Disclaimer: I do not own GS/GSD, its ownership lies with Bandai and Sunrise.
Summary: When you pretend long enough, what it is and what it isn't just gets all tangled up.
Pairing: Yzak/Cagalli, with side-tones of Yzak/Shiho and Cagalli/Athrun. If the main pairing disgusts you, please do not read.
A/N: This is my first jab at this pairing, and of course the characters will seemingly act out of character, but I really really tried my best. I first came across this pairing from reading koyuki-san's fics and I was like what the hell. Then later, it became like why the hell not. They are similar in many ways, both very stubborn and aggressive. shrugs And I suppose I translated it to well sexual tension. Please read and review and tell me how I can improve.
Dedicated to the closet fans of the Yzak/Cagalli pairing.
Warning adult themes, sexual situations and profanity ahead!
It is during the lull following the 2nd Bloody Valentine War, amidst the flurry of negotiations between the Earth Nations and the Plants, that he finally takes notice of her. He has heard of her, but has never been formally introduced.
She stands at the center of the assembly, head held high; frustration evident not only in her voice but in the frown that accompanies it.
Her features are notably young, and he could deduce them to be of the same age. But when her eyes of gold fleetingly glances at his, he could see how worn they are like ashes striving for air to breathe in dotted specks of orange and red.
And for a moment he feels slightly awed at her hopelessness.
I'm tired of waiting.
Shiho tells him one day out of the blue, while they are having lunch. He frowns lightly moving his attention from his rustic lasagna to her sullen face, and inquires quietly what she is waiting for.
Tired of the way we are.
She responds despondently, twirling her linguine round and round her fork. And he watches her for awhile, letting the silence settle. They stand on that fine line of something that could be called more than a friendship, but yet lacking all at the same time. And Yzak likes to think that they are fine the way they are. He is there for her and she is there for him. Isn't that what matters?
She shakes her head at him.
No. I'm there for you, but you…you are not there the way I want you to be…
His eyes narrow in anger and demands what the hell she means by that. But she is used to him and his outbursts, that was one of the relevant skills she has honed while working with him for three years, and instead she smiles slantingly at him.
We'll still be friends.
And she wants to add, but doesn't. The ones that are not trying to be what they are not.
He does not completely comprehend what she is really trying to tell him, and he realizes that a part of him doesn't even want to bother, doesn't want to care. As he throws bills on the table, he thinks he has better things to do than throw riddles at each other.
He scornfully remarks, before he completely walks out on her stoic figure and out of her life.
Isn't that what we were?
She does not move until she sees his reflection from across the glass wall leave the restaurant. She reaches for her chardonnay and drinks as calmly as she can, ignoring the way her hand trails unsteadily.
And though she knows that he would ignore her, she calls him the day after and after and after. Until finally she admits to herself that she really is tired of waiting.
And stops.
Two days later when selected delegates reconvenes on the question of defense and national security, he is finally introduced to her.
Though she is the head of the Orb Union, Yzak does not quite understand her presence at the meeting. He believes that the matters of the military should be left to those more competent than she.
In her full military uniform, she strides erectly towards him, face empty of emotion. And he discerns her need—her want to be seen as closest to a man as she could possibly be.
He wants to chortle and tell her that she shouldn't even bother.
Because once she reaches his side he could see how she barely reaches his chest and how her slender frame is even smaller than he has originally assessed it to be. "Nice to meet you, Commander Jule," she says politely, taking his hand in a handshake that is firmer than he has expected.
"Likewise, Lady Athha," he releases her hand from his, but finds that he couldn't as his hand remains grappled in hers. He turns cool blue eyes to the owner, fighting the urge to arch his eyebrow in ridicule.
"It's Representative Athha." She says in a low voice, her gaze steady.
He has heard of her unequalled stubbornness and finds it currently pressing on his hand.
Unperturbed, he smiles coolly, "Indeed."
Two can play this game.
Her voice floats in his dim room. It is hauntingly hollow.
Let's be friends again, Yzak…
He deletes the message before it even ends.
To his satisfaction, the repetitive cycle of negotiations has finally concluded after almost a year of constant childish bickering by the delegates. He really couldn't stand another meeting with those decrepit morons.
He smoothes the lapels of his white dress shirt, and signals a passing waiter for a glass of champagne. And to celebrate the signing of the Treaty of Aprilius, a ball is organized inviting all the who's who from both the sides of naturals and coordinators, demonstrating a further testament to unity.
