beautiful oblivion ~ eight/marina (seven)

Extra Notes: I was sitting in church, not paying attention as usual because I don't understand Tagalog (God, please forgive me), and I thought of this. My first Navrina.

They lie together on the roof, Eight's arm draped around her shoulders and Marina's face pressed snug into his chest. It was Eight's idea. He wanted to sleep under the stars with her, to show her the constellations, so they swiped a mattress from one of the extra rooms and brought it up to the roof.

"And that one," he says, tracing the constellation out in thin air with his free arm, "is the archer."

Marina hums in response, her eyes closed. He's been pointing out constellations to her for half an hour, and now she has stopped listening to what he is actually saying, just letting the music of his voice lull her to sleep.

Eight looks down at her, chocolate eyes searching her face. The cold, Chicago air bites at her cheeks and nose, leaving behind red skin. Just looking at her makes his heart ache to share the same oblivion.

It is the thing he wants most in the world, that he can never have.

"You know, Marina," Eight says, thinking about how he has to keep her awake long enough for him to gather enough courage to say what he needs to say. "While I was in India, I learnt quite a lot about the Hindus. They say that when you die, you'll be reborn into a new body."

Marina's eyes open, and they are full of curiosity. This information has piqued her interest just enough to wake her up. "Really?"

"Yeah," he says, poking her nose playfully. "What you are in your next life is based on your actions in this life."

Marina smiles. "What do you want to be in your next life?"

"I want to be reborn as a star, so I can watch over you," he says, almost immediately.

She frowns, and her brow creases. "You realize that I might die before you, right?"

Eight's chest throbs with pain (you don't know, you don't know what I know) and his voice is strained as he answers her. "Don't talk like that."

"Eight, is something wrong?" she asks, sitting up. Eight can't stand to be away from her, not after she was so close mere seconds ago, and sits up with her. "You've been acting weird all week."

Yes. Ever since he woke up from that dream - the dream that told him he was not as safe as he thought - he has been acting strange.

"Of course not," he says. "It's just that..."

His voice drops off. If he is to say anything, now is the time to say it. The words are almost there, so tantalizingly close to slipping off the tip of his tongue, and he opens his mouth to say them.

Instead, the words fall short and tumble back into his mouth, and he just says, "I don't thing I'd be able to stand it if I got another scar on my leg."

Marina looks like she doesn't believe him, but she certainly doesn't give that away in words.

"Don't worry about it," she soothes, and her voice is smooth as silk. "We're all together now. No more Garde are going down."

He smiles, but it doesn't reach his eyes. "Yeah, you're right. Let's just...sleep now. If we wake up late, Nine might put us through a bunch of army drills."

And, just like that, the chance is gone. He curses himself for a coward as they lay back down, and she presses her cheek against his chest once more.

His heart is burning at this point, searing the inside of his chest. It makes him want to scream in agony, but he keeps quiet, because Marina is falling asleep again and he doesn't want to bother her when he can't even confess how much she means to him.

It has been hours since Marina's fallen asleep when finally allows himself to release his pent up tears, and the sobs rake through him, running wild and free, shaking his arms.

He doesn't want to leave. He doesn't want to leave this roof, not now, not ever. He doesn't want this moment to end. He doesn't want to wake up in the morning and have to let Marina go, unknowing if that will be the last time he ever gets to hold her.

He presses his face into her hair, not wanting to sleep, lest he waste the moment, and the words finally slip off the tip of his tongue.

They are not the words that he originally sent from his brain to his tongue, just as he is not the little boy that the elders sent from Lorien to Earth because the original words tell her that he loves her

The pained confession that he whispers into her hair tells her that he needs her.