for the contact. He does it less when they're holding hands—every now and again he has to push through it.

Still, he supposes it's better than before. Better than throwing up at the mere thought of touching anyone, even through their clothes.

As if to prove it to himself, he touches the scar further up her thigh, fingertips light, careful. ]

I didn't know I'd broken my leg, when I fell off the bank roof. [ There'd been the shock of the fall and a niggling feeling he'd injured himself. The pain hadn't set in until nearly a few minutes later when he'd finally looked down and seen the bad angle. ]

[ she watches him delicately touch her thigh, relaxed, at ease. her smile turns into something a little more somber, at the story about his leg. inej doesn't consider his injury as something to avoid or something sacred; indeed, kaz isn't weak, or fragile. treating him differently because he has a bad leg has always seemed foolish to her.

still. snapping your leg in half is painful, and inej looks at her own legs with a frown. trying to imagine what would happen, if she couldn't walk like this again. and her mind wanders again to van eck, to his vicious threat. hitting her directly where he knew she was most vulnerable.

she (playfully, lovingly) mocks kaz about his limp and his overdramatic need to make it a hallmark, but honestly, he's determined and brave and persistent, for finding a way with an injury that would have killed most people. inej isn't so sure she could do the same. especially that specific one. ]

Good thing you have me, now.

[ after a moment, watching his fingers trace the scar on her thigh. ]

I wouldn't have let you go on the roof in the first place.

[ Truthfully, it doesn't bother him when people assume things about him. Most see what he wants them to see: a crippled man in a nice suit. After that, they see a young face and think easy target. He's used that to his advantage over the years, finding a dark amusement in how so many seem to make the same mistakes despite his reputation. They always seem to think that somehow, the stories are greatly exaggerated. That they can still get one over on him.

And Ghezen knows they'll keep trying, even with his current grip on the Barrel. Let them try. It would keep him busy, at least. ]

We both know I would've done it anyway. [ Inej is quite often a voice of reason but he's ignored her before. Usually to his dismay, afterwards. Somehow, she's still willing to put up with him, allowing him to sit here and touch her legs and tell him stories about her scars. ]

And you would've been a fool.

[ dryly, shifting to set her hands behind her, resting her weight on her palms. giving kaz free license to touch her legs as he wants, to direct the contact rather than having her guide it.

and, just in case kaz thought she wasn't still going to poke fun at him even with the knowledge that poor young stupid kaz brekker tumbled off the roof and didn't know his femur had snapped in two: ]

Clearly.

[ why don't you ever listen to her when it matters, saints above. ]

Occasionally, I have poor ideas.

[ But hey, he's survived. And he's gotten smarter since, never making the same mistake twice.

Well, trying not to. Everything about Van Eck had been a mistake and while the outcome had given them a lot of positives, there'd been plenty that had gone wrong. He's trying not to regret every bad decision that had gotten them into that mess.

Those are thoughts for later.

He returns his attention to Inej, sliding his hand down her leg, kneading her calf. His touch travels slowly back up, gently pushing into the muscles. Eventually, he stops right at the hem of her shorts, thumb settled on the inside of her thigh. There's an urge to lean down and replace his hand with his mouth, but he's not sure he could actually go through with it.

Finally, he pulls his hand away, a more familiar want snaking through him—he wants to hold her. Or at least wants to be a little closer than this. Kaz shifts up the bed, pulling back the covers and leaning against the overly fluffy pillows, his shoulder touching hers. ]

I'm glad Specht convinced you to take a break.

[ inej can't stop herself from rolling her eyes at the word occasionally, because inej can think of a slew of poor ideas kaz brekker has had. the infuriating thing with kaz is that even the poor ideas have a way of succeeding in the end. brilliance is a curse, when it comes to telling him that he's wrong.

but she keeps that to herself, feeling an odd kind of zen wash over her as he gently kneads the muscles in her legs. it feels wonderful, if she's perfectly honest. she hasn't done much in terms of strenuous exercise the last day or two, but doing what she does requires strength, and strength comes at a price. typically sore muscles at the end of a long day.

and honestly, inej is about to just lay down and let him do what he wants when he stops at the hem of her shorts. his thumb is settled on the inside of her thigh, and her breath stills, and a sudden turn of her stomach causes her to pay attention again. what's different, what's changed . . . touching the inside of her thigh?

but before inej can comment on it, he pulls his hand away settling against the fluffy pillows, shoulder resting against hers. and she comes back to herself instantly, shifting her weight to lean her head against his shoulder, smiling to herself.

anxiety or not, that had been nice. and an improvement. ]

Me too.

[ Settling into something familiar feels good. There's no tick of anxiety, none of the too-cautious touch while they both figured out their particular boundaries. Instead, it's just Inej leaning against him comfortably, head tilted onto his shoulder.

As usual, he curls his arm around her middle, tugging her that fraction closer as he sinks further into the pillows. Truthfully, he thought about picking up his book to read again but laying here with her and doing nothing else is...strangely enticing.

(Okay, perhaps not so strange. She is very comfortable, after all). ]

[ inej is quiet, adjusting to his warm around her waist, tugged just a little closer. it’s familiar, and comfortable, and she half considers just going to sleep like that when she’s struck by how . . . separated they are. And how she wants to be closer.

so she shifts a little, to slide her legs under the covers properly . . . but instead, she lifts her legs as she scoots a little closer, her legs dropping over Kaz’s legs in an absurdly gentle way (her muscle control is nothing but excellent). and once she has done that, inej tucks herself solidly against him, cheek against his chest, her eyes dropping closer as she listens to his heart. ]

Tell me if you are not okay.