He smirks. Unity is far from being achieved, and those who lost something in the wars could attest to that. The old fools are setting themselves up again for another conflict by turning a blind eye to the hatred that still exists.
And speaking of fools, he thinks disdainfully as his eyes fall on an unsuspecting politician, whose attire he has to admit actually makes him realize that yes she is after all a woman beneath that roughened exterior of hers.
She grated his nerves to no end with her foolish ideals of a utopian society that was protected by a neutral state, an ideal that had failed twice in the history of Orb. And her suggestion of reducing weapons and weapons technology by two-thirds in a span of five to ten years, has she forgotten that the economy of Orb itself dependent heavily on the coattails of a military industry? What pure foolishness!
And the way she argued about them, with so much hope, so much faith on people. He couldn't help wonder how she could keep being so naïve, despite with what that had happened.
His cerulean eyes follow the subject of his mental criticism walk rather gracefully to the corner of the room. His eyebrow arches accordingly at his observations and quietly crosses the room to her direction, decidedly eager to grate her nerves the way she had been unknowingly doing to his.
Watching her stare listlessly at his former comrade with that kind of longing has caused him an unexpected reaction.
Where is that fierceness she flaunted during those goddamn meetings? Where is that blind stubbornness that pressed for her ideals? Where is that cunningness that more or less sculpted the treaty to be more to her satisfaction?
It isn't jealousy. Arguably he is disappointed, but most of all, it irritates him because she is a paradox—a puzzle that continued to confuse him. The politician, whose voice—along with Lacus-sama, dominated most of the negotiations' proceedings; is replaced by this young woman in a pale green dress that exudes with frail sadness. And he doesn't like it.
How could one so tough be so fragile?
He leans his frame, mouth dangerously close to the shell of her ear.
"And the heel of the Lioness of Orb has finally been exposed." He grins as her body stiffens at the contact or is it at the comment. He really doesn't care.
Recovering, she grounds out warningly at him, "What are you trying to imply, Commander Jule?"
"It's Councilman Jule now, Lady Athha." He drawls out, not budging from his perch near her shoulder.
"If you aren't so arrogant, I would congratulate you."
He shrugs, a bit slighted by her condescending tone. "Your bluntness would be your political downfall." She turns exasperatingly at him, their close proximity ignored by her growing temper.
"What is it that you want?"
Not moving his eyes from hers, he nudges his head to the direction of the dance floor, where a blue-haired young man currently dances with a younger impressionable woman. His voice drops low, "How does it feel to want something that you can't have?" A smirk graces his features, seeing her turn white, knuckles tightening in to little fists.
Her eyes narrow as she meets him at her full height, her chair scraping the marble floor at her wake. "You can change your title how ever many times you want, but you will never earn respect from others."
She hits a nerve, but he doesn't let his smirk falter as he stifles the rising irritation from his throat. "Good. Because I never did care for such trivialities." He grins inwardly at her surprised reaction. The art of indifference he has learned is more useful in politics than a show of emotion—especially anger, and though Yzak continually struggles with his temper, he has been more successful in dulling himself, and her reaction is enough to satisfy him.
He leans in a little closer to her form and whispers apathetically, "I have what I want, Lady Athha. Do you?"
He is rewarded with a glimpse of a face he has been searching for the whole night.
Her frown deepens, and he can tell from the way her hand twitches that it is itching to slap the arrogance off his face. "One day, Councilman Jule" she growls out, "you will learn what it is like to yearn for something that you can't have."
"I highly doubt that." Straightening his frame, he shrugs his shoulders and amusedly watches her walk away in a huff.
I'm sorry sir.
The man cringes at his glare. He could feel his anger rising and wants to retort but does not. Sorry…sorry that you're incompetent and can't do shit! Instead he asks in the calmest voice he could muster at the given situation, why had he been the one called in rather than her family?
You were the only contact information on her emergency form.
He replies back to him, voice tingeing with disbelief, eyes wide as if asking him how could you not know? Yzak again tries to bite down his tongue, a stinging response ready to snap at the impish doctor. Would he have asked if he had known?
His eyes dart around the silent hallway, the strong smell of medication attacking his senses and the realization of the reality suddenly slips in. He feels light-headed and his stomach slowly churns in to an uncomfortable cycle. In a quiet small voice, he inquires gravely of how.
