[ a dubious snort barrels out of her throat. all of it rings too untrue for her to easily trust: that she could truly be the only one, that he wants to be known at all, when minutes ago he was frothing at the mouth with how easily she had read him. if anything, she's certain he'd meant to make her feel alone. as though she were deluded, imagining emotions and connections that weren't there, closing the door in her face the moment she'd gotten too close to understanding him.

she fixes him with a skeptical, sarcastic look. flatly: ] Because you're doing so well at showing me that today.

[ the tight lock of her arms doesn't loosen. instead, she shifts her weight from one leg to the other, mouth pursing to the side. maybe it's proof of how well she does know him that she's wary, convinced it's lip service on his part — words that are meant to soften her, wear down her defenses, extract her prickly thorns. ]

Plenty of people know what that's like, Aleksander. [ loneliness. never finding a place they fit. ximilia's crew is riddled with that same affliction — the unwanted, the used, the misfits. perhaps that's why, when she isn't careful, it begins to feel so ... homey. comfortable. ] That doesn't make me unique.