Quote of the Chapter:

"It was because I was scared. Scared of standing out, scared of being invisible. Scared of seeming too big, scared of being too small. Scared of being with Sephy, scared of being away from her."
― Malorie Blackman, Noughts and Crosses

Chapter Sixteen: (Why can't I tell you) what I want?

Why couldn't he just say it?

Too many times that one question had occupied Meliodas' mind, gnawing at his neurons as he worked away at the impossible riddle of the Elizabeth Liones complex. When he was eating breakfast; when he went on the damned Tube; even when he was at work - actively serving customers - his brain would be working away at this problem, his number one problem, that never seemed to ever go away.

Being tongue-tied was something that came naturally to someone as emotionally inept as him. When one was raised in a household that fostered little affection nor warmth, it's difficult to learn how to communicate such feelings. Maybe that was why Meliodas punched the first girl he ever liked in the face; maybe that was why he never quite got over her.

"What's got you so quiet?" Elizabeth hummed, her finger landing right between his eyebrows.

Currently, Bambi was playing in the background and the film had just reached its dramatic plot point of the hunter shooting Bambi's mother. On a normal day, Elizabeth would be glued to the screen, tears gathering in her eyes as she felt bad for the unfortunate animated deer, left alone and helpless after the sudden loss of his mother. Today she seemed to have her mind on other matters - Meliodas matters to be exact.

"Nothing," Meliodas brushed her question aside. Nothing was always the best answer.

"Nothing, huh?" Elizabeth mused, rolling over to properly look at him. Haphazardly her plastic tiara dangled from her silver hair, most likely askew due to Meliodas' own attack on her peaceful kingdom of Pillowtopia - yes, that was the name she chose. From the name alone, you couldn't blame Meliodas for attacking her pillow fort; it was simply criminal to let such a place exist.

"Well nothing appears to be doing something," Elizabeth hummed as she regarded him further, narrowing her sapphire eyes. "And that something is occupying your brain."

Not a single syllable left Meliodas. With her, it was too risky to even think of letting one escape. Too keen, too perceptive, Elizabeth would catch onto the ever-brewing turmoil that simmered in Meliodas' system. With just a tiny sound, a small movement of the mouth, Elizabeth could tell - she was just that good at the emotion-name-game.

So, as much as he wanted to, Meliodas never risked it - not a night like tonight. Wholesome fun was rare for them these days. Nights where they could act like giant kids, hiding away from the responsibilities of adulthood, were scattered and speckled like freckles across the human population. Now that they had peace, Meliodas didn't want to ruin that. Not tonight.

"You wanna talk about it?" Elizabeth prodded, resting her face within the palms of her hands. True curiosity - not judgement, never judgement - crowned her features.

"Is that optional?" Meliodas laughed, knowing well enough now that it never truly was. With her, with Elizabeth, he could spill out his entire heart's content without even blinking. Unlike with everyone else, it was just so easy, so effortless. Revealing the small, vulnerable parts of him - the hidden parts of him - wasn't like becoming a kicked puppy. It was like... finally accepting help as that kicked-up puppy, finding those warm, welcoming arms that scooped you up, told you it was going to be ok and placed a gentle kiss on your temple.

Even then though, spilling it all out was never option for Meliodas. There were things - still are things - that he can't even imagine telling her. As much as Elizabeth would help him with it, as much as she would envelope and accept him, Meliodas could never show her those parts of him. She wouldn't want to know those parts of him; he didn't want to know them.

But then that all feeds back into the problem: Meliodas wants to tell her. Every day, every moment, every breath, he just wants to let go of the heavy burden dragging down on his already tired frame. Words are freeing, Meliodas had learned that over the past ten years, but as freeing as they are they can also be incarcerating. Suffocating.

Over the past ten years, there's a lot of words he would take back if he could. All those angry labels yelled in the red-hot roar of his rage; the hurtful hisses of spiteful insults and remarks only uttered to make the pain worse: he wished he could take them back. Elizabeth didn't deserve to hear them; Elizabeth did nothing wrong.

So when he caught those glittering teardrops that only her pillow bore public witness to, when he saw the muted flinches and felt the icy defensiveness to her tone, Meliodas could only feel all the more guilty. All the more dirty.

All the pain she felt, all the anguish and tears and empty, meaningless heartache, could be ended in mere moments. With just a few simple words, with a confession that had been boiling and brewing for well over a decade, Meliodas could end it all.

But he can't.

He can't tell her what he wants. He never has been able to.

That's why he punched her in the face.

"You know the answer to that," Elizabeth smiled wryly, ruffling his hair as she placed a soft kiss on his forehead. "But if you want to later, you know where to find me."

Yeah, he knew. But he never made much use of it. Meliodas didn't want to burden her, didn't want to drag her down with the weight of his own lead anchor built by his monstrous decisions and pre-determined past. Being dragged down with him was the last thing that Elizabeth deserved; being stuck here with him, tortured by this constant hot-and-cold, wasn't much better. At some point he would have to let her. Cut her off. He just couldn't bear the pain of doing it now.

"Yeah, I know," Meliodas murmured, barely enough for her to hear. He stared up at the TV screen to see Bambi discovering his dead mother's fate; a shiver tracked his spine. "Thanks."

"Anytime Meliodas," Elizabeth whispered back, linking her arm with his. She smiled. "Anytime."

Her actions only made him feel worse. Every time they made him feel worse. When she smiled and assured him and cared for him and loved him, it was all the more fuel to add to the burning fire of his own self-hatred, his own self-loathing toward his all-consuming cowardice.

Yet he still let Elizabeth snuggle up to him; he still wound his arm around her waist; he still let her find her way into his bed, into his heart, even though he told himself that he needed to cut her off. That every action pulling them closer, interconnecting them even more tightly, was just a step closer to the inevitable pain of ripping her out like a fresh stitch after surgery.

Nevertheless Meliodas woke up the next morning like he always did every morning after they 'accidentally' found their way into the same bed. He still found himself repeating the same sad question: why couldn't he just tell her what he wanted?