Sick and Tired

He wasn't giving it his all and she could tell, and fuck, maybe that hurt more than when he asked her not to go. She growled and mustered all the strength she had left to shove him back, to get his touch and scent away from her so her eyes wouldn't feel so gritty with unshed tears and so her bones wouldn't feel so heavy. It would be so easy, too easy to throw herself back down in front of the fire and just tell him to go fuck himself, or his new girlfriend. Whatever. But it would also mean letting him win, and she'd be damned if she was about to give him that satisfaction.

Modesty turned so Gilgamesh couldn't see just how close to tears she was. Her cheek burned from where he had grabbed hold of her, and if she had the energy, the sound of the bitter chuckle that shook her shoulders might have actually escaped her chest. What the fuck had they become? Nothing, in the end. He had his kingdom, and she had broken promises.

It was a long way to the shrine yet, and if she was going to be gone before the third day, she needed to get there sooner than later.

She wouldn't look back.

“Speech.”