( relief is so tangible in him, paul wouldn't be surprised to look down and find himself standing in a blooming puddle of wildflowers, reacting to the sudden burst of lightness he feels. alina still loves him. she doesn't see him, or what she did for him, as a mistake. he nods, agreeing — it is alina's life in his veins, his inability to hold it the issue with his fingertips. selfishly, because it's a cruel thing to admit when he knows it cost her greatly, he's glad for it. every breath feels like alina's. the blood in his veins is as sun-blessed as a flower, eating up her warmth. )

You saved me.

( he's glad she was the one to do it, more than the house. he trusts her more than he'll ever trust the dark things at play here, and given everything, the repercussions are easy to live with. or, they would be easy to live with, if alina would let him have her.

rubbing her clawing hands on his shirt until they smooth out, paul flattens them against his chest, hands pressed up against hers, as if forcing them into his heart. to feel the genetic makeup of it, the rhythm of it, the seamless way it matches up to alina's. it's an uncomfortable thing to talk about — paul doesn't exactly relish the loss of autonomy, but he relishes talking openly about it to alina even less. his eyes lock onto her collar, nodding to himself. )

I can feel it when you compel me to do something. It's ... well, it's not when you ask me something. It's when you tell me. ( his eyes lift up to meet hers. ) You've never ordered me to love you, and I don't feel as though I should. I feel more that ... if I ever stopped loving you, I'd have to be dead. That's the only way it makes sense.

( hands dropping to her wrists, he slides her hands up until they're against his cheeks, so he can bow into them, nuzzling her palms. )

I can't say I don't love you more for what you did for me. ( he kisses each of her palms, the tips of her fingers. ) I wish you could see the inside of my heart. You'd know it beat for you long before you saved my life.