"I didn't mean to do that to you," Lucy said. "I just wanted you to stop what you were doing."
Cobra's heart sank. How was it that she could feel guilty about something he'd done? "It's not your fault, Lucy. You were just trying to protect yourself. Hell, you didn't even plan to do it. Anyone…would have memories like those if someone did that to them. It's natural that you'd be afraid."
"But I don't…" she bit her lip and brushed a hand over her eyes, wiping away tears before they fell. "I don't…I didn't want things to be awkward either."
Her admittance caused her mind to stir, the edges of thoughts leaking out in hushed whispers in Cobra's mind. He gritted his teeth and made sure to stare straight at her, listing every detail that he saw in an attempt to keep the other thoughts away.
"Things…have been so different since Tartarous. I haven't been on a proper job in months." She gave him a wry smile. "You understand why now. Mirajane hovered over me, but besides her, no one knew. No one asked. I played it off as fatigue, and they accepted it and moved on.
"So, when you kept coming back to this job…this weird love doctor gig Mirajane cooked up. It made me happy." Lucy spun her pencil around as she continued. "Although, every day, a little voice in my head told me not to get complacent. That it might be the last time each time, that you would get bored, or grow sick of hearing people's problems. So I wanted you to be at ease in that space…I didn't want anything to change either."
Cobra inwardly grimaced at her worries. How many times had he considered the very same things? He'd barely been convinced in the first place. The only reason he agreed to any of it was…well, she was sitting right before him.
"I forget too," she said. "About…experiences…when I'm with you. It feels so nice, but I wonder if it's just escapism. It's so easy, yet…"
It was Cobra's turn to bite his lip, which involved significantly sharper teeth. Inside, the flame shivered, and in that shivering, he swore he could hear a whisper. Something to say. Something terrifying. He hovered on the edge of a decision. Something that could make the flame brighter. Or snuff it out entirely.
He thought back to that morning with Macbeth. How not talking had led to preconceptions that turned out to be entirely false. How the whole thing could have been avoided if Macbeth had been open enough to talk about it. If Cobra had been open enough to talk about it.
If he wanted to move forward, he needed to take the risk of the flame being snuffed out by his own hand.