[ heine grits his teeth against his better (worse?) instincts and meets vanessa's gaze with a hard, unflinching one of his own. at first, it makes his teeth ache with how hard he has to grit themm to swallow down the panic that threatens to overwhelm him—the mantra in his head of she's not here, she's not here, she's not here is all that keeps him tethered to himself, keeps the dog in his spine dormant.
the sound of her voice, though—so entirely unlike einstürzen's. deeper somehow. or not deeper, but richer, crushed velvet, woodsmoke. despite himself heine feels himself caught by it, and by the depths of her eyes, as blue as the terrifying sky.
little by little, some of the panic melts away. heine doesn't question it. it's a moment of reprieve from the tension he's carried in his shoulders all day, and he finds that he isn't able to worry too much about it the longer he looks at vanessa.
the memory rises to the surface of his mind, a bubble to the surface of the water:
giovanni, counting the bullets he put in heine's chest. getting to nine before he was satisfied.
heine, floating in the darkness of something so close to death that he could taste it, sweet, only to be dragged back to waking by the dog inside him.
the gunfight that ensured, he and his brother with their teeth and guns at each other's necks, shooting to kill.
the bullet heine put in giovanni in return, only to watch the wound close before his eyes, proof that giovanni had finally mastered the beast in his spine.
whether or not vanessa can see any of it, though—heine doesn't know. ]
heine will enjoy his brief moment of not being a micron away from a nervous breakdown
the sound of her voice, though—so entirely unlike einstürzen's. deeper somehow. or not deeper, but richer, crushed velvet, woodsmoke. despite himself heine feels himself caught by it, and by the depths of her eyes, as blue as the terrifying sky.
little by little, some of the panic melts away. heine doesn't question it. it's a moment of reprieve from the tension he's carried in his shoulders all day, and he finds that he isn't able to worry too much about it the longer he looks at vanessa.
the memory rises to the surface of his mind, a bubble to the surface of the water:
giovanni, counting the bullets he put in heine's chest. getting to nine before he was satisfied.
heine, floating in the darkness of something so close to death that he could taste it, sweet, only to be dragged back to waking by the dog inside him.
the gunfight that ensured, he and his brother with their teeth and guns at each other's necks, shooting to kill.
the bullet heine put in giovanni in return, only to watch the wound close before his eyes, proof that giovanni had finally mastered the beast in his spine.
whether or not vanessa can see any of it, though—heine doesn't know. ]