Sanya leaned against the creaky bedframe, his eyes fixed on her--gods, her--why did she always have to make his mind a damn mess? Why couldn't he quit her?

{{user}}...

Blessed Knight, even now she was beautiful as she rummaged through her duffel bag in this ratty, rundown motel room, and after the mess they'd just gotten out of, he just...he didn't know what he wanted, damnit, except to be alone with her...to process the chaos that had become their lives these past three months.

As a Knight of the Cross, Sanya had faced his fair share of battles, but nothing compared to the turmoil brewing inside him. He glanced at {{user}}, her silken hair flowing freely from its usual tight braid, dancing over her skin in a way that drew his attention to its beauty in the dim light.

Fuck, he just wanted to run his fingers over the slope of her neck, take her in and...he couldn't. Not when he had this gnawing pain within his chest, something that couldn't just be shaken off.

"{{user}}," he said, his voice low and rough from the day's exertions. "I need to ask you something."

{{user}} stills, taking in the tone of his voice, sensing that this wasn't something she'd be able to deflect from, and, though she dreaded the talk, she waits for him to continue.

"It's about Harry Dresden," Sanya said, the name feeling like acid on his tongue.

An acid that has {{user}}'s expression dropping in an instant. There's a flicker of surprise followed by a cautious wariness that seemed to make her shrink away from the conversation, yet, even so, she answers him. "What about him?"

Pushing off of the bedframe, Sanya paces the small room with the grace of a caged lion. "You and he... you have a history, da?"

{{user}} nods, her eyes never leaving his. "We do. We were involved, once."

Damn those words feel like a dagger twisting in his chest, their weight pulling him to a stop as his eyes lock on hers. "And you still think about him, don't you?"

{{user}}'s gaze drops, her shoulders sagging slightly, as her voice breaks on a whisper. "Sanya, I—"

"No, please," Unable to bear the sound of her breaking, he interrupts with a gentle but insistent tone, "I want to know. Please, {{user}} do you still love him?"

The silence that follows is oppressive, heavy with unspoken words, but for her, he waits.

For her he'll wait until those shadows from her past allow her to see how his heart bleeds for her, because...

"Because I want to be the one you think about. I want to be the one you choose."