( fingers smoothing over the back of her head, petting her hair like a parent would when a child was sick. that tactile sort of comfort that makes it easy to follow where venti guides; to drop her face further, pressing mouth and nose into his shirt and taking in the scent of air and flowers — still as heady and intoxicating as it'd been before — when she sniffs mightily against the pressure of tears and snot. just for a second. confessions already have her feeling small and weak in this moment, so she peels just far enough away to be able to meet his gaze, searching deep eyes for any any sign of insincerity.

any flaw in this idea. any trapdoor in this invitation. any indication of terms and conditions. any slip of a micro expression, any blood-red flag on the playing field, anything, and hint of impending betrayal laced in warm words and pretty promises.. )

...I don't know if I really wanted religion, or if I was just hoping belief would make you strong enough to contain the Captain. To kill him. ( another bout of raw honesty she'd rather have kept to herself, but at the same time was that ever much of a secret? he's not that much of an idiot, and she is that much of a coldhearted pragmatist. but cursed or otherwise, clarke can't admit to thoughts she hasn't even fully come around to asking herself yet — why can't it be both? ) But I'd try it. There's nothing I could lose in believing in you, is there? I want to.

But I don't think I'm allowed to be around you. ( societal rules, that tight hand of guilt fisted around her lungs and constricting every time she looks at — ) I don't want to upset Mizuki.