[Well. No pressure, then, hm? But maybe it's easier to be raw emotionally when he's equally so physically — and even when his instincts twinge to hold back, to shirk away, he thinks of Gideon bleeding from her severed fingers and the hole in her chest, curling miserably against his side because he was still the only comfort she had, and all the things she deserved to hear before throwing her life onto her own sword.
His breath shakes when he draws it in.]
I want us to escape this place together. And then I want you to forsake everything you know and follow me back to my own star. I know it's so much to ask. Unfair in that I can't even contemplate the notion of leaving my own for yours in return. Unfair that I can't say with any certainty that I'd want to live a lifetime as long as yours even if Bixing can give it to me. I barely knew what to do with the life I had before this, and that one only lasted some thirty years, much less ten times it over again.
[Down at his side, his fingers curl just slightly into the blankets beneath him.]
And yet...every time you hold back your hand, I think of the outcome you spoke of before. You, back to your star; me, back to mine. Talking on occasion, until one day we don't anymore. That sounds like a hell in itself. Letting you get away because it's what would hurt least sounds like the greatest damn fool mistake I could ever make.
[He pauses, swallowing silently.]
But I can't promise that the things I want won't hurt you. Destroy you all over again. And so I go on, making no promises at all and pretending there are none to be made to begin with. As though that's any better for either of us.
no subject
His breath shakes when he draws it in.]
I want us to escape this place together. And then I want you to forsake everything you know and follow me back to my own star. I know it's so much to ask. Unfair in that I can't even contemplate the notion of leaving my own for yours in return. Unfair that I can't say with any certainty that I'd want to live a lifetime as long as yours even if Bixing can give it to me. I barely knew what to do with the life I had before this, and that one only lasted some thirty years, much less ten times it over again.
[Down at his side, his fingers curl just slightly into the blankets beneath him.]
And yet...every time you hold back your hand, I think of the outcome you spoke of before. You, back to your star; me, back to mine. Talking on occasion, until one day we don't anymore. That sounds like a hell in itself. Letting you get away because it's what would hurt least sounds like the greatest damn fool mistake I could ever make.
[He pauses, swallowing silently.]
But I can't promise that the things I want won't hurt you. Destroy you all over again. And so I go on, making no promises at all and pretending there are none to be made to begin with. As though that's any better for either of us.