"I've never kissed anyone else."

It hangs heavy between them. Fakir sort of thought it would feel… lighter or something. Like finally giving it purchase in the world would lessen the bite in his chest, but it almost feels heavier, now that it finally has solid ground to dig its heels into, like it has power behind its talons now.

Fakir might be bleeding out in this park grass. It's not really the way he thought he'd go - a little tipsy, laying shoulder-to-shoulder with Mytho's ex at midnight, under the ruse of watching the stars but mostly telling secrets. He fidgets, uncomfortable and vulnerable, sort of wishing he'd never said anything at all, wishing that he'd stuck to pointing out constellations and listening to her giggle about the way the damp grass felt under her neck.

But then Ahiru sighs. Turns her head and watches him very obviously as she says, "Yeah. Me neither."

They have so much in common, he thinks, defeated. Here they are, doing the very thing he'd hoped so dearly they wouldn't; basking in their twisted connection, mutually mourning lost love and thwarted happily ever after. It makes his skin crawl. He wishes he could burrow beneath the misty grass and quit being a person.

"... Do you want to?"

His heart lodges itself in his throat. Christ. Unraveling the ugly knot of his desires is dangerous, uncharted territory, and he wishes he was drunker, so that he might feel a little braver, a little bolder. But it's impossible to lie to her, not when she has eyes like that, so wide and honest.

"I don't know," he says. "It's pathetic."

She shakes her head. Smudges some dirt on her freckled cheek. "... It's okay. I don't know if I want to either."

And maybe it's not his shame that hangs heavy between them - maybe it's the tension, the little bits of truth Fakir refuses to acknowledge, how all of the blood in his body runs red hot when they brush pinkies. Does he want to kiss anyone else. Ha.

Fakir doesn't want. He doesn't yearn. Not anymore, not ever. And certainly not in this situation, with this girl, with anyone but Mytho. He's already solved this puzzle, has already figured out where each piece goes, knows himself inside and out - what he doesn't need is more self reflection. And he certainly doesn't need to question this puzzle of a heart he has, not when he'd already solved it years ago.

She just kind of… looks like Mytho, even if she smiles differently and cries differently and laughs differently. She feels like him, even if it's just the size of her stupid heart.

He's a knight without a purpose. Without a prince to protect. Of course after a while he'd go looking for someone new to defend. He's retired from this gig, for goodness sake; Fakir hasn't played knight since he was thirteen and Mytho twelve, and no amount of skinned knees and wandering eyes should ever inspire that possessiveness in him ever again. It wasn't enough the first time and it won't ever be enough again.

Fakir shuts it down. Crams the door shut to his heart and twists the lock. He closes his eyes and says, "It doesn't matter."

She lets out a humming noise. It's almost like birdsong, except she's not very good at holding a tune. "... It matters if it hurts you."

"Nothing hurts me."

Ahiru huffs. Her pinky brushes against his and that latched door rattles, disturbed. "Everybody hurts sometimes. It's what makes us human I think."

Puh. What does she know? Fakir doesn't look at her. It's unlikely he'd be able to maintain what's left of his dignity in the face of her eyes. It's like they can see him, all of him, right down to his core, and it's terrifying. Nobody should ever be able to see all of him. Nobody ever has.

"You said you didn't want to talk about your breakup," he says instead, staring up at the sky. "But I thought… it would be helpful for you, if we did."

"Hmmm."

"Did you ever talk to anyone about it?"

She turns her head back to the stars and then stretches. Fakir closes his eyes and doesn't think about the way she sounds, the way she moves, the way her toes point and her hands reach for something that's not there.

"Nuh uh," Ahiru says, sleepy and languid and probably so warm, from that vodka and cider in her system. "Didn't really… have anyone I could. And I didn't want to bother any of my friends, so…"

Christ. It's like looking in a mirror. This is uncharted territory, he broods again, dangerously uncharted territory, and if Fakir really valued his heart, he'd take her home already - he's certainly sober enough to drive by now, and remaining here is willingly throwing himself into the fire, but, but.

"... I'll tell you about mine," he says decisively. "If that makes you more comfortable."

She makes a soft noise and rolls over onto her side. Fakir doesn't have to look to know she's staring right into his soul. "No," she says.

"It's okay." It'll be okay. He thinks of Raetsel and her worried eyes, thinks of Mytho and Ahiru and the way that whole conversation had made him feel. He's too old now, he thinks, to be brooding on this, to still be so twisted up over some guy who hadn't wanted him in the end. It will never get better if he doesn't let go.

It'll never get better for her if she never lets go. And visiting him and his new girlfriend is the opposite of letting go.

But she just keeps staring at him like he's broken his own heart. Like he'd been the one to call it quits or something, as if he'd ever be that selfless.

And it's only now he realizes that at some point he'd cracked and looked back at her. Ahiru has a dirty cheek and grass stains on her sweater and the most undivided attention he's ever been privy to. It should be more unnerving than it is.