Yzak sees the doctor's lips setting in to a grim line; a hint of pity smearing down on his small eyes—and Yzak wants to grab him by his shoulders and shake him. He is not someone to be pitied on.
Her wrists…she cut them. Yzak could feel the white walls spin faster and he leans against one of them and tries to hold them down. Would you like to see her? The voice asks hesitantly, eyes peering on with half in concern and half in fear.
The question is lost to him for a moment until Yzak finally gets a hold of himself. And he manages to shake his head, before heading to the elevators, the doctor scurrying after him.
Mr. Jule! What arrangements should be done to Miss Hahnenfuss' body?
He suddenly stops. Body. Cold. Still. Colorless. Bloodless. The feeling that overwhelms him earlier returns and he knows that he must leave this place. He turns quickly to the doctor, who almost falls in to him.
Make the arrangements yourself and call her family. This does not concern me.
And for the second time in Shiho's short life, he briskly walks out.
But she never leaves his.
How infuriating! He fumes, glaring at the woman who has decided to provoke him every step of the way, opposing every one of his suggestions.
She turns her eyes at him and voice neutral, though Yzak feels it sauntering at him—daring to provoke him, "Shall we continue our deliberation?"
He silently curses the Council for sending him as the Plants representative to this economic summit. He's a military man, and therefore the ministry of defense is his forte, and not the mechanics of the international market. And if anything, Yzak dislikes the feeling of incapability.
"Councilman Jule?" The persistent voice calls out to him, catching sight of the curious eyes that continue to gaze at him. He realizes that everyone else in the room has responded except for him.
"None at all, Lady Athha" he drawls out, a small smile slipping on his lips as he observes the aforementioned woman twitch at the namesake.
He supposes he is not completely incapable at all.
He stares angrily at his phone and tears it off its wires.
But it keeps playing, like it has been over and over and over his head.
I'm breaking inside.
She says factually, as if merely stating that the sun is finally setting.
He wants to find the soldier Shiho—the reliable one—not this fallible one that he keeps seeing.
But he is wrong.
Because they are one and the same.
He is in his third drink when he finally realizes that he is not alone at the bar. He glances sideways, and is surprised to find her sitting by him.
He returns to his drink because he could clearly see that she is trying not to face him.
"Isn't it enough that you purposely infuriate me these past few days? Must you also do it in my free time?" He asks scathingly. Yzak is tired of many things and his already short patience could no longer hold the many thoughts that swim in him.
Outside the conferences and formal meetings, they are nothing more than associates not even acquaintances, and he sees no compulsion for him to entertain her follies.
His silver hair sways as he leans closer to her, eyes still looking to the front, "Did you say something?"
"I said," she replies in an impatient voice, head swiveling to his direction, "that it's not personal and you shouldn't take it that way."
Yzak refuses to dignify her response and remains quiet, drowning himself in his thoughts. And he tries valiantly to ignore the fact that her presence makes him uncomfortable.
For awhile, the silence between the two breathes as the quiet line of empty glasses grows between them.
It is in his fifth drink and her third that she suddenly asks.
"Why?"
"Why what?" he brusquely questions, tired of her mysteriousness.
"Why do you hate me?" she tries again, her hands flexing in their own accord as if she is trying to hold on to her own temper. Even in his fogged senses, the answer sticks at the tip of his tongue and it burns him. Because you like to pretend.
He merely shrugs, gesturing the bartender for his bill. "Who says I do?" he asks evenly, tilting his head at her. "Like you say…it's nothing personal…" he trails off, waiting…wanting for that burning embers of her anger, but he is left staring at sympathetic eyes. He balks and looks away, feeling slighted by her gesture.
"You shouldn't lose hope."
"What do you know?" He retorts, cheeks flushing in anger as he stands from his stool. Her voice is smooth now, almost a whisper, but he knows—he can hear—that pitying sound wrapping around it.
"I've heard of your loss and I'm sorry."
Instinctively, he grips the counter tightly, trying desperately to hold on to something. He fears losing control and that is exactly what she is trying to provoke in him. Inside, he feels nothing but a gnawing sensation and it wants a way out. And he lets it free.
Her eyes dilate in surprise, finding herself trapped in a makeshift cage of his arms, one on each of her side. When he leans in closer shifting himself in between her legs, she retreats backward, her lower back pressing hard against the counter. It is his face bathed in red that Cagalli feels the prick of fear, but she maintains her ground, never one to back down. "You should learn to mind your own business, Lady Athha."
