Sins

       "Can we…start over?" she pleads. Her hands embrace and twist around each other, two lovers grasping for leverage in the dark. He sighs, scrubbing a hand through his messy, dark hair. He stands, shirtless, on the other side of the threshold to his apartment. Sleep has softened the normally hard lines of his face, has settled a fading contentment in his green eyes. That strip of metal on the ground between them feels like a vast, wide canyon to her, something that cannot be crossed without extreme time and effort. Or maybe just wings.
         Inside, the air is warm and soft, caressing the bare skin of his back like a woman coaxing him back to bed. The carpet feels cold and thin beneath his naked toes, and he shivers, squinting out into the predawn chill of the still sleeping city. She is standing with her shoulders hunched against the cold, bouncing on the toes of her worn work boots. Her long, scraggly blond hair is soaked through, her brown eyes puffy with sleeplessness. Her jacket looks too light for the recent frosty weather, and he feels pity sweep up inside of him, melting his cold indifference. He steps to one side wordlessly, inviting her in with an outstretched arm.
         "Thank you," she breathes, her naked gratefulness piercing his heart. She hurries to the kitchen, because the only light in the house is spilling through its open archway. He follows her, glancing longingly down the hall, towards his bedroom. He hadn't expected to rise so early this morning, and as more and more seconds ticked by with her inside his walls, he had a feeling he wouldn't be returning to his bed until later that night.
        "It's been a long time, Lily," he says. She doesn't respond. He opens a cabinet with swift familiarity and hooks two mugs onto his lithe fingers, nodding to the table, inviting her to sit. She nods again in such honest gratitude that he feels his heart bleed a little harder. Her arms are crossed, pulling her jacket taut around her body, her feet bouncing nervously against the linoleum. He strides to the sink, filling both mugs to the brim with water, before setting them in the microwave and punching buttons until it flares to life. The cups revolve in a familiar, soothing way. He tries to take comfort in the normalcy of his kitchen, but that is hard when the staccato beat of her shoes against the floor keeps invading his thoughts. He glances at her.
         She watches him leave the kitchen with a pang, until he returns moments later with a well-worn afghan from the living room. She takes it, pulling off her wet jacket and wrapping the thick blanket around her instead. Almost instantly, she begins to feel warmer. The blanket smells like him, - smoky, woodsy, a hint of spicy musk. She begins to relax. Her feet still and go silent against the floor, and he lets a silent sigh of relief through his lips.
         The microwave beeps. He pulls the mugs out carefully, setting them on the counter, and then retrieves a box of tea bags from one of the cabinets. He dunks the tea bags inside, carrying them to the table as the water begins to darken. The sun is finally starting to peek over the cityscape outside his window. It's an artificial warmth, still lacking the full intensity of a late-spring morning.
          He brings a little pot of sugar and a carton of milk to the table next, and two spoons. She smiles. He always had such nurturing qualities in him. Even after all they had been through, he remembered she hated plain tea. She knew he brought the add-ins for her, because he always drank his tea without milk or sugar. He fiddled with his tea bag, waiting for the tea to get stronger, while she fished hers out with her spoon and began adding fixing it to her liking.
        "Why are you here?" he asks, finally. She takes her time, straining her tea bag carefully, adding a splash of milk and three teaspoons of sugar. She takes a sip, smiles softly, and sets the mug down on the table before she replies.
         "It's been a long time since I've had a hot cup of tea," she says, seemingly dodging his question. He opens his mouth to ask again, but she holds up her hand, stopping him.
         "I told you already." She wraps her hands around the mug, relishing in the warmth. "I want to start over."
         "You think that's even possible, at this point?" he asks. An edge of malice is creeping into his tone. She feels a stab of panic flit through her nerves and takes a deep breath.
         "I was not good to you, Liam." She nods, biting her lip, her eyes focused intently on the tea swirling in her cup. "I can admit that. I was cold, selfish, cruel. I resented you because there isn't a bad bone in your body…you're so wholly, completely good. How could I ever compete with that, or deserve that?"
          Liam says nothing. He takes a quick sip of his tea, setting it down and pushing it aside. It still isn't strong enough.
        "I hurt you, intentionally. I tried to get you to reflect my own cruelty, so I wouldn't feel so bad about my own malice. And…I thought it worked. You threw me out. But it wasn't out of anger or spite, no. It was because you were hurt." Her voice clogs and thickens now, and he looks up. Two tears make their way down her face, slipping onto the afghan still wrapped around her shoulders.
        "I see that now. I didn't, then. I thought I had won, and even though I'd lost you in the process, it was still a victory. I was able to justify my bitterness and anger and viciousness because I'd proven that even someone as pure as you could give in to wrath. A while passed. Then I realized that I was the one who lost."
        "I don't know if that matters anymore, Lily." He takes another sip of his tea, then a larger gulp, finally satisfied with the strength of his tea. "I've moved on. I know who I am now, and even though you paint me as this…perfect person, who never gets angry or mean, that's just not reality. I'll admit something. I'm still angry at you, but I'm also grateful to you. You showed me that I wasn't being true to myself. You showed me a whole side of myself that I didn't know, and I'm a much more honest person for it. But you also made me discover this alone. You tore off my mask and left me to figure out who the person underneath it was. That hurt. A lot."
         She stares at him, her eyes filled with tears, her fingers clenched around her mug with deftly contained anger. She was always quick to anger. It was one of the things he loved about her. Not the anger, necessarily, no, but the passion. The passion, and the incredible softness she held when her anger passed.
        "I am sorry," she whispers. "You don't know how sorry I am. You'll never know."
        "That might not be enough."
        "I want to start over, Liam. I want us to forget this. I want us to be able to be something again, even if it's nothing like what we were before. Leaving you was the biggest mistake I've ever made."
        "It was. And it was also probably the best thing that ever happened to me."
        There is a long moment of silence. The mugs of tea are growing cold, but neither of them seem to notice. She stares into his eyes pleadingly, willing him to change his mind, but he stares resolutely back, emotionless.
         "I shouldn't have come here," she says, finally. She stands, the afghan slipping off her shoulders and landing on the chair with an ungraceful flop. She gathers up her jacket and begins to stride towards the door, staring forward with stern determination.
        He stands and blocks her way.
        His words teeter of the edge of his lips, halted by the deep pain in her eyes. The words that leave his mouth are not what he expects.
        "Stay," he says. "Don't go. I'm still angry, Lily, but…isn't that what you always wanted? Proof that I could be?"
         She looks away. Turns around, seeming unwilling to face him. The sun chooses that moment to break free completely over the horizon and illuminate the room in brilliant, cleansing sunlight. When she turns back to him, her hair floats around her head, golden strands made brilliant in the sudden light, and she seems angelic.
        Maybe it's a trick of the light, but, in that moment, when she walks towards him and into his arms, she seems like she is floating.
        He leads her down the hall and into his room. Together they lay down, two halves of an imperfect whole, as the world wakes up around them.