Work Text:
He wonders sometimes if it was proximity to Rüya that made him fall in love with her. Sometimes he wonders if falling in love with her was something of his own accord, or if it was something ingrained in him by his father. How Rüya would be the perfect daughter-in-law, how Rüya is classy, how Rüya comes from a good family, how could Rüya not love you Alaz, his father would always say, you two are meant to be.
Alaz wonders sometimes why his father would always push Rüya at him and why he never once said anything contrary.
He knows why. Of course, he knows why. Rüya is beautiful. She is kind. She is loving and she is fierce. She is everything that Alaz always thought he wanted. And for the longest time, his father has been his biggest champion. His father has been his only steadfast supporter and the parent who would give him attention and not be consumed with grief over his kidnapped son, who isn’t even his son, as it turns out.
It makes him justified in his hatred of Yaman. How everyone, his mother, Rüya, Ece, his grandfather, Asi (and there it is, the sharp pain in his chest, the unfamiliar feeling in his stomach, the knot in his throat, every time her name crosses his mind), fall over their feet for the once lost son.
But his father pushed him towards Rüya, who never reciprocated his feelings other than friendship, but whom Alaz always convinced himself she loved him regardless, because if his father said so, then it had to be. He holds on to that fleeting hope that his father wouldn’t lie to him about this. But he doesn’t know anything anymore.
Because his father killed his grandfather and Alaz doesn’t know to reconcile with that.
He wonders a lot of things sometimes, but he never asks, quietly afraid of the answers.
He follows Rüya when she leaves his mother’s room. He doesn’t walk beside her, but slightly behind her. He wants to rage at her and her steadfast belief in Yaman. He wants to ask what she sees in him to trust him so blindly. He wants to ask how Asi is, is she feeling better? Has her fever gone down? Does she know that he lost his grandfather too, not just Yaman? Why won’t she answer her damn phone?
Part of him wants to ask why he wasn’t good enough. But he doesn’t.
Instead, he watches as her hand grips the railing, looking down from the top floor. She doesn’t seem to be looking at anything, her brow furrowed as if deep in thought.
He stands next to her, far enough away that he can’t touch her, but close enough to smell her perfume and the cold air clinging to her red jacket.
If he were a better man, he would thank her for coming to see his mother but he’s not a better man and he knows that she’s here in part because she does genuinely love his mother but mostly for Yaman and he can’t stand it, because if he hears his name one more time, he’s going to pull his hair out and start breaking things.
How simpler things would have been had Yaman not come back into their lives and everyone went their separate ways.
Maybe his mother would have loved him more.
Maybe Çağla wouldn’t have gone through what she went through (and oh, he feels the bile rise in his throat at the thought of Çağla and what she had to do to survive. Sometimes, he wishes he were half as strong as his twin).
Maybe his father wouldn’t have become someone he didn’t recognize.
Maybe his grandfather would still be alive.
But then he thinks that had Yaman not come back into his life, Ece wouldn’t have a new heart, prolonging her life because even though he doesn’t really remember Yaman from when they were younger, and all the ill will he harbours towards him, he loves Ece. She’s his little sister, the only light in the darkness and the thought of losing her kills him.
He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, he wonders if Yaman had never come back into their lives, if he would have met Asi. If circumstances were different, would she have crossed his path, would they have been pushed together by being doomed to love people who would never love them back?
Isn’t it funny how he can now picture life without Rüya, how if she leaves and never speaks to him again, he would be fine. It would hurt a little because she has always been part of his life, but bit by bit, he doesn’t think the hurt would last, but Asi…his phone with the unanswered messages and zero phone calls from her burns a hole in his pocket and his chest aches. He feels untethered not talking to her, seeing her, touching her, being in her presence.
She was his first thought when he found out his grandfather died, how all he wanted to do was tell her and have her hold him the way she held him so many times before. But he didn’t. And she never called. He doesn’t blame her, not after everything he said and did to her.
“You don’t deserve her.” Rüya says and there is a venom in her voice that he hasn’t heard before, minus the scathing message she left him and honestly, he can’t really blame her. He did almost kill her, though in his defence he was high, and hallucinating and he should have never gotten behind the wheel of the car.
He opens his eyes and turns his head to look at her. She’s staring at him with cold eyes. “Asi.” She clarifies when he says nothing. “You don’t deserve her.”
Yeah, Alaz thinks, I know. I told her as much when she stabbed me and refused to leave me to die.
He doesn’t say anything because he doesn’t need to defend himself to Rüya. Rüya isn’t entitled to know anything about him and Asi. No one is.
“She’s strong.” Rüya continues, uncaring that Alaz isn’t answering and maybe it’s for the better that he doesn’t. “She’s so strong but she…I don’t know what you did. She won’t tell me and Cesur won’t say anything other than curse your name, but I can only guess. You broke her. Do you understand me? You broke her. And she’ll pick herself back up and she’ll care about everyone but herself until she makes herself sick again because she’s stronger than you, than me, than Yaman, than Cesur, than all of us.”
He wonders when Rüya became such a defender of Asi. He wonders when she became such good friends with her when just a short while ago, she was pleading with Asi and Cesur to leave Yaman alone and to get out of his life.
Then again, just a short while ago, he held contempt for Asi and somewhere along the line, between kisses and sharing in each other’s own personal hell and secrets, his contempt turned to admiration and then to emotions he’s unfamiliar with.
He knows what they are. Of course, he knows what they are, but he’ll never say them aloud. He won’t give anyone the satisfaction of seeing him vulnerable.