[ she says quietly, comfortable. but she’ll move, if he wants her to. ]

[ He lets go of her a bit when she starts to move, letting her shift around to what's comfortable. What he doesn't expect is for her to lay her legs across his lap, tucking herself even closer.

Kaz finds he doesn't hate it. The exact opposite, really, an immediate rush of warmth spreading through him. His arm loops around her shoulders this time, hand curled on her bicep. His other hand drops to her knee, fingers curved to the back of it, thumb dragging back and forth on her thigh. Drowsiness creeps in; they'd done quite a bit today. ]

More than fine.

[ it's interesting to her, what bothers him and what doesn't. this is far more contact than touching her legs had been, but he seems to meld into it easily, without so much as an ounce of hesitation.

still, she won't complain, closing her eyes and listening to his heartbeat, comfortable and content to drift to sleep. . . but the question still rummages around in her mind, and eventually, inej decides to just . . . ask.

or, at least, ask permission for asking. ]

Can I ask you a question?

[ after a moment or two of comfortable silence, her eyes still closed. and once she says that, another thought pops into her head, and inej adds: ]

You don't have to answer it if you don't want to.

[ The pull of drowsiness gets stronger as he lets himself get comfortable and drift. She seems to be doing the same thing—drowsing, that is—her weight becoming relaxed against him. After silence has blanketed the room, she breaks it, softly questioning. ]

Go on.

[ From her assurance, he thinks he might know where this is going. ]

[ even with the permission, inej hesitates, trying to figure out how to broach the subject without ruining the peacefulness of the moment. but avoiding it will only allow it to exist, underneath his skin, hanging over him . . . and the only way to draw poison from a wound is to bleed it out.

so: ]

What is different? Between this, and earlier.

[ she purposefully doesn't explicitly ask why do you avoid touching people, because inej feels that's a bit much. but the door is open, if he wants to give her more information. ]

You're not tense, now.

[ He's mentally braced for the question, which means he's ready for the mental lick of the harbor. For that strange phantom feeling of water rising around his neck. His hand moves from her arm to her waist, the amount of warmth under his palm changing, reassuring that he's on land and that they're both fine. ]

It's not all skin, right now. [ Her legs are draped across his lap but the fabric of his pants blocks the feel of skin. And something about her weight being leaned against him is helpful, body heat radiating between the two of them. The harbor had been cold and dead bodies don't retain their warmth for long. ]

[ she's quiet, paying attention to how he moves. shifts his hands, and his weight. but he still seems to be fine, and present in the moment. and when he says it, inej isn't necessarily surprised. but it does help narrow down what he struggles with.

it's not all touch, but specifically the feeling of skin. which, again, makes sense. given he doesn't leave his room without a set of gloves, or several layers of clothing. which is partially due to the image that kaz has built himself, but it has a practical purpose too.

what on earth did pekka rollins do to him. ]

Okay.

[ it's said easily, her eyes still closed, her head still resting against his chest. she doesn't pry for more information, leaving the decision of whether to offer more detail in his hands. the information she got is enough, for now.

but as she thinks about that, something else pops into her head. ]

You will tell me when it's too much.

[ it's not a question, but a pointed suggestion (or, really, an order).

the very last thing she wants to do is erase any progress they might have made by pushing too much. ]

[ The rest of it is there, behind his teeth. There's a pull to say something, to finally let the truth spill out.

But as she re-settles and he closes his eyes again, the words don't come. He doesn't even know where to start—would it be better to simply tell her what happened with the plague? Or just the aftermath of the harbor? Or should he start from the beginning, with Jacob Hertzoon, with Pekka Rollins pretending to care about two young boys lost in a new city?

There's before that, too. His father dying, a farm in Lij, a different last name. Kaz stays silent, leaving it all for a time when they haven't already had an emotional day. He doesn't want to break the relative peace right now either, not when he can comfortably have Inej pressed so close. ]

Don't worry, I'll tell you. [ Not only when it's too much but the rest as well. The whole thing, from top to bottom. ]

[ he isn't ready, which is fine. and inej can feel himself relaxing back into the pillows. surrendering to the evening, rather than continuing the story.

there will be a time and a place, for the truth. but it isn't tonight. ]

Go to sleep.

[ a quiet murmur, before she catches one of his hands in her own, to hold it as she makes herself comfortable to go to sleep herself. ]

We have a bookstore to find in the morning.

Edited 2020-06-26 15:33 (UTC)

[ She doesn't push and he's grateful. Because while he's been on the verge of saying something for a while, he needs to sort out what he'll say. Where to begin.

For now, he allows himself to fall asleep with her hand in his.

Sleep rushes in quickly, as it usually does next to her, leaving him to simply hum an agreement. The next thing he's aware of is the brightness of the room, sun light filtering through the curtains. He'd pulled them closed the night before, noting their room was on the east side of the building—which meant direct morning light. And as much as he's found himself able to sleep through most inconveniences, he isn't sure the same could be said for Inej.

She did want to sleep in, after all. He glances over at the nearby clock, noting how close it was to 8 bells. Of course, he doesn't make a move, both being too comfortable and not wanting to wake Inej just yet. ]

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