And now for some stuff that's a bit fluffier.
Silence stretched. Silver looked at Lyra, his chest heaving, as though his story had been a great exertion, a spectacular burden he'd finally thrown from his back. His eyes were wild, pleading, a mixture of lightened and saddened. Had he ever told anyone else this tale? Had he ever been so earnest with another person in his life?
And you now know who I am, he said. Lyra gazed upon the person across from her, with his light eyes, his pale skin, the long red hair spilling over his shoulders. She gazed at the tight set of his square jaw, the furrow in his brow. His hands gripped his knees, the muscles of his forearms taut. The tension in his body, the wild look in his eyes…did she know him now? Was that true? She compared his tale to the soft, sweet moments earlier in the afternoon, his head on her stomach, her hands in his hair. The tenderness in his gaze, the longing. He'd protected a stranger. He treated her family with respect. He played so expressively. He cared. There was a heart there, wasn't there?
And you now know who I am. A mosaic. A motley, self-described mess, who looked at her as if no opinion had ever mattered more in his life, as if no voice meant more to hear.
It had been so sudden, to go from not having him, to having him again, to finding out what happened when he was gone. She searched his face, searched herself. There was ugliness within him, wasn't there? Something blackened and twisted and horrible that he couldn't shake, and yet he still lived on, still strode forward. He could smile and laugh, despite what he'd been through and put himself through—what he put others through.
This was the totality of her friend gone missing, turned into a lover in a matter of weeks. Lyra's chest rose and fell. Silence yawned between them, and his expression grew more desperate. A strange, broad feeling swallowed her whole and choked her heart. Her eyes began to burn. Silver and the room blurred, an Impressionist painting splashed over her retinas, and she shut her eyes tightly to the illusion of it all.
"Lyra?" he said, his voice on the verge of breaking.
She took a deep breath, forcing the tears to quell, for the impending shake to settle. Her heart was fluttering. She opened her eyes again, and the world was clear. Silver was leaning toward her, his face inches from hers. "Lyra," he said, again, his voice soft. "Do you think I'm bad?"
She searched his face, searched the desperation, the fear, the vulnerability. Lyra's shoulders raised. "Do you think you are?" she responded, her voice little more than breath.
Silver scoffed and pulled away. "Yeah," he said. "Didn't you hear me. I called myself—"
"A mess." Lyra settled her hand on his shoulder, and the tension in his body seemed to flood out. He turned to look at her again. "I heard you, Silver. I...don't know exactly what I'm feeling," she said, honesty making her voice thick.
He closed his eyes. "But will you leave?"
"You're in my house. I could be kicking you out," she said. His eyes opened, startled, and Lyra reassured him, "but I'm not about to."
"I see." He turned back toward her. Silver lifted her hand from his shoulder, lacing his fingers through his. "This is...all of me. You know all of me. The bad parts. The good parts. Whatever proportion those may exist in. Take it or leave it. I can't change what I've done, Lyra. But I'm trying. I'm trying to be better, I just...want to be good," he said.
Lyra gave a nod. She scooted closer to him. Despite everything, his touch still felt right. His hand in hers was right, the weight, the grip, the pulse of his thumb under her knuckle. She smiled, softly. "Then be good," she said. "You can be good. You have been good."
He reached toward her, hesitantly. She gave him a nod, and he brushed her hair behind her ear with his free hand. "Do...you still like me?" he asked, his voice halting.
The uncertainty that Lyra was so unused to, the hesitation in his voice, wounded her. She grabbed his other hand now. Her grip was loose, but she squeezed his hand as she responded, "Of course I do."
He sighed, and the last bit of tension faded from his body. Silver met her gaze. The breeze stirred the curtains, and sunlight flickered over his hair, setting it ablaze in the darkness of the room. "We...haven't really done this formally. But if you still want me, you can have all of me. I will give you all of me. You have it already, but I just…want."
Lyra's face burned with the intensity of his words, the burn of his gaze, the flame of this moment. His lips parted and he sighed. "You're still here, so I want you. I'm still here, so please want me, too. Let me be yours. Please be mine."