“Rüya.” Alaz finally says, “my grandfather just died. My mother is almost catatonic. I don’t have any interest in listening to your senseless words.”
Rüya laughs and it’s a cold laugh, one void of any emotion. “Senseless words.” She repeats his words, nodding to herself, as if he answered all her questions without her asking them. “She asked about you.” Rüya tells him, rapping her knuckles on the banister once, twice, three times. “When Yaman called to tell us the news and everything, Asi asked about you. She wanted to make sure you weren’t hurt.” She shakes her head. “Senseless words. You don’t deserve her, and I hope one day, she realizes that too.” She takes a deep breath. “My condolences for your loss.”
Alaz watches her leave, and he wonders if he’ll ever be enough for anyone.
He wonders but he doesn’t ask.
It doesn’t occur to him that he hasn’t seen Çağla all day until he gets the phone call from Tolga.
For a moment, there is a spark of hope that maybe, just maybe it’s Asi. But there is no Asi Kiz that lights up his phone. He frowns, wondering what Tolga wants.
He’s out the door by the time Tolga has finished, muttering underneath his breath as he gets into the car and drives to Tolga’s nightclub that he knows well.
Çağla is high and drunk. He knows that from one look at her and he would yell at her if he didn’t understand everything that she was going through. He can’t even bring himself to care that she knows the truth, if anything, it’s a load off his back that his sister knows what their father did, but he still doesn’t want to see his father go to prison. His father is still the only person who has ever been there for them and if Alaz is anything, he’s loyal to his family.
But not Yaman. Never Yaman.
“She’s drunk.” Alaz tells Asi, “She won’t remember anything tomorrow.”
He knows he’s crossed a line; he knows he’s hurt her when she closes her eyes and winces and he almost rears back when he sees the pain in her eyes. You broke her, Rüya’s words echo in his mind.
I used you; he told her that night, you don’t mean anything to me.
He wonders if she thinks about what he said as much as he does.
He wonders if she knows it’s a lie.
And then Cesur opens his mouth, and he hates him almost as much as he hates Yaman. He doesn’t understand how Asi can stand to be around them, how she would put her life on the line for them over and over again. So, he punches him because of course he does. And then without fail, Asi is there, grabbing him and yelling at him to stop.
She’s talking about pain and grieving, and he can’t take it, he can’t. “But you don’t know.” He snarls in her face, anguish and betrayal filling his voice. “You didn’t call, you haven’t spoken to me. How can you know about my grief?”
They continue their confession without knowing what they want to be absolved for, in front of people who have no right to see their grief.
Thayt’s the thing with Asi, when he’s with her, he forgets that everything else exists. He forgets that other people around them exist.
He wonders if it’s the same for her as well.
She follows him into the bathroom.
They’re both so predictable.
He pushes, she pulls. She gives, he takes.
He doesn’t deserve her, he knows that.
But he can’t help but wondering if one day he could.
They’re both inherently violent. It’s the way they are.
She became violent to keep herself and the ones she loves alive.
He became violent to feel alive.
I regret everything, but mostly, I regret not leaving you to die that night.
What a pair we make, he thinks, slinging violent words the way we swing our fists, as he watches her walk out the bathroom after slamming his head against the mirror. He won’t complain, he deserves her violence.
No one would listen to him anyways even if he did complain.
Sometimes, he wonders if they’ll ever find the peace they both deserve.
He thought he was jealous of Yaman and Rüya whenever he would see them together. He remembers the day in the jail cell, he remembers the soft look that Rüya gave Yaman and how she tenderly cared for him, dabbing at his split lip. He remembers the rage in his body and his visceral reaction, yelling and slamming the bars. And through all of that, he remembers catching Asi’s eyes and he remembers seeing the same pain in hers.
He thought that was jealously.
But it is nothing compared to when he sees Tolga and Asi talking. There is a large enough space between them that he knows it’s not intimate, but there is a curious look on Asi’s face and she’s taking a card from Tolga and Alaz knows what Tolga wants. He’s been after him for Asi’s name and phone number to get her back at the club to sing since he watched the stupid tapes of that night when he introduced Asi to the nightclub, trying to get her out of the drunken grief following Umut’s death.
The thing is, Alaz knows Asi has a beautiful voice. He remembers it well. Her voice haunts his dreams.
He remembers playing guitar for her while she sings her grief out. He remembers their kiss (he remembers all their kisses) but there is something inherently so personal, so intimate in singing for people and to people. Something that Alaz wants just for the two of them.
But Asi…she goes to the beat of her own drum. She makes her own rules.
And when Tolga stares after her in wonder and longing, Alaz’s blood starts to boil, and he clenches his fists. “Do not go anywhere near her. She’s off limits.” Alaz seethes.
Tolga raises his hands in surrender but doesn’t say anything, other than clapping Alaz on the shoulder.
Alaz follows Asi home to make sure that she gets home safely.
And when she makes her way into the house that Alaz has begun to know so well, he can almost picture her room and the way she gets ready for bed, the way she buries her head in the pillow, arm draped over her stomach to keep herself warm.
He knows how uncomfortable her bed is but how it was the best sleep he had in years, curled around her, breathing deeply, bodies intertwined.
He shakes his head and starts driving back home.
He wonders though, if one day, they’ll get it right.
He wonders if he’ll ever apologize for using her and lying when he said that night meant nothing.
He wonders a lot of things sometimes, but he never asks, quietly afraid of the answers.