and if we can't stop the bleeding, we don't have to fix it

For several long moments, Nuka merely stares blankly in Cerosi’s direction, somewhat confused by the way the fury he feels rolling off her in waves dissipates without any sort of physical altercation. He realises that he’s hunched himself up in despondent expectation of a blow, and when it doesn’t come, the weak and wounded stallion relaxes. Cerosi’s words echo in his ears, bitter and broken. And he thinks he knows why. Despite himself, Nuka wheezes with bitter laughter, fuelled by anxious relief. “Ah know, righ’? Fuck me.”

Get up, Nuka.

He wants to shy away, and not think about death, or fish that can swim great stretches of ocean without ever drowning. “Nah, can’t,” he protests weakly, unable to quite hide the wobble in his voice. “Mah leg, s’—” But then Nuka cuts himself short, ‘cause he’s the farthest thing from a fighter Cerosi is ever likely to meet. A coward, who can’t even bring himself to argue, and he doesn’t even have the energy or the will to tell her to leave him be. So, he concedes, because it’s all he can do... There’ll be no running for him today, not with how beaten and bruised and broken he feels.

(You’re pathetic, Nuka. Weak, to your very core. You shame me.)

Nuka heaves himself up, biting down on his tongue to silence the cry that rushes up his throat as a white hot jolt of pain shoots through his lame hind leg when he twists it wrong just the tiniest fraction. Wouldn’t do for the seething mare standing over him to think any less of him. “There, y’happy now?” the brown stallion pants, worn out from the effort of scrambling to his hooves. He tastes the copper tang of his own blood in his mouth.

Cerosi sounds almost as tired as he Nuka feels, and the guilt he felt in abandoning her settles like a crushing weight upon his chest, so that it hurts to breathe. Everything, everything hurts. But most of all his heart. If only… If only he’d spent another hour roaming the sands, maybe he could’ve found someone, and he wouldn’t have led his little Lionheart into the sea, to her watery grave. His throat constricts, and he swallows the lump that forms there, shaking his head mutely, trying desperately to break free from the raw and rising grief.

“Look, ah know ah shouldn’t have jus’ up and left th’way ah did,” he forces the words out, turning toward her but unable to let his gaze settle on her face. He shrugs, half-heartedly. “Bu’ trust me when ah say yeh’ve prob’ly been better off.” The moment the words leave his mouth, Nuka regrets setting them free, but it’s too late, too late to take them back. Too late to go back, and try and fix every mistake. And there have been so many.

The brow stallion’s agitation is almost tangible, the way his mouth twists and his wounded eyes dart. He attempts to take a step back, but his own body betrays him; the wounded leg that’s hounded him nearly all his life. And, finally, he manages to choke out a proper apology, but even as he’s saying the words, Nuka’s bleeding heart condemns him, because it’s tainted by his fears and flaws and failings, the only real defense he has, pathetic as it may be.

“Ah’m sorry, Cerosi, ah really am.”

But it’s such a small thing - the fact that he never meant to hurt her by leaving - and, as he’ll soon discover, it’s far, far too late.

& i'll love you either way