Lyra's lips parted. She started to vocalize, but she fell silent. Silver looked to her, flustered. "If it's too much too soon I just...I don't know, Lyra, it's all I can think about, now that I've said what I said, and I just—"
She got on her knees and cupped his face. Without hesitation, she kissed him deeply. She crushed herself to him, and Silver held onto her, a drowning man in an inky sea. His arms held her tightly, and he groaned softly as she entangled her fingers in his hair. Lyra pulled her face away for a moment, and she murmured, "You talk too much."
He gazed at her, his eyes hazy, and his mouth quirked. "Sorry."
"I've been yours since the minute you wanted me," she whispered. "So relax. But you better be mine, too."
"I said I would be," Silver said reproachfully.
Lyra smiled and lightly kissed the tip of his nose. "Cool."
"So you're okay with...me? With everything I told you?" he said, his brow furrowed.
"It's the past," she said softly. She rested her forehead against his. "I can't say it didn't hurt to hear how far gone you were. That'd be a lie."
"I know," he mumbled. "I could see it in your face. It was horrible."
She found his gaze and gave a soft smile. "Sorry. I don't really have a poker face."
He scoffed. "No, you really fucking don't. But I like that." He traced his fingers over the straps of her top, down her arms, and held her hands again, as she sat perched in his lap. He kissed her cheek, the innocence of it not lost on Lyra. "I don't want to be alone tonight," he said, squeezing her hands.
Lyra's face warmed. "Are you asking to sleep over here?"
"No. Adrianna will kill both of us," Silver responded, and Lyra had to smirk at that. "Stay with me tonight. I'll make a good dinner. We can go out for gelato after. I owe you so much, but please, just stay with me tonight."
Lyra brushed her hair behind her ears. Her cheeks were warm, and she clarified, "A proper date?"
"Yeah since we're…" Silver trailed off. "We're...dating. We're together."
"Yup." Lyra kissed him. "Court me proper."
His mouth quirked. "I don't really feel proper, though."
She freed one hand and patted his cheek brusquely. "Proper now, improper later."
"Promise?" he asked.
Lyra grinned and kissed his cheek where she'd patted it. "My word is my bond."
His eyebrows lifted, and she pushed her hand into his face. "Don't look at me like that!" Silver laughed a throaty chuckle, the sound a little dark, and he released her hand. He gently nudged her out of his lap and stood. Lyra noticed his legs shook, and he looked down at her where she sat with a surprisingly soft look, considering how they'd just interacted. The breeze had stilled, and the afternoon sunlight faded, leaving her alone in a warm, dusky room with someone who wanted her badly. The thought filled her with a curl of warmth, and she lifted her shoulders quickly to accommodate the bubbling emotion. She propped her jaw in her hand and smiled back at him. "Hey, Silver, mind if I get ready? I have a hot date and all."
It certainly had been a proper date, a real interlude from the intensity of the afternoon. She had walked over to Silver's place with her backpack instead of her purse, feeling the weight of the night riding along with her. Yet, along the way, they joked and laughed as always, never lacking for a quip.
At his apartment, Silver made dinner. A carbonara of sorts, and there was a salad on the side. Lyra inhaled it; for all his hemming and hawing while cooking, the food tasted incredible. They went for gelato after, wandering and chatting and eating as they went. As they walked, his hand never left hers. Suddenly, he couldn't stop touching her, couldn't get enough of her, and it lit the very corners of her soul.
They wandered back to his apartment, and as the sun set, Silver noodled on the violin as he and Lyra talked. She spoke of compositions she wanted to write, of a Prokofiev concerto she hoped to play, of competitions she'd competed in. He listened to her. He'd pluck an arpeggio and ask to clarify, interject to agree or disagree, or roll his eyes at her puns and terrible jokes.
In her mind, Lyra compared him to the boy he'd described himself to be. How he'd led Leaf to believe they were friends. Here, Silver seemed engaged, his eyes following hers, his face attentive. He has grown past what he was, she thought. She thought of times he'd spoken with her aunt and uncle respectfully, the relaxed, friendly way he interacted with shop workers, his care with strangers on the street. To her, he acted like someone who owed the world something, as opposed to the world owing him, as he once felt.
