HE IS STILL, IN THIS EVERLASTING NIGHT. —- from just beyond the threshold of her dormitory door, he wavers, as if unwilling to so fully snuff out the light from within. ( laughter carries upon a gentle stirring at his back, unable to warm him, move him. echoes sound, everywhere ... hollow as he'd become. ) he's so tired, he realizes, as her gaze lifts —- and finds him. studies him with such relief, it roils the bile in his gut. he raises an unsteady hand when she shifts to find her footing. it is not with a lack of want, but unfortunate need: this pause. he forces a slow breath that burns; steadiness does not find him. but he steps inside, bearing it all the while, for the first time in weeks. so much has changed, too much has happened. he is not the same. he is not the same. he shudders, slightly, as he surrenders to the sight of her. to be here, again, it's —- dizzying. who does she see, now? A DESPERATE MAN HAD LEFT IN SEARCH FOR A FIX; A BATTERED, BROKEN SHELL RETURNED. A FAILURE. words cannot yet find him as he slowly, achingly, unsheathes his weapons. his armor. his hair is damp, windswept from the long flight back. his features, drawn, tired and sunken from neglect. but his eyes ... his eyes, still shadowed, bear his every, terrible truth. his pain. " i couldn't find anything. anyone. there's nothing. " nothing. —- he sinks as she beckons him, numbly, to his knees. she's sat at the foot of her bed; he's knelt before her with his head bowed over her lap. coming up short, again. he stifles an honest, gut wrenching sob. fuck. fuck. he's not ready for this.