Don't Come Closer, Don't Let Go of Me

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#1
It had been a long sort of night. Sore and exhausted, he'd gotten a good portion of the way back to his starting point, obliterating an antelope on his way, before he'd absolutely needed to shift back, unable to maintain hybrid for any longer, fed or not. It had been one of those shifts where, after the fact, it hadn't mattered much that he'd been in a scraggly ditch off the side of a field--the sleep had been deep, albeit briefer than he'd needed.

A little while after that, back to his briefly abandoned vehicle for fresh clothing. Unsurprising, his previously compatriots seemed to be long gone, and the fire must have burned itself out because he didn't smell much smoke, either. His phone, previously abandoned in the center console, was eyed--and when he found no waiting messages, it was abandoned in favor of just getting the hell out of Avondale.

Tired enough, he didn't even realize he'd auto-piloted himself towards Belle Vista instead of towards home until he crossed the border and went from no awareness of other weres to full realization. Groaning at himself, wondering what he was even going to do after that whole disaster of a night, he pulled off to the side of the road, knowing he needed to sleep and feeling a grating little notion of hurt that he just couldn't let go of.

Mouthing for a moment over the stinging graze of a burn he'd received from the silver on the heel of his thumb, his other hand held his phone and he sulked to himself. The hour wasn't good for reaching out, and part of him almost wanted to stubbornly refuse to be the one to do it, but a little glimmer of fear pushed him to act in spite of battered pride.

i am live incase youi care to know
Lekva

If he didn't get a response within ten minutes, he'd inevitably be asleep for a while. As it was, the first couple of minutes, waiting and listening for a notification, he was dozing.
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#2
 Some people, the living and breathing saints that they were, some people were deeply rich where patience was concerned. They were the Mariana's trench, prepared to roll with every punch and forgive every slight even at a depth where the sun could no longer reach. Yana Novik, for all of her attempts to keep civil within the realm of the Were community, was a sandbar. A wealth of understanding and then a sharp incline where her patience wore thin and exposed raw and tender nerve.

 For all of the flack he'd gotten as a whole, she knew a time would come where she'd run out of depth. Still, she had the naive and cautious optimism to hope it would be a simple and minor thing that would shake the presumably unshakeable. Maybe he'd snore too loudly, leave his shoes on, use the wrong fork. Something that, once she shoved him back and arms distance, she could see just how unimportant it actually was.

 The problem was that this wasn't unimportant. This was her life, her family, just as much her threat to assess as it was his - not to mention Asha's and her ragtag group, or the rest of Mountainside to a lesser extent. Roughhousing the corpse had been selfish, reckless, frizz on an otherwise pristine braid. Why the fuck would he go rogue and stray so far fro-

 She'd been washing her hands so long that the water had started to go scalding and her knuckles were red, the backs of her hands flush. Tired and with the smell of smoke still stuck in her nose. Awkwardly she tapped the screen to life with her forearm as she towel dried. There was an out loud and genuine scoff, choking on a surprised little laugh at the implication. It wasn't an apology or even an explanation it was ... a guilt trip.

2_hand_thumbs_up
Yana

Not today, Satan.
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#3
It really didn't take much time at all, and it was the sort of reply that yanked him away from the desperate need for sleep.

Maybe he would have taken that less starkly than he did, but this was uncharacteristic and he felt the distance immediately. Which hurt more and he growled at the screen for a single moment of genuine how dare you--

But he'd worn himself out on anger tonight. The taste of vampire blood still lingered on the fringes of his memory and he should have just gone home and not texted and just brushed his teeth and slept for nine hours and...

Instead, he couldn't just leave it alone, and he took up the moderately familiar position of curling into the steering wheel to look at his lap as he typed. Very, very carefully.

you are mad
Levka

Though usually questions have marks.
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#4
 The adult thing to do, not even as a - a ... thing, but even just as an allie, would be to say yes and explain. Or just say yes. Or even to have politely and bluntly inform him that she was processing and would speak to him within a day or so. But the version he'd managed to pull tonight was not necessarily interested in being an adult first and foremost.

Would you look at that, you empath.
[Image: hKeHqvC.jpg]
Yana

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#5
He... really did not understand this particular set of messages.

Like, logically he was pretty sure that yes, she was mad.

A quiet and typo'd google of "waht is an mpath" did confirm that that word meant what he thought it meant, but that only set him back on his figurative heels a little more. Confused and slightly more annoyed than he wanted to be right now, he frowned at his phone for at least a couple of minutes before he mustered a reply.

i do no like this
Levka

It was at least honest.
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#6
Oh?
Well there was a lot that I didn't like that happened tonight, Levka. A verifiable laundry list of bullheaded, half-cocked, grandstanding bullshit.
Yana

In the very least, she supposed, it was more than just an emoji or a gif.
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#7
For a moment between messages, he'd been a bit afraid he'd have to try and explain himself.

But oh, no, she understood him. And he understood her, even if the whole thing needled at him. For all he felt justified, it had been clear in the moment and it was clear now that Yana did not appreciate his approach in the least. He had no heart in him to tell him how the rest of the evening had gone after they'd split. Not yet, anyway.

sorry

Less about the behavior, more about the fact that the behavior had upset her.

i mm very tierd
Levka

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#8
Then sleep.

 It felt both too mean and not firm enough, and she stared at the screen of her phone as she listened to the zip of her necklace as she slid the pendant along the chain. Something repetitive and mindless to keep from going off into a tired that she was afraid would last for several very lengthy text messages.

Then again, you'll do what you want to do anyway.
Yana

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#9
Honestly, he was probably just going to sleep right here like he'd initially intended upon parking. Even if it was far less convenient, if he didn't get at least a few more hours he was liable to not make it home one way or another.

sorry
Levka

Again. But it was all he could really muster in this format, in this mood, without becoming nonsensical. Several sentiments entirely too condensed.
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#10
 There was some blue ribbon merit in wanting to make things right as soon as possible. But it was tarnished by the decision to apologize to genuine upset through ... text message. With one word to boot, which felt like about the cheapest way to manage things that you could.

Sure you are.
Go home, Levka.
Yana

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#11
ok
Levka

He was still hurt and certainly hadn't given himself time to process any of it. The short answer, for all it was accurate, felt like a concession to defeat. And for the night, maybe that was what they needed.

But he didn't go home, and instead he dropped the car seat back and pawed around the back for the blanket he kept at hand. Pulling it up over his head, he'd stay right here for as long as he could sleep without waking.

After all, he did what he wanted, didn't he?
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#12
 Ok. Not even the period to stop it really, not even the two extra taps of a finger to add an 'a' and a 'y' and make it at least close to proper. Baffling as it was, it was infuriating more than that. It was moments such as this one that she would ... slowly, she set her phone down on the counter and propped her elbows there, folded over and rubbed at her face. She'd call Isolde, she'd vent all the terrible and awful things that she could say - some valid, others blind in their aggravation. They'd drink and the ritual would be complete enough that by the next day she could comfortably extend the offer to him, the option to try this again, face-to-face as it should be.

 But Isolde was gone and for all his help, Mathis was not exactly the airtight vault of her deepest and darkest ramblings. And for once in what felt like a long while she felt stuck - alone, in a sense. Genuine upset - not as much rage as it was ... sadness, she supposed. Not without friends, not without allies - just ... she'd wedged herself between two pillars, so slowly she hadn't even realized she'd been doing it.

 First, seemingly out of nowhere, the one at her back had crumbled to nothing in the span of a couple of text messages. And now ... she stared at the message like she was assessing a wound, killed the screen and dimmed the kitchen lights before she started for the stairs, towards bed after what had been a particularly trying day.
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