[ That's an uncomfortable question to ask of anyone at any time, but especially given what they've all just been through. He decides not to qualify it. Thinks she'll understand. ]
[ Tense thought intermingles in her silence, like she's debating over the fact she'll be one wrong move away from anyone looking to get her (they aren't, but you never know). Eventuallyβ ]
yeah... just knock and tell me it's you & i'll open it
[ To give her time to settle, and a rough window to expect him.
When it's time, Stephen spins the portal open a street over. Steps through to provide the promised normalcy, taking the short walk to Lottie's door and sending the following a second before he knocks: ]
[ Lottie waits in the dark. In the silence. Staring out windows and staring at her front door like it'll get Stephen here faster (it doesn't, all it does is remind her of how alone she isβ which she's always been, but it feels more empty now). So when she feels his text trickle in she rushes to the door, doesn't even wait the usual five minutes she forces others to endure (to not look desperate for company) before opening it.
She's wrapped in a blanket, glasses perched on her nose and hair looking knotty and ragged in her hastily thrown up bunβ mostly so he won't see that it's shorter. She looks haggard. She looks relieved. ]
Hi. [ A few stiff beats. Then she throws away all preamble and steps forwards to hug himβ wrap her arms around his middle, smashing her cheek (her glasses) against his torso. ] Hi.
[ Stephen, for his part, looks— alright. Better than he has any right to, given everything. He's changed out of the clothes that had been spattered with his own molten gore, and his skin is free of any wound, body better than new. Two of his fingers newly free of any trace of a scar.
None of this does anything to offset the exhaustion in his face. The way his brow folds to see the same cocktail of feeling currently churning in him made physical manifest in Lottie Person when she opens the door. ]
Hey. [ She presses into him and his hand lifts to cradle her head, pushes fingers into the mess of her hair, holding her close as his other arm stretches to wrap across her back, grasp tight.
He has wronged her, too. There are very few people he hasn't wronged in all this. But in this moment, his regret over their shared and terrible mania and the things he'd encouraged her to do (the bodies, the lying) aren't as important as being here with her. He no more has the right to deny her comfort in his presence than he wants to deny himself comfort in hers.
So he holds on tight. Breathes deep to keep himself together. He can't tell her it's alright - he can tell her: ] I know.
[ She's fragile, in his hands. She's not thinking of all the things they've done, all the things she's been coerced into doing (because even if it wasn't her, it was, and isn't it scarier thinking that it was somebody else?). All the things the two of them have been guided into doing, living in an echo chamber of yes yes yes by their own design. His hand feels warm and safe at the crown of her head, even if he tugs at some of the knots and tangles in there. She simply grips him tighter. ]
It'sβ it's not fair..
[ Muffled against him, not even given an explanation as to what is unfair as she breathes him in. Ignores how terribly uncomfortable she is with her glasses becoming askew, how her vision is getting blurry with the tears flowing stronger. Quicker. She sniffles grossly before clutching at his shirt proper, hiccuping into him.
Lottie says even quieter, like it's only meant for himβ ]
[ His chest goes tight as she clings to him, expresses a sentiment he never dares voice, barely even dares to think. He feels his eyes start to sting, the muscles at the corners of his mouth twitching, pulling down. He can't. Not again, not here.
Lottie sniffs, clings to him, and it helps to keep him together. There's somebody else to stay solid for. He can do that. ]
It isn't.
[ It isn't. The consequences of actions they never would have taken sprawl out before them, all those actions stretching out at their backs, and it seems inevitable that they'll drown in it all eventually. His fingertips curl against her hair, press against her scalp, subtle pressure as he tries to keep himself from digging the bite of her glasses frame any harder into either of them, tries to keep from making her feel trapped . Needing her just as much as she needs him.
The street doesn't get to see this. Watching eyes don't get to see this. So he keeps a tight hold and shifts them swiftly through space. On the threshold one moment, inside the next, the sound of the door as it shuts behind them. ]
I've got you.
