[ It's this again. He knows it by looking at her, the burning furnace of her soul— it's one more betrayal he can't remember, but not a hard one to track. That's the really damning thing, that he doesn't have to hear the story. He can guess at it.
It feels profoundly unfair that he's reaping the consequences of a love he never had. ]
Give me some credit. I'm sure I can find a few.
[ He rubs the skin of his cheek back into place, and shakes the prickling glitter of his blood away into the cold air. There's no helping his tattered clothes, the ruin of his shirt punched through to show the plain brown skin beneath. Like that, the wounds are gone. ]
But I'd rather hear from you.
[ He is stalling. It's starting to feel pointless, already. He knows the broad strokes; he knows where this one ends. ]
no subject
It feels profoundly unfair that he's reaping the consequences of a love he never had. ]
Give me some credit. I'm sure I can find a few.
[ He rubs the skin of his cheek back into place, and shakes the prickling glitter of his blood away into the cold air. There's no helping his tattered clothes, the ruin of his shirt punched through to show the plain brown skin beneath. Like that, the wounds are gone. ]
But I'd rather hear from you.
[ He is stalling. It's starting to feel pointless, already. He knows the broad strokes; he knows where this one ends. ]