"I was only expressing—"
"Your what? Your pity for me!" he spits out, digging in even nearer to her face—the growing redness of her cheeks is not lost to him. "Keep that to yourself, I don't need it but you do."
"What do you mean by that?" She demands, narrowing her eyes and attempting to straighten her frame, causing her stool to be slightly pushed back. It leaves her half-standing and half-sitting.
"Does his face still haunt you?" he simpers at her paling features and continues to plough on. "Does it still pain you to see him with that other girl?" He reaches out to her unmoving state and finds her cheek unexpectedly smooth under his fingertips. "To know that it is not you, he is touching tonight." He lets his fingers trail down her long neck and the smirk stretches at her visibly shaking form. He returns his attention back to her face and tucks an errant piece of hair behind her ear, giving him a better view of her dampening eyes. He looks at them indifferently.
"To know that it is not—"
The sound of skin against skin echoes loudly in his ears.
With head tilted away from hers, he glares at her, the welt on his cheek stinging. And she glares back at him, the anger evident in her face. "You're a cold, unfeeling bastard. No wonder she killed herself."
"You're an aggressive bitch. No wonder he left you." He growls out and intercepts her nearing hand, hardening his grip on her wrist when she tried to unlatch herself. "Struggle all you want, you're just wasting your time." He catches her other wrist, and tightens his hold of her, pulling her closer to him.
"Let me go!"
"Not so strong now, are we?" He looks sneeringly at her. "You'll always be weak and pathetic. No matter how much you try and pretend."
"Pretend? I'm not the one pretending. You are." She ignores his frown and faces him unscathed. "You and I are not that different, we both are not strong as we like to think ourselves to be. But unlike you I acknowledge it."
"Please. Don't insult me." He says dismissively, eyes darting around his surrounding as if finally realizing that they are still in a very public place. "I am nothing like you. I am not naively idealistic nor am I a hypocrite."
"And I am?" she hisses.
"You talk about hope as if you have enough to spare around, but inside even you can barely hold on."
A dry laugh abruptly escapes her lips, causing Yzak to loosen his hold on her and she frees her wrists from him. "And I suppose you're doing a better job than I am? Drinking away those thoughts and pretending like she didn't matter to you." She softly rubs her bruised wrists, while her eyes carefully appraise his simmering face. "Does it hurt, Councilman Jule? Knowing you can't have her? Knowing that you can't have what you want?"
"I never wanted her." He receives a disbelieving look from her.
"No? Maybe not. But now you want something from her and you will never get it."
He watches her walk away, before returning to his abandoned drink.
Two nights later she stands in front of his hotel room door looking a bit ragged. And at first he doesn't really wonder why she is there, instead wonders why he lets her in without a word. She reminds him of Shiho, knocking on his cabin door that one time after returning from a failed mission. She had looked so lost and so withdrawn.
She stands awkwardly and apprehensively before sitting on one of the couches. Her eyes float anywhere but at him, until finally she finds her voice and turns to him.
We need to find a compromise on the Orb and Plant economic agreement or negotiations just might fail.
He looks at her incredulously and wants to laugh.
You're not here for that.
Oh. She replies haughtily. And I suppose you can read minds now?
No, but I can read you so easily. He approaches where she sits and she quickly stands up, not wanting to be in the same position as the other night. She tries to stall.
And I can see through you. He laughs openly now as he traps her with his body and the wall behind her.
What do you see then, Lady Athha?
She holds her ground, undaunted, fighting the quick beating of her heart. She could feel the sense of déjà vu rush in her screaming mind. He is getting too close, yet again. And she says, what she knows will stop his progress. I remind you of her and it breaks you inside.
But he only stops momentarily with eyes slightly enlarged, before they contract in to a scowl. Don't speak ill of the dead. She is nothing like you. He spits out venomously.
Then why are you trying to save me?
Save you? I'm trying to break you. Because that is what you really are inside—weakened and broken.
She suddenly pushes him and lets her fist fly to his face, but he catches her arm and he leers down at her. You should really learn your lesson.
With great force she pushes her knee up against his stomach, and he grunts in pain. I have asshole. And she steps around his doubled form, making her way to the door.
But she screams in surprise as Yzak grabs one of her ankles and pulls roughly, causing her body to lose her footing and topple downwards. Her hands hurt when she attempted to break her fall, but she doesn't have much time to dwell on it, as he roughly pulls her wrist turning her around so that her back is against the floor.