As night fell, conversation slowly died. Long music talks turned to rants about terrible movies, then to intermittent conversation about literature and art, then just a brief comment here and there about the weather. Silver played what Lyra recognized as excerpts from a Paganini caprice, and she listened as he felt his way through it. The cool, concentrated expression on his face gave way at times to a warmth when the notes felt right, and he slid through the sweeter cadences of the tune with an almost peaceful look on a face that was often so stormy.
He looked up to see her watching with a gentle, nearly sleepy expression. "What are you smiling at?" he said, his tone almost accusatory.
Lyra pushed her hair out of her tired eyes and shrugged. The movement made the straps of her top slide, and she didn't particularly care. She dropped her arms and said, "You."
He played one last note and set the violin and its bow aside. "Me," he said. His eyes were on the uninterrupted plane of her neck and collarbone.
"I think I've told you before, but I like how you play." She pushed her hair over her shoulder, all to one side, and tried to stifle a yawn that threatened to break out. "Here I am, saying I'd stay with you tonight, and all I want to do is crawl into bed."
The ghost of a smile touched his lips. "That's what I'd hope you'd do tonight, anyway." He reached for her, then paused. "Do you trust me?"
"Nope. I just like hanging out with people I don't trust. Gives me a real warm feeling." When his expression faltered, she gestured. "Yes, Silver, I trust you."
Silver sighed at her. He stood and slid his arms around her, lifting her from the couch. Surprised, she linked her arms around his neck for stability. "Let's go," he said, and her head lolled against his neck.
He deposited her on his bed gently and sat on the edge. "You get first dibs on the bathroom," he said.
Lyra nodded. She stood up and grabbed her bag. In the bathroom, she pulled out what she'd brought for bed with some regret at her choice. A red tank top and cotton shorts, printed with fried eggs. Does this make me a child? Lyra thought, starting at her choice with some irritation. The emotion drove away her sleepiness, leaving her to brood at the print in her bathroom. Fried egg shorts suddenly seem like the opposite of what I should be doing here.
She changed into them, anyway. Denim shorts and her current top would be uncomfortable overnight. She quickly combed out her hair and brushed her teeth. Shoving her clothes back into her bag unceremoniously, she zipped it and examined herself in the mirror. She felt keyed up, strange, and powerful, egg shorts be damned.
She exited and found Silver on his side, eyes closed. "It's open," she said softly, tossing her bag aside.
Silver opened his eyes and looked at her. His gaze stopped at her shorts, and he smiled crookedly. "Eggs?"
"Yup." Lyra walked over to the bed and flopped down. "Go do things already."
Silver's eyes roamed over her anyway before he stood. "Right. Do 'things.'"
Lyra's face burned. She grabbed her phone, left on the nightstand, and scrolled through social media without really taking in any of what she saw. Her heart was pounding suddenly. Unsure of how to handle this energy, she felt it manifesting as anxiety that fluttered against her ribcage. What exactly did he want? There were a million things she knew how to ask, and felt comfortable asking. But this current energy was akin to playing with fire. It was wonderful until they got too close. Her phone buzzed with a notification from Kris, but before she could check it the door opened again.
Silver stepped out, in shorts and a t-shirt that matched his usual color scheme. He perched himself on the edge of his own bed as Lyra set her phone aside. They regarded each other, the only people in this quiet, half-lit universe. That was how it felt with him often, like there wasn't anything else in existence that mattered. His eyes took her in and turned lethally velvety. "Thanks for coming tonight," he said in a tone that didn't match his expression.
Lyra laughed, the sound breathless. "Anytime," she said.
Despite her nervousness, she scooted to him. He took her into his arms, regarding her as she looked up at him. He brushed her hair out of her face, and kissed her forehead. "I really don't deserve you," he murmured there, against her skin.
"Don't make me rant about how stupid it is to say that," Lyra responded. She snuggled close to him. "I'm here because I want to be."
