"i’m struggling to exist with and without you." hey what's up it's time to get emotional again
She listens to him. Patiently. Her eyes rove him over and his words are so eloquent. Were she not so afraid of rain, his voice would be how it falls hard against window. She used to like when it did that— like a rhythmic series of taps searching for attention. Now the subject of rain makes her spine crawl with discomfort, her shoulders tense, her teeth struggle now to shred open the tender flesh of her cheek.
She wonders what it’s like. How he thinks. Fae aren’t human. Not people. His morality system is entirely different from hers. His punishment, execution, belief system can’t even skirt mortal values.
What does it feel like to care about someone, to him? Is it different than how she cares? Does it have a different shape? Is the prism of its color the same?
She offers a hand to him, palm upturned, as if to say ‘please, touch,’ as if to say ‘I want you to’.
She’s known him so well by now. She’s so patient. And she knows his life is colored by facets of who he is, on grander and smaller scales— whose isn’t?— but she tries to sift through layers of costume and grandiosity and disguise to understand his meanings more clearly. Sometimes she succeeds. Sometimes she needs help.
“Talk to me?”
