Eva is withdrawing.
Charon doesn't understand why.
At first, her extreme proximity was a near constant but it seems as if the change in their dynamic has set off some unseen tipping point. When he hated her, mistrusted her, dreaded her touch she was almost always too close. The press of her arm against his, light touches on his shoulders and hands, communicating silently through touch, it became something he expected. Now it's uncertain. She's still close, still huddles tight against him when they're hiding, squeezes his shoulder in greeting. Even her cold toes have returned at points, little bursts of ice tucked under his thigh when they share the couch, but now the gestures seem unpredictable.
One day she is constantly within reach, her hip pressed against his upper thigh as they stand together, drinking stale coffee in the kitchen while the early morning light blends their shadows into one inseparable shape. The next he will spend the day feeling the light wisps of heat left behind from aborted contact, catching her hand snapping away before it can get any closer, the sharp motions blurring in the corner of his eye. With his own changing reactions, the distaste and anxiety her nearness used to induce in him shifting into a confusing sort of longing, he's feeling more than a little lost.
Today has had some of the worst examples yet. He's only been awake for an hour, stumbling out of his room to find her creeping back in from watching the sunrise, and yet he's already caught her withdrawing from him three times. The last instance he even caught her expression, her reaching hand clenching into a fist at her side, a flicker of anger thinning her lips into a sharp line. It sparked something in him as well, an irrational anger that wanted to reach out and catch that withdrawing touch, pull it back to where it belongs.
He knows her well enough by now that he doubts it's a powerplay, that whatever satisfaction she got from touching him vanished once it was no longer unwanted, but it still frustrates him. Why would these two changes in their relationship happen so simultaneously? Why, the moment he actually wanted the contact, would she take it away?
Now she's drinking tea, something so sharp and herbal he can smell it from across the room, and huddling as far away from him as she can. Her sudden distance is bothering him to no end. He wants to put down his own weak cup of coffee and cross the room, press close like she does.
Charon still remembers those fleeting moments of lust, when all the confusing emotions she stirred up in him combined with stress and bled over into a surprising and sudden need for physicality, but this feels different. He's not injured or struggling to ignore her kindness, her consideration for him, contradicting so sharply with any other employer that he could have blindly adored her if not for his own learned hatred. Charon has accepted that she has better intentions towards him then he's ever experienced. He's seen it now, experienced it firsthand. He's even grown to enjoy her company so why is this turmoil still boiling up?
He watches her, catalogs the tight grip on her mug, the downcast eyes, the tension pulling her shoulders tight and high.
Eva's smile when she catches him looking is as weak as his coffee and it sets him over the edge. She almost looks frightened of him. He's well aware that he's disturbing, a towering decayed monster in the eyes of most, but normally Eva treats him like a source of comfort. Seeing the exact opposite in her eyes, it makes him realize just how much he has begun to enjoy being that comfort.
When he sets down his coffee mug, it's so roughly that it rattles on the countertop, pale brown liquid sloshing over onto the chipped tile. He crosses the room in four steps, catches her arms up in what must be a frighteningly sudden way even while he's wanting so badly to do the opposite.
"What's wrong?" He doesn't know how to have these conversations, hasn't had an equal partnership that he can draw from. She's looking up at him, eyes startled wide and so pale she looks terrified even though he knows it's her natural skin tone. There are those freckles again, tormenting him, striking up that foreign longing that he's still struggling not to label. Not yet. His grip loosens at the sight of them, thumbs rubbing those gentle circles that calmed her once. He hopes it will work again.
"I…" Eva looks dumbstruck, mouth hanging open slightly from her loss of words. She doesn't try to shrug his hands away and he's glad for it, doesn't want to let go just yet.
"Nothing's wrong." Even as she says it, it's clear they both know she's lying. Her eyes trail to the left, down to his shoulder and part of him is relieved at the break. He doesn't know confrontation, has only solved problems with bullets and biding his time. His hands drop down to her elbows, cupping instead of squeezing, attempting to negate some of the intimidation his stature and rotted skin lend him. He wants to talk to her, not scare her.
"We both know that's not true. You…you've stopped…"
What does he say? You won't touch me anymore? How can he ask this without seeming desperate, without it sounding like the obvious come-on he's not certain it isn't? What does he really want from her, more than to just no longer be confused? He doesn't know.
Charon drops one hand, hovering awkwardly at his side. There's a fleeting instinct to drop his grip to her hip, some lost part of him can feel it, the soft curve and how well his grasp would catch at it, hold it. The horrific sensation, wondering if he's done it before or can only imagine, the lost years digging into the back of his mind, the worst kind of mystery hits him hard enough that he almost misses her response.