She squirms under his weight, but finds that she cannot move and stops, feeling his eyes on her. Get off me.
He straddles her waist and looks blankly at her. Why did you come here?
She tries to block the image of him, hovering so close to her, and she shuts her eyes. I don't know. What you said the other night…made me think that maybe I am broken…
He tightens his grip on her wrists as he bends down closer. His breath fans her flushed cheeks. And what makes you think I can help you?
She opens her eyes, and suddenly he thinks that if her eyes were not made of amber but of lavender, that she could be somebody else. He quickly breaks away from her eyes and cautiously looks at her small lips that is seemingly inviting.
Because a part of you wants to be forgiven.
He stills. And he can hear her breathing heavily under him. It makes him realize that it is a woman, a full-grown woman, writhing in front of him. He suddenly finds that there is not enough air in the room for him to breathe.
Yza--
Silence. He wants silence and he can no longer stand hearing her voice and decides to quiet her down with his mouth. And halfway through the furious, demanding kiss, it dawns to him that she is motionless and unresponsive, only when he is about to pull away that she returns it with equal rage.
Yzak begins to understand why he had let her through the door without question.
He wakes up the next day on the floor, naked. In his sluggish mind, he reaches for the blanket, lying askew at his side, and tugs at it.
It doesn't move.
He opens his eyes to blonde hair and a pale, bare back; and says the first thing in his mind.
"Fuck."
They remain silent about the whole thing and deliberately ignore each other throughout the whole day. The first part is easy as the breeze. But the second part is more challenging as they are in the same committee of delegates. Yet they manage, until of course, the sun finally settles and the moon shines down on their secret.
I'll never be him. He says almost bitingly, taking off his coat and placing it in one of the hangars. She diverts her eyes from the window to gaze at him, and smiles.
And I'll never be her.
He stares quietly back at her, then resumes unbuttoning his white shirt.
They are rarely seen in public together. And when they are, it is often on official business and with other politicians.
Their rendezvous are far in between, but once they are together, they keep going and going and going.
And afterwards, when they again see each other in public, they are civilly distant to one another.
"What a pleasant surprise, Councilman Jule." She greets him in an unsurprised tone and he merely nods.
"Pleasure as always, Lady Athha."
You've got it all wrong. She starts as she runs her fingers through his hair. He asks her about what then grunts, swathing away her hand because he finds himself unconsciously closing his eyes and enjoying it.
I don't want him. He props himself up with one arm and looks oddly down at her. For a moment, he admires her hair sweeping against his black linens like the rays of sunlight fighting through the night. Then he shakes himself.
What do you want, then? She reaches for his face and unknowingly traces the flesh where his scar had previously been.
I want to be forgiven. He feels a sharp pain in him and stops her ministrations.
And he whispers none too gently, Even if he does, he won't take you back now. She frowns, turning her head to the side and away from him.
It doesn't matter.
She uses him as an anchor.
And he sees her as his penance.
It feels all too familiar.
The walls are moving too fast for him and he tries to stop them with his hands. She growls in frustration and grasps his wandering hands towards her, trying desperately to lead his inebriated movements back to his apartment.
When she finally pushes him to his bed and takes off his shoes, she realizes that he isn't out cold yet.
She used to take care of me. Her eyes settle strangely at him, unused to the sound of his melancholic voice, before reaching behind his head and propping him up with pillows.
He looks at her and clumsily touches her face, as if he is making sure that she really is there. And she realizes that his hand is shaking and that his eyes are faintly glazed. He breaks away from her and lets his hand fall down on his lap.
She has always been standing at the edge…until finally…He whispers almost reverently, slowly as if the truth itself is only being revealed to him just now. But they know better; they've always known.
She finishes for him in a slightly sullen, unmerciful tone.
You pushed her off.
He lurches forward and throws up on himself.
But somewhere in the middle, they aren't too sure who is saving who.
Their conversations always leave them both drained and breathless.
Trying to look nice for him? He glances snidely at her snug blood-red dress, a slip of jealously rushes unbidden.
Concentrating at the mirror, she shoots back at him. Why? Is it working? He slides his hand under her chin and roughly tilts it to face him.
You really are hopeless.
She stares defiantly back. And so are you.
That night, he takes her hard and fast.
And she lets him.
Somehow, somewhere along the line, they begin to fear that history is repeating itself.
