Summary: Thinking too much tends to be Troy's bane, even knowing that can't keep him from succumbing to that tendency.
a/n: A double drabble from a pair of matched prompts for Furia and Troy.
Don't Trust Me
Troy listened to the sounds of night in Stilwater: sirens, screams, and every once and a while there were gunshots and engine backfires. He watched the rare blue light of the moon creep across the floor as his hand danced absently over Furia's shoulder and down her back.
It was one of those nights where the guilt seemed to creep up on him and choke him in his sleep. When he startled she tried to comfort him, merely making it worse. He avoided talking about himself, his past because he did not want to lie to her anymore than he already was. Tightening his jaw against the twitch in his cheek, he bent his lips to the top of her head.
It came on the barest hint of a whisper, but she was asleep, she wouldn't hear it anyway. "Don't trust me," he breathed into her hair.
He said it regularly, just this way, perhaps in the hopes that on some subconscious level maybe it would sink in. Maybe she'd be able to save herself from the pain that crept toward them unavoidably.
Furia pressed a kiss to his chest before settling down against him. Troy seemed to calm slightly as his fingertips lightly moved over her skin. The movement seemed to work on them both, but she worried about the reason he kept waking up in the night gasping for air like he was being drowned. His heartbeat and breathing didn't change as she relaxed against him fighting sleep.
When he pressed a kiss to the top of her head, she didn't flinch, but before she tightened her grip on him he said something that froze her. "Don't trust me."
She didn't move. She couldn't think, hell, she could barely breathe.