[ She's not alone. If she needs to come to pieces, he'll keep them gathered. She won't lose any. ]
[ She didn't mean for this to happen, to cry all over Stephen's shirt and have him tough her skin. She fogs up her frames and she can't see, but maybe that's for the best. If she can't see the outside world, then this moment can belong to just the two of them, right? She deludes herself into thinking that, enough to ignore the static in the air and metallic tang that always coats her tongue when Stephen uses his magic with her.
Lottie chalks it up to the way she bites at her bottom lip, tears at the skin in her anxiety, like she's trying to stifle anymore cries, pathetic little sounds that tell him she's upset. Like she has any chance of hiding it. But then she moves her head, opens her teary eyes and through the blur she can see they are inside. Her home is a mess: half of it riddled with clothing she's been meaning to burn and things she's been meaning to donate to the townsfolk. Things she doesn't want, absolutely things she needs. Everything that she found joy in the before is out here, too, things like makeup and old projects.
It's hard for her to shed her skin, to find new comfort and peace in old things. But at least she finds them in Stephen, in his I've got you. So she takes off her glasses and cries, completely and utterly overwhelmed by his care. Maybe from the fact he's giving it so freely, maybe from the fact he's giving it without being as they Were. ]
Sorry. [ For what? She doesn't say. Lottie doesn't say anything for a long while as she clings to him, limp and wet and so very sad at what's become of them. ] I'm sorry.
[ He knows it because he feels it too, every atom of him, sorry to his bones. But there's nothing they can do about it. No way to unpick time and take it back, keep themselves from the woods and the monster that lurked within or any of the choices they made thereafter.
He's sorry for the rest of them, too. For the things he'd incited them to do, for the things they've lost in the doing, for the horrid little scrap of him that wants them all back, uncomplicated and close. Easy in their awfulness. ]
But not with me, Lottie. Not for me.
[ It's not a criticism but an instruction. There's nothing to be sorry for. If she has an apology to give him, no matter how closely it echoes any he might give her, he'll refute it. Instead, he folds in over her. Presses his mouth to her hair. ]
[ She knows. Petulantly, she knows. She almost hates that he told her. She almost hates that she was hoping for that, deep down somewhere in her gut, too. His breath tickles the crown of her head and she just clings tighter, like if she stays buried here she won't have to deal with the outside. Can maybe stay here, warm, small, shielded by all of Stephen's magic and love.
But she knows she can't. Frustratingly, she knows, and it only makes her weep harder. ]
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rubilykskoye π²π·π«πΈπ π¬
no subject
Anybody who doesn't meet the criteria can't go past them. Like an invisible wall
no subject
yes
i want the first one
anyone who comes in with me access
i want that one
please!!!
no subject
Are home?
Alone?
[ That's an uncomfortable question to ask of anyone at any time, but especially given what they've all just been through. He decides not to qualify it. Thinks she'll understand. ]
no subject
yeah
yes
i'm home
alone
want me to leave the door unlocked?
love just skipping a word in a 3 word sentence... thank you for covering for me
[ He doesn't have to. But he doesn't mind embracing some semblance of normality, either.
He also doesn't mind taking a more direct route to spare her taking down a barrier between herself and the outside world. ]
UAYFGE i GOT you fr
yeah...
just knock
and tell me it's you & i'll open it
no subject
[ To give her time to settle, and a rough window to expect him.