I'll have to cancel tonight.
He stares at the video of her, trying to quell his disappointment. He knows of her other commitment; the media circuit has conveniently reported it, detailing her supposed romance with another Orb royalty. He shrugs nonchalantly, because he doesn't care. And he doesn't want to start thinking that he actually does. He barely catches something pass across her eyes, and wonders if it is weariness.
I just thought you would want to know.
He grabs the newspaper and points out the headline to her. That what? That you like to screw around?
Why do you care? She counters, pushing her hair away from her face.
He huffs in annoyance. I don't.
I didn't think so.
And she hangs up before he could answer her back.
So, she decides to run away.
And he doesn't try to look for her.
He finally tracks her down, when he hears of her engagement.
It has been eleven months since their first fuck and two months since their last. And they both don't look any different. Her eyes dart from her menu and let it travel across the table to him.
I'm surprised you wanted to meet.
I'm surprised you came. He says evenly, closing his menu and turning to the waiter at his side. Their appetizer comes after five minutes of silence, until finally in between bites she breaks it.
Can you just tell me what you came here to say?
He gazes at her and wonders what they had between them. Why it even lasted that long?
I wanted to congratulate you. She arches her eyebrow at this and takes a sip of her water. With him, she has learned to take everything in a grain of salt.
Really? Is that all?
He cleanly cuts through the steak, watching indifferently as a bit of blood oozes out and ebbs across his plate. But inside, his heart beats furiously, finally catching sight of the glint in her hand. Yes. I wanted to congratulate you in your attempts to hide. You're really hopeless.
Hiding? From what? From you? From us?
He chuckles hollowly. There is no us. There never was. I meant from yourself.
Since when have you liked talking in riddles? She turns curious eyes at him.
Since you. He answers calmly, dabbing his napkin around his mouth. You're trying to pretend again that you are not broken. But we all are. Didn't you tell me that yourself?
Broken doesn't mean you can never be completed. She puts down her eating utensils and sighs.
And he does that? He completes you? What makes you think he won't also break you? He voices out rather loud and harshly, causing some of the other patrons to turn at them. She leans forward and hisses.
I don't. That's just the way things are. It's the same gamble I had taken with you. He removes the napkin from his lap and places it on the table, losing his appetite.
And yet you left me.
She accuses him in return. You weren't holding me back. He remains quiet and she thinks that he has finally dropped the subject, until she hears his bare whisper.
Did you want me to?
She sidesteps his question; she fears what he is asking of her and smiles sadly at him—almost apologetic. Yzak…we tried to give to each other what we never had…it wasn't meant to go backwards or forwards…
He blocks the rest of her words and forces the only thing that is screaming at him.
If it wasn't meant to go anywhere…why is it that we are both here?
They part ways, without her ever replying.
The following day he returns to the Plants and finally visits an old friend. He stands in front of the grave clutching a bouquet of white roses and places it gently before the simple tombstone.
And in two words, he sums up what had needed to be said since a year ago.
"I'm sorry."
This time when he walks out of the cemetery, Shiho stays behind and smiles.
She greets him with her lips pressed in to a small, thin smile on a fine Saturday morning.
It was because we were something that really wasn't.
He rubs his eyes furiously, confusedly. What? She looks down at her feet, unable to meet his heated gaze.
The answer to your question…that's why we're here…we like to pretend…
He frowns at her, grumbling. And it couldn't wait until the sun actually came out?
The sun is out. She retorts as she makes her way to his kitchen, taking out her groceries on his counter. He cautiously regards her for a moment, running a hand through his uncombed hair.
Not in this apartment. He is answered with a shrug and an 'oh well,' as she returns to her task. What are you doing? He mutters, grabbing her hands and stilling her movements. She rolls her eyes as he slides his fingers through her ring-less ones.
I'm making breakfast. What the hell does it look like?
What makes you think I want you here? She looks at him pointedly, before jabbing her finger hard against his chest.
Stop being an ass. And if you didn't, why let me in?
He stares at her bright eyes and sees hope, small yet genuine, shining through. She stops jabbing him, when she realizes that he is not at all responding. Yzak? She asks uncertainly and he answers her by running his fingers across her cheeks, watching as a red tint followed its trail. He grins wickedly and says almost teasingly.
Because you are hopeless as ever, Lady Athha.
She pinches his cheek.
And you're one to talk, Councilman Jule.
.finis.
Please review! Thank you!