"Charon, I just don't want to take advantage." Eva catches his dropped hand, running her thumbs lightly over his pock marked knuckles. Her voice is low, eyes focused on his skin, head deliberately tipped down, hiding behind knotted morning curls.
"I know I should have realized sooner but it didn't completely occur to me."
She sighs and he feels the heat of her breath across his skin, calling back an evening campfire and the remembered twang of need in his gut.
"I knew I had too much power over you but it wasn't a command so I thought it didn't really matter." She shakes her head, the hitch in her words he wishes he imagined cutting deep.
"But it doesn't work like that. I should have known how hard saying no would be. I…" Her hand is gripping his tighter now, smooth skin catching on calluses like soft fabric on a rusted nail.
"I know I'm lonely and having you around, it's so great." She finally looks at him and the smile on her face is heartbreaking, too bright for the waver in her voice.
"I stopped existing a long time ago and having you here makes me feel like everything didn't end at the water plant. Like there's a future instead of just…more." Eva squeezes his hand, tight enough that one of his fingers pops and it's such a normal sound, it cuts the tension slightly. She snorts, massaging his hand lightly, like it might have hurt.
"So yeah, I just don't want to take advantage. This is already too good to be true."
It's an answer and it makes sense but it's not what he wants to hear. He spent the majority of their time together hating her and now, hearing her treasure his presence like that, it stings. Here is this lonely person, too young to be so alone, too well intentioned to be this full of self-hatred and she looks on a stranger who despised her as a gift. And now, finally, he's ready to reciprocate her friendship and she's withdrawing because she thinks she has asked for too much already.
Eva drops his hand but he doesn't let go of her elbow. Her feelings towards him are already too complex, too tangled. Adding his own unlabeled responses just makes it that much more confusing. Is he still touching her because of pity? A misplaced guilt for not understanding her initial intentions?
He doesn't regret hating her exactly. He knows he had every right to despise the person who purchased him, traded him for caps like a tool instead of a living being but he wants it to be over now, understands that it's different. Charon is jaded but not blind enough to ignore good intentions when he finds them. So, is this all in a subconscious attempt to show her that that part of their relationship is over?
Eva starts to move away and his grip tightens instantly, taken over with the instant wild panic that if she pulls away, it will be over. She'll get used to the new boundaries she's set and never touch him again, never stand so close. The thought of forgetting what it feels like is almost frightening.
He's struck with the maddening impulse to kiss her, to cut that last barrier. She can't think it isn't his choice if she doesn't expect it, if, when she's pulling away, he pulls her back.
The hand at his side is suddenly on her hip, confirming his suspicions. It does fit perfectly in his palm, softer than the rest of her and his fingers curl, too much pressure, possibly bruisingly tight but he's inexperienced, can't remember doing any of this even if he can picture it. Eva smells warm and salty, a scent that he had no idea until now was already familiar.
Impulsively he tugs her closer, presses her tight against him with the wavering memory of that horrible day, a bullet in his shoulder and arms too weak to follow the strange desire to catch her, touch her. He'd thought, drunk on adrenaline and pain, about fucking her and now just a kiss is too much, clouding his thoughts, making the world around them blur and shrink until it's just the two of them. Charon tips forward, too tall, entirely prepared to scoop her up, cup her upper thighs and set her on the counter if she has to tilt her head too far to reach him, hesitance gone and suddenly so, so ready when he feels her struggle to pull away.
He drops his hands immediately, stumbling away from her like she burned him. That was…he was…he was lost in that moment, so certain she would reciprocate, that she would be glad at the proof that she wasn't abusing him.
Eva's face is bright pink, chest rising and falling rapidly as she backs out of the kitchen, away from him. Her voice is higher than usual, panicked.
"I'm, Charon, that wasn't a command. You didn't have to do that." She's agitated, visibly shaking and backpedaling away. She hits the stairs and stumbles, clutching at the railing as she thumps down onto the first step but when Charon starts to follow she scrambles back to her feet.
"I'm sorry, that wasn't an order. I'm sorry." She's repeating her apology even as she twists and darts up the stairs. The door to her room slams behind her and Charon is left alone, stunned in the abrupt silence.
Absently, he notices her cup has been knocked over, spilling tea and soggy herbs onto the counter. The pungent liquid drips onto the floor in steady ticking drops, the only sound save for the heartbeat hammering in his chest.
It fills the room with its aroma, sharp, bitter, and disappointing.