[If it were an easier time, an easier mood, he might comment on how he's not that tall (certainly not Amaurotine-tall), and she'd reached him just fine in the past- but it wasn't that mood. Not even remotely. He can only sigh.]
Possibly.
[It's a quiet admission, and though his eyes flickered closed at kisses to his jaw, so close to his lips (a gesture itself that has his breath pause), they open again when she pulls back once more to observe him.]
Perhaps I'm just unreachable.
[Was that just how it was, how he was? He'd been on the same path for so long, that reaching the end of it, and having that end be failure- it didn't mean he could turn back, or carve out something else, or do anything other than remain in that final spot, fixed there, unchanging.]
How did you describe it... a black hole? [Said as though he didn't have her words memorized. His memory had unfortunate precision, at times. The burning recreation of Amaurot spoke to that.] People place their positive feelings, their hopes and efforts into my care, only for them to be crushed. You're not wrong.
[A late admission or agreement, but it's there, tone caught between some strange mix of resignation and simple sorrow.]
What do I do, Irhya. [Yet with the way he says it, it's more a statement than a question; his gaze falls upward, past her, towards the ceiling, though he's not really seeing that either, with his half-blinded gaze.] With you. Your counterparts. This place.
no subject
Possibly.
[It's a quiet admission, and though his eyes flickered closed at kisses to his jaw, so close to his lips (a gesture itself that has his breath pause), they open again when she pulls back once more to observe him.]
Perhaps I'm just unreachable.
[Was that just how it was, how he was? He'd been on the same path for so long, that reaching the end of it, and having that end be failure- it didn't mean he could turn back, or carve out something else, or do anything other than remain in that final spot, fixed there, unchanging.]
How did you describe it... a black hole? [Said as though he didn't have her words memorized. His memory had unfortunate precision, at times. The burning recreation of Amaurot spoke to that.] People place their positive feelings, their hopes and efforts into my care, only for them to be crushed. You're not wrong.
[A late admission or agreement, but it's there, tone caught between some strange mix of resignation and simple sorrow.]
What do I do, Irhya. [Yet with the way he says it, it's more a statement than a question; his gaze falls upward, past her, towards the ceiling, though he's not really seeing that either, with his half-blinded gaze.] With you. Your counterparts. This place.