Taryn bid good-bye to their friend and watched as their mom walked the guests out. They waited until the front door closed fully, before turning toward the far bedroom. The door was left ajar and light from the hall made a small trapezoid of light on the dark floor. Despite the darkness, they could make out a lump still on the bed, dark and still. They edged closer to the door, as if debating on entering.
"Yes?"
They jumped, Maktov's voice creeping out of the dark room. He sounded tired and bedraggled, but he propped himself up on his elbows, high enough so Taryn could see his face. The teen couldn't describe what it was about Maktov's features. Something about them evoked a sense of exhaustion. Scrunching their shoulders to their ears, Taryn seemed to battle internally, before asking, "Are you doing better?"
His only answer was a non-committal grunt. Could be better, could be worse.
The room felt massive as Taryn edged closer. It was silly. This was their mother's room. It was nothing new. But with Maktov there, sitting in the bed, the darkness seemed deeper, more immense, at the corners. It left the impression of a much bigger room. Regardless, Taryn managed to make their way to the bedside, kneeling down with elbows leaning on the mattress.
To Maktov, it seemed as if Taryn wanted to say something, but all they could do was pick at the comforter. Awkwardness rose up in him, too tired to even guess what the teen wanted.
Eventually, they looked up at Maktov, eyes holding that sliver of determined light that was so like their mother's. "I'm glad you didn't die."
"Same." A tired smile tilted at Maktov's lips. It seemed oddly funny to have someone say that to him, when he had been much closer to death's door just a few hours earlier.
"I have to fess up to something," Taryn pressed on, their tone weighing with severity. Maktov inclined their head to them, though he was soon bowled over as words came pouring out of Taryn, "Before you came back, I was talking to my mom about you. And I was, I don't know, uncertain or jealous or whatever of you.
"Then, when the doorbell rang, I sorta rolled my eyes like 'great he's back' 'til mom called me into the hall and-" At this point, the slew of words choked off. Tears beaded from Taryn's eyes and they roughly rubbed them away with the palm of their hands, as if they were annoyances. Their voice cracked as they tried to push forward, "And you were there and there was blood - so much blood - and you didn't look good. Everything looked off and wrong and I thought... I thought maybe it was my fault, which I know sounds ridiculous, but I had just been talking about you and I was annoyed with you and-"
The little droplets had turned to streams of tears. Taryn pressed their face into the mattress, shoulders shuddering as they tried to suppress their cries. Maktov only just managed to hear their muffled sob, "I'm just really glad you're not dead."
Maktov blinked slowly, trying to make sense of the words as they replayed in his head. Taryn still shuddered, head pressed tightly to their crossed arms as they rested on the mattress. In that moment, he realized how young Taryn was. Along his arms, muscles tightened as he awkwardly considered what to do.
"It's highly unlikely your thought got me jumped."
Taryn's eyes, red-rimmed, snapped to his face. A frown curved over their lips, annoyed at being told something they already knew. "I know, but-"
Maktov held up a hand, quieting Taryn.
"In the spirit of science, however, I would much rather you think of me winning a fortune." A smirk quirked up half his mouth, teeth peeking out through the smile. "If I do come into a fortune, then all will be forgiven. If I don't, well, then you didn't cause anything bad to happen to me."
Taryn's lips twisted, trying to stay serious, doing their best to not break into a smile. This was serious! Looking into the Maktov's tired face, worn ragged from the day's events, he still managed good humor. Taryn failed to keep their stern expression, a begrudging grin spreading over their face. With a roll of their eyes, they huffed, "Okay, but I want a cut of the money."
"A cut of what money?"
Taryn and Maktov started, turning to the doorway where Thalia stood. Her eyebrows cocked with curiosity as her eyes flickered from one to the other.
"It's just a joke, mom." Taryn waved their mother's look away with a hand. At that, Maktov's features flickered, like raising an eyebrow at the suddenly nonchalant teenager.
"If you say so," sighed Thalia, concern now etched into her eyebrows. The night had been long, however, and - from the look Taryn was giving her - she didn't have the energy to face a stubborn teenager. "Have you eaten anything?"
"Yes, Cherie and I had sandwiches and chips."
"Then get ready for bed." Thalia wrapped an arm around Taryn's shoulders, squeezing tightly. Tiredness was beginning to sneak in through the cracks of her adrenaline. Taryn sagged into the hug, the calm and collected face breaking, just a little. "Depending on how you feel in the morning, I might call you in sick to school."
Taryn nodded, giving their mom a hug. They touched Maktov's arm and muttered a good night to him, then left the room.
Thalia remained, watching her teenager trudge down the hall, to their bedroom door. When they had disappeared into their room, the door clicking shut behind them, she turned to Maktov with an unflinching curiosity. "So, what was Taryn talking to you about?"
Maktov's shadows undulated a little, in uncertainty. Was this something Taryn would want talked about? They seemed insistent on playing it cool. The maternal insistence in Thalia's eyes clashed against him, needling into him. With a shrug, Maktov sighed, "They felt some level of responsibility for the attack, since they'd just been talking to you in a somewhat negative way about me."
"Oh." It was an abrupt soft word, like a sigh, attention snapping back to Taryn's door.