A lot of things should be more unnerving than they are. Like how comfortable it is laying here with her. Or how he'd admitted to only having kissed Mytho.

"... He wanted to do it in person," Fakir starts, and Ahiru gasps, barely half a breath of noise, and clasps her hands over her own heart. "I should've known something was up when he was awake before me. He's such a lazy bum sometimes, and usually I'd have to be the one to get him up in the morning, especially after we'd…"

... Well. That's something he doesn't let himself think about very often anymore. Fakir clears his throat and tries to ignore the burning running up the back of his neck.

"Anyway. He said he wanted to talk, which was another red flag - Mytho was never decisive, not with me, but-"

"You don't have to tell me," Ahiru insists. "If it hurts, or if it's hard to talk about, I don't… need to know. You don't have to share that with anyone if you don't want to."

"... Do you not want to know?"

It looks like she's going to cry. Ahiru keeps blinking rapidly, and her eyes are sure watery - though sometimes Fakir thinks that's just her constant state of being, three seconds away from sniffling. She wears her heart on her sleeve, and that heart, as big as it is, clearly isn't fulfilled with just her own feelings.

He sort of wishes it was. Things would be easier for her. Simpler. She could cry for herself more often. Could stop looking at him like he was digging his own grave.

"I want to know," she says, blinking still. "It just. It hurts?"

"It hurts you?"

"I was the reason that happened!"

Ah. The guilt. "Funny. I don't blame you for it anymore. You shouldn't."

Ahiru sniffs and undoubtedly continues to shoulder blame that doesn't belong to her. That selflessness drives him up a wall; Fakir wants to melt right there, beneath the starry sky, beneath her luminous stare and pretend like he is someone else, someone unbroken and normal. Maybe then this wouldn't be happening. Maybe then they really could just be friends in the conventional way, and Ahiru's eyes wouldn't make his gut twist up into his chest.

But these are the cards they've been dealt. And expecting the same of her - to want her to talk about it, finally, and air out these feelings she's clearly repressing for the sake of.. whoever, he doesn't even know anymore - well, he has to meet her halfway. That's simple math. Fakir can do math. He's comfortable with things like that. If friendship is an equation, and if equal effort and honestly is required on both parts, he can make it happen. He can trick his brain into being alright with it.

"... But you did," she says, after a long pause. Her eyes are watery and bluer than anything.

He wants to drown. "I didn't know you then."

"But you were hurt," Ahiru says, twisting her fingers into the grass. "And I was part of the reason why. And that's-"

"You didn't break up with me."

"I wasn't dating you! How could I?"

"I would've dumped me for you if I was him too," he scoffs. "You have nothing to feel guilty about."

That shuts her up. It's only when he's finished sorting out the burn in his blood does he realize what he's admitted to, and he doesn't quite blush, because Fakir isn't capable of such things anymore, but he does sort of… choke up a little. Swallowing is a little more difficult than it'd been only moments before. Hm.

It's not that he would date her. That's not what he'd been trying to say. Hopefully Ahiru can put the correct pieces together in her head and not make this weirder than it already is. Christ. Fakir can barely feel the wine anymore, so it's not like he can blame the alcohol for making him loose lipped - it has to be her, and how weirdly easy it is to open up around her.

But she doesn't respond the way he expects her to. Ahiru stays silent, long enough to pique his curiosity, and when he glances over back at her she's biting her lip. Like she's holding the gates shut, like there's something in her she's afraid to let out.

And that. That's something he can understand. Fakir can work with that, something far more in his repertoire. He doesn't know much about feelings or how to manage them, but he knows a hell of a lot about mincing words and holding back, especially. This, at least, is something he is comfortable with.

"... I wouldn't," she says finally, and her voice is tighter than it'd been that minute before. "I- he wasn't- and you…"

Ahiru can't spit it out. Fakir decides not to rush her and instead gives her the space to form her thoughts into words. He watches her with calm eyes as Ahiru comes apart at the seams, piece by piece, and feels sort of like a bully, for pushing her to this point.

"... A-at least with you he was, you know," she gives pause, shaking a little, tiny fists clenched before her, laying in the misty grass. It takes everything in him not to cup his own hands over hers and lend her his strength. "... Happy! And fulfilled! I didn't- I don't… feel things like he does. And you do. And he kept saying it was fine, that he was happy and that he loved me but I always still felt like I wasn't giving enough, you know? And it was something I could never give him."

He doesn't follow. She's too vague, or worked up, or… something. On the cusp of actually crying at him again, and this time Fakir doesn't have a book of poetry to soothe her with.

"You don't owe anyone anything," he says, then. Safe. Probably on topic. "You know that, right? Relationships aren't about what you can give someone."

