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[turbos]

█ SILVER EYES / REACHING FOR PARADISE / I'VE SEEN IT A MILLION TIMES █
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[turbos]

[ he can't grasp why it's so difficult for her to believe him, especially when they've always been so connected, never having faced a moment where she didn't place trust in him. at the very least, trust this sincere, discounting the moments he's stolen food from her plate or pretended to have done chores that he'd failed to do and she'd seen easily through it all.

and when she asks him for a secret, he knows there's plenty he could share, little moments here and there where they'd said things to one another away from prying ears, even private jokes that always stay between siblings against the outer world.

but he sees the desperate intent of her in trying to decipher truth from fiction, and if there's any secret that has stayed so closely between them, unable to ever share with any other living soul, he knows exactly which it would be.

staring at her silently for a moment, he stands slowly, keeping his eyes focused on her, making sure he's careful as he leans in closer, bringing his face close to hers until he catches her lips, kissing her with a firm lingering press of his mouth, in the way no brother would ever kiss his sister, but in the way they have already done so very secretly before. ]

[grimizno]

[To some degree, perhaps this would have been the only way to truly know. Not the childhood arguments, or silly stories; not even the conversations spoken in hushed tones that led them to HYDRA. Only this, really, could have been know by her Pietro, and yet even as his lips press to hers so gently and so full of warmth, she feels an ugly, hysterical claw of doubt.

It is not rational. It is also not rational to desperately want to believe again, or even that Pietro could be alive. What is rational is this: no one could possibly know this about them. This secret which they kept between themselves and showed no one. Her tense shoulders remain tense, and her hand grips the front of his shirt tighter. The kiss is like a thousand others they shared under bedcovers, or behind the bricked walls of their schools. He smells like mint and the lingering scent of smoke that was so hard to wash out of their clothes back in Sokovia. She wants desperately to melt into him, wants time to stop for long enough that she might fall into the illusion of safety.]

Pietro, [she murmurs against his lips, the name itself full of longing and a desperate sadness. When she kisses back, her cheeks are wet and the kiss is short so that she may look at him properly. ] How can it be you, brate? You were so far away, they buried you so deep.

[There is a flash of memory that she does not mean to share with him: Wanda standing at a grave, her fists in the dirt. Clint behind her, with Vision close by. The despair is howling; it is black and deep. The memory is gone fast, but the feeling, perhaps, remains. It is, after all, all around them. This hexagonal reality is nothing but grief and a wish for what she's lost. ] Pietro, [she says again, in the same breath. Hers. Hers.]