When it's time, Stephen spins the portal open a street over. Steps through to provide the promised normalcy, taking the short walk to Lottie's door and sending the following a second before he knocks: ]
It's me.
no subject
She's wrapped in a blanket, glasses perched on her nose and hair looking knotty and ragged in her hastily thrown up bunβ mostly so he won't see that it's shorter. She looks haggard. She looks relieved. ]
Hi. [ A few stiff beats. Then she throws away all preamble and steps forwards to hug himβ wrap her arms around his middle, smashing her cheek (her glasses) against his torso. ] Hi.
no subject
None of this does anything to offset the exhaustion in his face. The way his brow folds to see the same cocktail of feeling currently churning in him made physical manifest in Lottie Person when she opens the door. ]
Hey. [ She presses into him and his hand lifts to cradle her head, pushes fingers into the mess of her hair, holding her close as his other arm stretches to wrap across her back, grasp tight.
He has wronged her, too. There are very few people he hasn't wronged in all this. But in this moment, his regret over their shared and terrible mania and the things he'd encouraged her to do (the bodies, the lying) aren't as important as being here with her. He no more has the right to deny her comfort in his presence than he wants to deny himself comfort in hers.
So he holds on tight. Breathes deep to keep himself together. He can't tell her it's alright - he can tell her: ] I know.
no subject
It'sβ it's not fair..
[ Muffled against him, not even given an explanation as to what is unfair as she breathes him in. Ignores how terribly uncomfortable she is with her glasses becoming askew, how her vision is getting blurry with the tears flowing stronger. Quicker. She sniffles grossly before clutching at his shirt proper, hiccuping into him.
Lottie says even quieter, like it's only meant for himβ ]
None of this is fair.
no subject
Lottie sniffs, clings to him, and it helps to keep him together. There's somebody else to stay solid for. He can do that. ]
It isn't.
[ It isn't. The consequences of actions they never would have taken sprawl out before them, all those actions stretching out at their backs, and it seems inevitable that they'll drown in it all eventually. His fingertips curl against her hair, press against her scalp, subtle pressure as he tries to keep himself from digging the bite of her glasses frame any harder into either of them, tries to keep from making her feel trapped . Needing her just as much as she needs him.
The street doesn't get to see this. Watching eyes don't get to see this. So he keeps a tight hold and shifts them swiftly through space. On the threshold one moment, inside the next, the sound of the door as it shuts behind them. ]
I've got you.
[ She's not alone. If she needs to come to pieces, he'll keep them gathered. She won't lose any. ]
no subject
Lottie chalks it up to the way she bites at her bottom lip, tears at the skin in her anxiety, like she's trying to stifle anymore cries, pathetic little sounds that tell him she's upset. Like she has any chance of hiding it. But then she moves her head, opens her teary eyes and through the blur she can see they are inside. Her home is a mess: half of it riddled with clothing she's been meaning to burn and things she's been meaning to donate to the townsfolk. Things she doesn't want, absolutely things she needs. Everything that she found joy in the before is out here, too, things like makeup and old projects.
It's hard for her to shed her skin, to find new comfort and peace in old things. But at least she finds them in Stephen, in his I've got you. So she takes off her glasses and cries, completely and utterly overwhelmed by his care. Maybe from the fact he's giving it so freely, maybe from the fact he's giving it without being as they Were. ]
Sorry. [ For what? She doesn't say. Lottie doesn't say anything for a long while as she clings to him, limp and wet and so very sad at what's become of them. ] I'm sorry.
no subject
[ He knows it because he feels it too, every atom of him, sorry to his bones. But there's nothing they can do about it. No way to unpick time and take it back, keep themselves from the woods and the monster that lurked within or any of the choices they made thereafter.
He's sorry for the rest of them, too. For the things he'd incited them to do, for the things they've lost in the doing, for the horrid little scrap of him that wants them all back, uncomplicated and close. Easy in their awfulness. ]
But not with me, Lottie. Not for me.
[ It's not a criticism but an instruction. There's nothing to be sorry for. If she has an apology to give him, no matter how closely it echoes any he might give her, he'll refute it. Instead, he folds in over her. Presses his mouth to her hair. ]
no subject
But she knows she can't. Frustratingly, she knows, and it only makes her weep harder. ]
But everyone is gonna be so mad at us!
[ At me, she means. ]