Posted:
AN:- A series of drabbles on the post leap Avneil dynamics, from Neil's perspective. Do tell me if you like it and maybe I can write more. xo
It's her revulsion towards him as soon as he steps into the same room she's in, it's the venom in every word that she directs towards him, it's the wounded look she wears when she thinks he isn't looking that slowly begins to crush his hopes.
He clenches his fist at that, glaring at her as she continues to feign sleep, willing her to face him so he can fight her with renewed vigour, because he's doing this all for her, to protect her and it's really because of her, because she's so impulsive and restless and because he knows she would never have sat idle if he'd told her the truth, she would never do as he told her to do, she's reckless and thoughtless and has no care for her self when she's on her pursuit for revenge and all he wants is for her to be safe; so she can hate him all she wants but he'd rather have her safe than anywhere in the reach of the monster that's after her. His glare must've scorched her back because it's not long after he's started a hypothetical argument with her in his head that she turns around, having decided to give up the facade. "What do you want?" She asks, angry as always, and he's startled.
All arguments flood out of him at her narrowed eyes. He wishes she could read his mind- I want you, I want us.
At a loss of words, he simply stares at her, as she stands up to cross her arms defensively. The otherwise harsh lines on her face are softened under the dim lighting of her cell. Her hair is in a disarray of curls that wind up in all directions. Her eyes are dark and hooded and hold none of the warmth that he's come to associate with her. He thinks of how much she's changed. "I like your hair," he tells her sincerely, and is rewarded with the impatient scowl on her face being replaced by a dumbfounded expression. It's not a win, not by a long shot, but it quells the ache in his chest just by a little. Biting back a smile, he bids her goodnight and leaves, not missing the curious look she sends his way.
OoO
The first thing he notices about her when he sees her six months after is her hair. It's so short. Shorter than the time they'd first met, shorter than he'd ever seen it on her, curling rebelliously around her face making his fingers itch to tuck them behind her ears.
Her hair is distracting, sure, but not enough to keep his attention from her glare. It's the second thing he notices. It's powerful enough to knock the wind out of his chest, echoing of betrayal and hurt and anger and he can't quite meet her eyes the first few days when she's around, can't hold conversations with her without being struck speechless.
The next is the harsh lines on her face, the utter lack of softness and warmth in her face, in the way she carries herself. She's still inherently herself, still helping and giving, but it's not the way she was six months ago.
She still glows, she's still aflame, but not with the love and selflessness from before. It's a different kind of fire in her eyes, of anger, of hurt, of someone who's been hardened by being broken over and over.
She's still her, but not like before.
He hates himself a little more the first time he sees her.
He's trying hard, very hard to hold on to the optimism in him that tells him it'll all be over soon and then he can have her back, have her safe and sound and in his arms so that nobody can separate them again, but every encounter with her seems to drain him of all his hope and wishful thinking of the future he believes they can have.
You betrayed me, you didn't trust me, you hurt me, you never loved me, I hate you, I hate us, he hears from her, through words and actions.
How could you think I would hurt you, how could you think I wouldn't trust you, how could you think so little of me, I love you, you're my whole world, you're my life, I hate myself too, I'm sorry, I had no other choice he wants to scream back.He wants to shake her until she understands that it kills him everyday to see where she is, what he's done to her, he wants to crush her in his arms until she stops fighting him at every step.
He does none of that, however, and lets her haunt him with her words and eyes. It's his penance for hurting her, and he's willing to pay it. But it isn't easy.
It's her revulsion towards him as soon as he steps into the same room she's in, it's the venom in every word that she directs towards him, it's the wounded look she wears when she thinks he isn't looking that slowly begins to crush his hopes.
~~~~
It's a week after his arrival and he's had a long unfruitful day. He visits her cell at night simply to watch her pretend to sleep, stares at her back until all he sees is the orange of her uniform, all he hears is her voice telling him in words that almost seem practiced, as if she's spent several nights constructing the perfect blow to finally severe any emotional tie that she may have had to him, when it finally sinks in that there exists a possibility that when this is all over, she'd still hate him for what he put her through.
He clenches his fist at that, glaring at her as she continues to feign sleep, willing her to face him so he can fight her with renewed vigour, because he's doing this all for her, to protect her and it's really because of her, because she's so impulsive and restless and because he knows she would never have sat idle if he'd told her the truth, she would never do as he told her to do, she's reckless and thoughtless and has no care for her self when she's on her pursuit for revenge and all he wants is for her to be safe; so she can hate him all she wants but he'd rather have her safe than anywhere in the reach of the monster that's after her. His glare must've scorched her back because it's not long after he's started a hypothetical argument with her in his head that she turns around, having decided to give up the facade. "What do you want?" She asks, angry as always, and he's startled.