"I'm really glad you are." He sighed. "I don't like admitting this, but if you hadn't agreed to come home with me tonight, I don't know how I'd be. I don't want to be alone with myself, with those thoughts I tried to put behind me."
Lyra nuzzled into his bicep. He radiated a gentle heat, the sort she wanted to soak up and never let go. "Well, you're not alone tonight. The egg shorts are on, so I'm not leaving."
"Everyone knows you can't participate in society wearing egg-printed shorts," Silver said, and Lyra grinned into his arm. She felt him peel away, and his lips grazed her forehead as she looked up to watch him. "It's literally in every law book out there. Thou shalt not go in public wearing eggs on your clothing."
"Well, good thing I'm not in public," she said. She angled herself to press a kiss to his neck, and his body tensed. "I'd be arrested for sure." She pressed his shoulder until he reclined, and she laid across him, peering down with a coy smile.
He stared at her, his face bright red, as she lifted his hand and kissed his palm. "Dear Lyra, arrested for egg crimes," he said. Despite the sarcasm in his tone, her heart skipped at being called "Dear Lyra." He pulled his hand free and cupped her face. "Is this what you meant when you said you'd get cute with me?"
She smiled and held his hand to her face. "Could be." She rearranged herself to straddle his waist, feeling emboldened. "Could mean a lot of things."
He stroked her hair from her face tenderly, despite their current position. "See, this is where I'd say don't get cute with me, but then you'd probably decide to rant about egg print instead. Don't get me wrong, it'd be hilarious, but it would ruin the mood fast."
Lyra laughed. "Ruining the mood, huh? You know me too well." She leaned forward and kissed him, resting her weight on her elbows. Silver sighed into the kiss, and his hands crept up her sides and to her back, where they slipped beneath the fabric of her tank top. Lyra's skin burned as his hands lightly grazed her bare skin, and she shuddered as he pulled her closer. It was like he couldn't get enough of her, like he couldn't press her close enough. His settled to hold her close, one hand gripping her waist and the other resting high, poking from the neck of her top.
Lyra gasped as his hand on her waist lightly traced forward to her ribs. Silver smiled into their kiss. "Gotcha," he said, his tone dark. He twisted and rearranged their bodies; he was half-sitting up with her in his lap, his arms securing her to him. His lips pressed to her neck, and she melted into him. Normally, she would have stopped him, but tonight, it was all she wanted.
She sighed as he kissed her from the cap of her shoulder to the hinge of her jaw, his hands roaming, and she felt like jelly. "Silver," she breathed.
He paused. "Too much?"
She rested her hands over his. "No," she said, her tone stronger. "Please keep going. I don't want to go further than this, but I want this."
She could feel his smile. He rested his forehead on her shoulder and sighed gently. "Oh, that's all I needed to hear," he said, and he continued. Lyra gripped his hands as they gripped her, and she tipped her head back.
The night faded into a haze, lazy affections administered in the dark of night in the absence of conversation, the lights low. He was gentle but greedy, and Lyra absorbed it like a sponge. In turn, she oozed a similar affection. As the night bore on, it tapered off, until they snoozed in a puddle, fingers linked, shoulders pressed together. Sometime in the wee hours, it ended with Lyra wrapped around Silver, her head pressed against his back as she held him close. He slept soundly in her arms, and Lyra smiled to herself as she drifted. You're mine, she thought. I pray you don't regret it in the morning. He shifted in her arms, and Lyra held him closer. She shut her eyes and joined him in peaceful slumber.
"Shit. I am so late!"
Lyra opened her eyes, blinking groggily. It took her a moment to remember where she was, and the morning sun on her face made her cringe. "Silver?" she mumbled, sitting up. She warded her face against the sun, and watched Silver buttoning himself hurriedly into a white shirt.
He glanced at her, eyes wild. "I fucking work today! I forgot I worked today!"
"Oh." Lyra sat up and adjusted her tank top. "I'm sorry. That's probably my bad."
Silver was rummaging around. "Doesn't matter, but it's happening." He cursed. "Of course I can't find a hairtie. This is so dumb."
Lyra pulled hers off her wrist and tossed it to him, stifling a yawn with her other hand. As he caught it, she said, "Sorry it's pink. Clashes with your hair."
