this one idea i had for a while

the part where şımarık tells him what happened.

She's certain she knows what will happen now - an infuriating denial, loud and desperate to convince, she has him pinned down after all and he has seen her strength. He has seen her kill, maybe not a human being but certainly things which move as if they are alive. She knows that he fears her even without an admission, so he will try and deny. Then she will tell him she knows he's lying, will insult and curse at him more, and drag him out of her apartment and toss him outside. Which is why she waits. She looks for the desperation, a will to live in the lamb's eyes, obscured by his damp locks.

So when she sees his eyes widen and his brows knit together in worry, for her, keeping his silence - her grip falters with a small pause of her breathing.

She feels her own expression falling, the tension on her facial muscles releasing as if water is evaporating off of them. This is not how it was supposed to go. A coldness spreads through her veins, making her skin crawl.

''...I didn't know that,'' he finally responds, firm yet gentle, as if approaching a wounded animal with reassurances. His hold on her wrist softens. ''I really didn't.''

The cogs in her head do overtime to come up with an answer, and the reality of the situation suddenly dawns on her: She pinned down and hurt this man for nothing but her own paranoia. She quietly leans away from his face. ''...You didn't.''

''I didn't,'' he lets go of her wrist. "Calm down."

"This doesn't make sense, then why-" she breathes out. "Why are you so unreactive to me?"

"...I don't know what you mean by that, but I'm..." he begins, unsure of himself. Taste-testing the words in his mouth. "Listen, I never interacted with people my age this much in my life. I'm basically socially inept, so whatever reaction you expect... You probably won't get it."

She stays silent at his explanation.

"And... I'm sorry," he continues, leaning up to a sitting position on the couch and she removes her knee from his thigh, leaning back herself to give him space. "If I had... known, I'd make sure to-"

"What? Act carefully?" she frowns with offense. Finally, a script she knows. "Like I'm fragile? Like I'm damaged? Like victims like me need extra care?"

He tenses up slightly at her attitude, but decides not to back down. "Yeah."

"Well, fuck you," she snarls, pressing at his chest with her pointer finger. "I don't need any of that shit. Fuck you. I'm not fragile, and I'm not damaged, I'm not some victim-"

"Şımarık," he interrupts. For all of his lack of experience, he knows what he's about to say will hurt. "...you are."

"...No," her frown deepens, leaning away in disbelief at his insistence. "No, how fucking dare you-"

"You're not fragile, o-or damaged, but you are a victim, and that isn't okay," he rushes to keep her calm. "That isn't okay, it shouldn't have happened, but it's not... it's not a... fuck's sake, I don't know, but just..."

With his sigh, the room falls into silence once again. The dryer far away in this apartment fills it with its own noise. He finds that he suddenly doesn't want it to be over. He needs to stay for longer here, for her.

She doesn't seem to share his sentiment. "Get out."

"What?"

"Get out," she repeats, glaring at him. "Just get out."

"Şımarık-"

"I'm so done with you," she says, voice quivering slightly. "You never say what I expect you to say. You always just... You're always confusing me..."