All arguments flood out of him at her narrowed eyes. He wishes she could read his mind- I want you, I want us.
At a loss of words, he simply stares at her, as she stands up to cross her arms defensively. The otherwise harsh lines on her face are softened under the dim lighting of her cell. Her hair is in a disarray of curls that wind up in all directions. Her eyes are dark and hooded and hold none of the warmth that he's come to associate with her. He thinks of how much she's changed. "I like your hair," he tells her sincerely, and is rewarded with the impatient scowl on her face being replaced by a dumbfounded expression. It's not a win, not by a long shot, but it quells the ache in his chest just by a little. Biting back a smile, he bids her goodnight and leaves, not missing the curious look she sends his way.
~~~~
He's not keeping an eye on her today, but he's vaguely aware that she's in the prison courtyard, tending to the plants. So when it starts to rain, and he's not exaggerating when he says it's a heavy downpour, he finds himself walking out of the office to make sure she's escorted to her cell safely.
He realizes the jailer is hurrying the rest of the the inmates into their cells, calling out different names sporadically, but his attention is elsewhere, on a lone figure in the garden who's taking off her gloves one by one. He watches as she slowly rises from her crouch, lifting her face, eyes closed, palms facing heavenwards and looking more at peace than he's seen her in the past ten days he's been here.
He realizes the jailer is hurrying the rest of the the inmates into their cells, calling out different names sporadically, but his attention is elsewhere, on a lone figure in the garden who's taking off her gloves one by one. He watches as she slowly rises from her crouch, lifting her face, eyes closed, palms facing heavenwards and looking more at peace than he's seen her in the past ten days he's been here.
The jailer returns to get the last of her wards into her cell, but he shakes his head, indicating that he would take care of it.
He studies her from afar, watches how her curls loosen under the weight of the water in her hair, watches her breathe in deeply, and he's reminded of the last time he watched her as it poured, when she'd looked at him so brokenly, like he'd ripped her heart out of her chest and shredded it to pieces. And maybe he had. He'd felt it, too, felt the pain of it so keenly he hadn't been able to breathe.
Right now she looks serene and he tethers himself to the present, letting his feet carry him to her. He sees it in her face, the moment the flicker of awareness of his presence dawns on her. She does not open her eyes until he's barely a foot away from her. Her arms fall to her sides, and she blinks up at him.
The raindrops are cold and unforgiving and so are her eyes. He feels sorry when the tranquility slips away from her expression and her mouth presses into a thin line.
And yet, the hostility that he's grown accustomed to is absent, she's just wary and he's glad for it.
He takes cautious steps towards her, and when she doesn't step back, he lifts his hand to cup her face. She glances at the point of contact between them and sighs, lowering her eyes. He guides her closer to him, until her forehead is pressed against his chest, until he feels her splay her palm across his shoulder. His arm slowly winds around her, until they're in an awkward half hug, and he's unsure if she'll permit him anymore physical contact.
"Why?" She whispers against his chest, sounding as exhausted as he feels, and he almost doesn't hear her over the rain.
He swallows a lump in his throat and hesitates, wondering if he can get away with not answering her. She tenses in his arms. "Neil..."
"Why what?" He asks, and he instantly regrets the question, because she's pulling away, putting distance between them so she can look him in the eye. She does not, however, try to remove his arm around her, and so he continues to hold her, for as long as she lets him.
"Why- all of this. Why? You get me arrested without even bothering to hear my side of the story, end our relationship, break my trust, break my heart. And then," She takes a deep breath and he can see she's using all her strength to keep her voice from wavering, "You come here to try to keep me from running away. Why do you care, Neil Khanna? If I'm already a murderer according to you, then why do you care if I become a fugitive? If you want nothing to do with me, then why are you here?"
He stares at her, the temptation to tell her everything so intense, he almost gives in. Almost.
"I can't. I'm not-" He grits his teeth, trying to keep himself from blurting out the truth because he can't not be honest when she's looking at him like that, so small, so sincere, so vulnerable. "I can't tell you. I'm sorry."
She steps away from him, away from his touch, and the loss of her warmth resonates all the way to his chest, where the near constant ache deepens. He brings himself to look at her again, expecting her to go back to her hostility. What he finds, however, is her eyes studying him contemplatively, mulling over his answer.
"Okay," she says, nodding, and she continues to look contemplative. She searches his face for a long moment and whatever she finds seems to satisfy her. He feels an inappropriate rush of thrill because she's going to figure it out.
This was a mistake, he's sure. He does not want her to find out, he tells himself. And yet, when she pauses while walking away from him, darting another look that's devoid of all anger and hatred, he can't bring himself to feel regretful.
OoO
Cricket