He watched painful sympathy crumple the edges of Thalia's features. Undoubtedly, she felt some blame for not talking to her child sooner. But she was tired, as was Taryn. Before Thalia could go to Taryn's room, making the night longer with a heart-to-heart, Maktov added, "I assured them they didn't cause it, but - if they really insisted on testing out this power - to think of me getting rich."
That caught Thalia off-guard. She blinked, brain piecing together his joke or, perhaps, scheme.
"To which Taryn mentioned a cut of the profit," sighed Thalia, piecing the conversation together to form the full picture. In the dark of the room, Maktov could clearly see her lips curl a little at the corners. She shook her head, giving a puff of a laugh, before her stomach gurgled loudly. "I'm going to make myself some dinner. Are you hungry?"
"Peckish," he replied, with a shrug. "I don't know if I can stomach much."
Ten minutes later, Thalia and Maktov sat on her bed, backs propped against the headboard, eating PB&J and chips in silence. He picked at his meal, his appetite waffling after the chaos and pain of the day.
As he poked at his food, Thalia's mind was hashing out a mental to-do list. Tomorrow, she'd have to work, clean her sheets, and... her mind stuttered for a second. She glanced over to Maktov. In the dim light from the hall, she could make out his silhouette and the ragged edges of his torn clothes. Plenty of options arose in her head about him: new clothes, toiletries, a bath, retrieve some things from his apartment. But none of that mattered if he was going to leave as soon as he was well. "Hey, Maktov, do you want to stay here for a bit or...?"
Maktov's stomach clenched at the words. He knew, at the back of his head, he didn't want to return to his place. Not right now, at least. His apartment was home, but it was also very solitary. Being alone wasn't on his top ten list of things to do. Something inside him clamped down on that admittance, though.
He glanced at Thalia, about ready to deliver a false assurance, when his eyes flicked to a smudge on her cheek. "You've got some stuff on your face."
Thalia jolted, embarrassment evident as she raised a hand to wipe the jelly or peanut butter away. Before she could, Maktov caught her by the wrist and leaned close.
Air caught in Thalia's lungs as his lips touched her cheek, cleaning the smear. The shadows of his aura brushed over her skin. When he leaned back, tongue flicking out over his lower lip to catch any stray taste, her expression hammered in his transgression.
Shit.
He shouldn't have done that. Why the fuck had he done that? There were better ways to clean her face, like swiping his thumb across the trespassing food. Or, better yet, letting her handle it herself! Shit. It was too late now.
That became clearer as Thalia all but jumped off the bed, her palm pressed to her cheek. Heat simmered deep inside her and splashed over her face, both from mortification and a revival of that heat from earlier. Which brought back that little nagging guilt. It didn't deter the revival of that slow burn that prickled over her as they kissed, while a witch flushed toxins from his body.
Gods, what a thought. Never in her wildest imagination could she have strung together such a scene.
"I should let you rest!" Her voice sounded high-pitched and frenzied in Thalia's own head. "I'll just go sleep on the couch."
She started for the door, the blush spreading further across her cheeks. Distance. That's what was needed. The two of them just needed some space to get their heads on straight.
"Wait, I'm sorry! That wasn't... I shouldn't have done that." Thalia paused at his words, half turning back toward him. A wince colored Maktov's tone as he shifted his plate from his lap, to the bedside table. His gaze dropped from Thalia's face to his hands, which rested in his lap. He fiddled with a torn edge of his shirt, unable to look up. "Just like I shouldn't have requested you distract me, earlier. I'm sorry."
The air between Thalia and Maktov weighed heavily atop them. Try as he might, Maktov could never get his gaze to turn directly on Thalia. Guilt throbbed inside him, sharpening the blades of his transgressions. The kiss he'd initiated wasn't the least bit chaste and his most recent action was overly-intimate. Shocked, angry, disgusted, conflicted. Thalia had all rights to feel these and want to get away from him.
Part of him twinged at the very thought, though.
Thalia's thoughts raced and tumbled over one another, uncertain and confused and embarrassed. In context, she could see where he thought he misstepped. His request was made in the throes of pain and she might've felt obligated to comply. But she hadn't felt that way. Not in the way he might be thinking.
"Don't be sorry.The kiss was of my own volition and I didn't mind what you did just now." Thalia's heart jumped as Maktov's attention turned to her. The light from the hall skirted across his jawline, the white 'eyes' in his aura seemed to widen and round. Heat crept over Thalia's cheeks, reaching up to fiddle with a lock of her hair. Her words sped up, crashing through her stream of consciousness and out her mouth. "But you've gone through a lot and you're probably tired. I don't want you to wake up tomorrow and feel like I've taken advantage, so I should probably go sleep on the couch."
Another long quiet stretched between them. Thalia vaguely saw the movement of his hands, clenching and unclenching.
The words were thick and awkward in his throat as he forced them out, "I don't want to be alone right now."
It took Thalia a breath to register his words. They felt surreal and flimsy, like someone dubbing over Maktov's voice. The words had been soft and frayed at the edges.
More concerns faltered in the face of his words. He didn't want to be alone, so he wanted her to stay. Not that he had many options here. Thalia shoved the point away as she softly said, "Okay, let me just check the door and turn off the lights."
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