He was already stuffing his hair into a knot, strands falling loose. The movement drew Lyra's attention to uneven buttoning; he'd missed a button in his haste. She slid out of bed as he fiddled with his sleeves, rolling them properly, and paused as Lyra stood before him. She unbuttoned the top few buttons of his shirt and quickly redid them, smoothing the fabric as she went. "Just tell Proton you got laid and it blew your mind," she said with a wink.
He scoffed. "But I didn't. We didn't." He side-eyed her. "Did we?"
Lyra snorted. "Not yet, but he doesn't need to know that. It's just a fib." She stretched up on her toes and kissed his cheek. "What time is it, even?"
"11:30. I was supposed to be in at 11. If I book it, I could be there at noon. What a load of horseshit that I forgot," he said. He sighed and tugged Lyra's tank top strap back onto her shoulder. "I'm sorry. I forgot about this entirely. I'm supposed to work until six. I wish we could just hang out this morning."
Before Lyra could reassure him, he reached behind him and held something out to Lyra. "Take this."
He dropped what turned out to be keys into Lyra's palms. "They're my extras. Lock up when you leave; I'm not going to hurry you out. There's food in the fridge. Have whatever you want, take a shower. Hang around. I don't know. Whatever makes you happy."
Lyra followed him as he left the bedroom. Through the open windows the street sounded busy, and she winced at the idea of having slept so late. "Would it make you happy if I was here when you got home?" she asked as he snagged his set of keys and wallet off the counter.
He paused. Silver turned to look at her with such a soft look on his face. "I mean, yeah, but don't hang around here all day. Go do things." He walked back to her, cupped her face, and kissed her, the sentiment tender despite the anxious tension in his body. "I'm going to go lie bald-faced to Proton. If he asks questions...I'm going to make things up."
Lyra popped her hip and stuck her tongue out, and Silver gave a lopsided grin. "Okay, but I have to go now," he said.
"Sure you do," Lyra responded, but she gave him a wave. "Go do good things today."
He waved his hand nonchalantly, as if to brush off her wellwishing, but she caught the flash of a grin as he hustled out the door. She was left in his apartment, this place that smelled of him and a hint of cigarette smoke, and Lyra grinned, giddy. She wrapped her arms around herself and smiled, at the thought of how gentle his eyes were, at the way he touched her so casually, listened to her so attentively.
The hesitation seemed to be gone, and in its place was a warmth. She'd accepted his baggage. She understood there were things he could not change. And he'd blossomed in it. I think he's mine, she thought, smiling.
Her eyes flitted about the apartment, and a coy smile spread over her face. An idea flashed through her mind, but she needed to shower and change before she took it upon herself to carry it out. She felt giddy, and as she moved to the bathroom, she hummed happily to herself.
Things could work out, couldn't they?
A/N: it is I, Mars. I conclude this two part update with a more formal (are these ever formal?) author's note.
So, I graduated college. I started my adult life. Hit some road bumps. This project fell to the wayside, and I also just...couldn't figure out how to write 17. I wrote 10,000 words in third person and it all sucked. It sucked so bad. I hated it. I switched to first person and wrote this update relatively quickly in comparison. So that was...a bit disheartening, but oh well! It's out! I can't guarantee I'll update with any regularity in the future, either, but I will try to publish something sooner than a year out haha!
Anyway, shitposting time.
Silver and Paganini go together like, uh, biscuits and gravy. There's something bitter and tender and beautiful about all his Caprices, so I'm always thinking about them for Silver in this fic. Also, speaking of music: I got to hear Prelude to the Afternoon of a Faun played for the first time this September. It was orchestral (it traditionally is, anyhow) and I teared up. Such a perfect piece of music. Debussy knew what was up.
Also, really can't wait to write Proton grilling Silver about a night that never actually happened. That's literally what this whole fluffy chapter is doing; it's setting up Silver for A Real Bad Time With Proton. That's the true best part of this fic is writing Silver being so tired of Proton hahaha.
''Til next time, please take care! Remember to rinse your fruits and veggies before eating them!