[ something a little distressed crosses his expression, his brows drawing together. .. will he be able to stay? he never wanted to be what he is, he tried so hard for so long to be better, but it had been for nothing in the end. here, though.. here, he almost feels like oliver banks again, the man he'd been before the end of the world. ]
Maybe, [ he says at last, soft and uncertain.
his fingers move across the painted eye he's touching, then fall away, curling instead loosely against his outer thigh. ] I'm sorry. [ that he was marked at all, perhaps, or that it happened when he was young. that he'd died. that he'd had little chance to live before this. that something terrible and ugly had been done to him.
he glances away, toward the fall, and his fingers tighten gently around gerard's. ] Should we go?
no subject
Maybe, [ he says at last, soft and uncertain.
his fingers move across the painted eye he's touching, then fall away, curling instead loosely against his outer thigh. ] I'm sorry. [ that he was marked at all, perhaps, or that it happened when he was young. that he'd died. that he'd had little chance to live before this. that something terrible and ugly had been done to him.
he glances away, toward the fall, and his fingers tighten gently around gerard's. ] Should we go?