"Speak for yourself!" she blurts, and oh, she's crying now. That tightness in her voice has broken, and it cracks as she barrels on, fearlessly, selflessly. "You think…! Just because I'm too nice to people it means I'd be a better partner, but you don't know what it was like to date me! He used to talk about you all of the time and how happy you made him and… and…! And I barely even kissed him, because I was too afraid of things escalating and…!"

"Ahiru."

"You don't owe anyone anything either, you know," she wails, and she's moving now, squirming through the grass until she's close enough to knock a tiny fist into his chest. They're laying on their sides now, fully facing each other, and Ahiru's stare is as unrelenting as it is bothersome. "Don't be my friend just because you feel bad for me, and don't think just because Mytho left you that you had something wrong with you. Because you didn't! And you still don't! And I wouldn't have dumped you if I was him. He had it better with you-"

"Ahiru." Her fist is trembling. He cups his hands over it before he can think twice this time.

"- I don't like sex!" she says finally, eyes wide, fist shaking. "I don't… think…? And everyday I felt so bad because I wanted him to be happy, and he's happy now, and I don't get to feel bad about myself just because he found that with someone else-"

It's like watching her heart break in real time. It's too much. This isn't in his comfort zone anymore; it's so far out of his hands that Fakir doesn't know how to help anymore, doesn't know how a friend should go about patching up this gaping wound in her chest. Her heart leaves a hole in her, too big for any one person - but especially her, tiny and fiery and generous to a fault. It's like she's been halved.

This hadn't been the intention. He hadn't wanted to get her drunk. Hadn't wanted to make her cry. It's like he just can't manage to do anything right.

"You don't owe anyone anything," he repeats, very seriously. "Especially that."

"I know! I know that, but… I wanted... "

To make Mytho happy. He knows. The very same feeling had torn him apart once. Fakir might not look like it, but he knows what it's like to be halved too. Hearing her out like this, no matter how therapeutic - it's something that should be done with a sober mind, not one buzzing with vodka and cider and the hangover of Mytho's eyes and misguided kindness. It'll tear her apart. He knows.

"You said it yourself, right? Mytho's happy now. He has Rue."

He knows it breaks her heart. He isn't stupid and he isn't blind - Ahiru is still just as much in love with Mytho as she was the day they first met at the park and fed the pigeons. Something like this should tear her apart, should actually make her cry, but instead she smiles, watery and honest, with trembling lips and shaking hands and rosy lashes stained dark with her tears.

Only Ahiru would smile. Only Ahiru would sit here, wallowing in her broken heart and still smile about it. It makes him feel crazy. Makes him feel things he hasn't felt in years and none of it makes sense.

"I like Rue," Ahiru says, but her voice is so garbled that it's hard to make anything out. She sniffles and laughs. "Sorry."

"C'mon. I'll get you home."

"I wouldn't have dumped you for me. I mean it," she says, even as he's sitting up and working on tugging her up, too. "I'm sorry."

Idiot. "Stop apologizing. I'm the one who should be saying sorry to you."

He pulls the both of them to their feet before she can wail out a response. Ahiru is short - like maybe not even five feet tall short - with the longest hair he's ever seen and her eyes still full of tears, but when she looks up at him it's still full of a silent strength. When she looks up at him, there's no fear there, no reservations, even though he'd accidentally reopened a wound she'd surely rather keep stitched shut.

He can't look at her. Her eyes are like headlights and he is just a stupid, stupid deer. What the hell.

"... Sorry," he says, shoving his hands into his pockets, looking to his shoes. "Really. You don't… have to talk about it if you don't want to."

She sniffles. Maybe she nods. He doesn't know. Fakir's too cowardly to look.

"I still don't think you should go to game night."

Another sniffle. "But…"

"But you're stubborn and you'll still do what you think is best anyway, I know." She wouldn't be Ahiru otherwise. And he's not in the business of changing people into what he thinks are the best versions of themselves, not anymore. Ahiru is up to Ahiru, and not to him, and Fakir will find peace in that. "... I just don't want to see you hurt."

She probably shrugs. "I'm already hurt. What's the difference?"

"You could protect what's left of yourself."

Ahiru laughs then, sad and brittle. "There's not enough left. 'Sides. I like Rue. I want her to be happy too. And she says she likes it when I visit."

Idiot. Idiot. It's not his business. It's not. There are still pieces of himself left to protect too, and willingly throwing himself into the fire is not the way to go about it - and just because Ahiru seems dead set on putting herself through hell doesn't mean he has to follow her lead. He's her friend and a boy but not her boyfriend, and takes no ownership over her.

… Ownership isn't the right word. That's a dangerous thought too. He's not allowed to have those anymore. Possessiveness runs ugly in him. He doesn't know what he'd do with her anyway. She has one of those personalities that's too big to tame, too big to protect. Ahiru would run the old him ragged. Would drive him up a wall.

He's still sort of holding her hand. Mostly her wrist. His fingers lock around it, so delicate and thin.

"I'll drive you home," he says quietly. "Sorry."