[Swallowing, he stares at him in silence, unmoving when the cloak lands in a crumpled heap at his feet. He can smell the blood on it.
Well.
There's no such thing for him. He'd never be well and Hector surely knows it; he wouldn't know what to do with happiness if he had it, or even properly recognize it. And if he somehow did, he'd spend every waking moment braced for disaster, waiting for the other shoe to drop and for something to try ripping what little he had from his grasp, if he didn't manage to do it himself by them. Scoffing, he finally stoops to lift his cloak, draping it over his shoulders as he whirls around, pressing forward. His jagged shadow lurches across the cave wall.
He's a lost cause -- or Hector and Julia wouldn't have left him in a castle to die, a voice whispers -- and whatever else he had done to Hector when he pushed into him, whatever misguided emotions and sense of responsibility the experience instilled in him, it'd only be a matter of time before it all fell away and Hector would give up on him.
again]
You are wasting your time. [He warns, stepping away from light and smoke into the night that spreads around him like a thick, dark blanket. No stars. Sighing, he leans up against dirt and rock and lets his sore, heavy-lidded eyes fall shut, pulling in a breath past a twinge of pain in his ribs. Then another, telling himself he doesn't need the fire nearly as soon or as badly as his body thinks it does.
The flesh is weak.
A wind stirs the old, creaking pines, whispering through long grasses. It's cool over his gleaming temples, his neck. He coughs lightly at a tickle in his lungs and settles back, hunching. A faint dusting of something pollen-like has gathered in his hair and eyelashes and the fur draping him, unfelt.]
no subject
Well.
There's no such thing for him. He'd never be well and Hector surely knows it; he wouldn't know what to do with happiness if he had it, or even properly recognize it. And if he somehow did, he'd spend every waking moment braced for disaster, waiting for the other shoe to drop and for something to try ripping what little he had from his grasp, if he didn't manage to do it himself by them. Scoffing, he finally stoops to lift his cloak, draping it over his shoulders as he whirls around, pressing forward. His jagged shadow lurches across the cave wall.
He's a lost cause -- or Hector and Julia wouldn't have left him in a castle to die, a voice whispers -- and whatever else he had done to Hector when he pushed into him, whatever misguided emotions and sense of responsibility the experience instilled in him, it'd only be a matter of time before it all fell away and Hector would give up on him.
again]
You are wasting your time. [He warns, stepping away from light and smoke into the night that spreads around him like a thick, dark blanket. No stars. Sighing, he leans up against dirt and rock and lets his sore, heavy-lidded eyes fall shut, pulling in a breath past a twinge of pain in his ribs. Then another, telling himself he doesn't need the fire nearly as soon or as badly as his body thinks it does.
The flesh is weak.
A wind stirs the old, creaking pines, whispering through long grasses. It's cool over his gleaming temples, his neck. He coughs lightly at a tickle in his lungs and settles back, hunching. A faint dusting of something pollen-like has gathered in his hair and eyelashes and the fur draping him, unfelt.]