SALTBURNT AU | INBOX.

[corporeity]

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[nishtha]

[ A strange thing, belief. He and Gale have never had it in common, at least not in terms of subject or formal practice. Armand himself hasn't set foot in a mosque for anything except a festival or a funeral for years. But he has nevertheless held on to a certain fascination about the concept of faith, and had been glad to find a reciprocation in his sister's fiancé. They had discussed faith, in one form or another, through the long warm evenings, over wine and dinner and post-coital cigarettes, over emails and in the backs of taxis. More than anyone else, Armand had known Gale understood him -- a portion of his own belief finding a home in those strong warm hands, in hazel eyes that look up at him and see something humble and imperfect but nonetheless beloved. Selfishly, Armand can pretend, for a moment or two, that it's for him alone.

Something in him relaxes when he hears those words: I believe you. How valuable, to be believed, even if it's because of soemthing ridiculous and terrible. His hands together between Gale's hands, as if they're praying together. He looks into Gale's expression, gratitude softening the lines of his face before he frowns again, recalled to the memory of the burning girl. ]

No, I -- I thought perhaps.. [ He drifts off. Something in his mind stirs, shivers, but -- ] No. I've never even -- it was fucked up! [ He tugs one hand out from between Gale's hands so he can run it through his hair, restlessly, then sighs. ]

I'm sorry, Gale. This is -- I shouldn't have brought this to you. It's nothing to do with you. Probably just need to lay off the coke, it's making me see ghosts.

[corporeity]

[ Faith — and its twin, devotion — will always occupy Gale, even as he resolves to step away from the church. No, toward Astarion. The distinction matters. These human, earthly trifles matter. ]

On the subject of coke, I would think that advisable, regardless. [ gently, ] But this needn’t have to do with me for it to matter, Armand.

[ For all their distance and disagreements, Armand holds a place in his heart. It isn’t the same spot now as it was then, with his nervous, burgeoning desire at war with his unease over opening his marriage (as if it could ever be closed, when Parisa wished for no such thing). He knows that Armand helped him see things differently. Made him brave enough to try, at least. And helped unspool thoughts he hadn’t dared voice aloud. The indelible impact of intimacy, of companionship, remains.

Gale rises to his feet to join Armand on the couch, one hand still held in his two. He tips his head back, expression neutral, gaze fixed and quietly assessing. ]

Indulge my curiosity. [ Spoken with an entreating softness, as though Armand will be doing him a favour. ] Did you get the impression she wanted something?

[nishtha]

[ That softness, Armand knows, can be as disarming as a knife to the ribs. He doesn't underestimate it, as much as he wants to lean into it, to burden Gale with all of his problems. But he can't, not any more -- not with so much distance and Parisa between them, as she should always have been. So he just looks at him, fondly, sadly. ]

I felt that she.. wanted to hurt me. To get revenge of some kind. I'm not sure why, she didn't say so, but -- [ He touches two fingertips to his chest, above his heart. ] I could feel it here. That I'd done something terrible.

[ He sighs, and looks down at their joined hands. He moves his thumb a little, stroking Gale's skin in a small gesture of gratitude. ]

She was.. it was as if she was still burning. Turning into ashes.