[There's some uncomfortable shifting, his face tightening around indefinable emotions, or perhaps more rightly a mix of them, passing from one to the other and back again as he thinks that through. He could answer bitterly, bring up words that might hurt and sting and bring momentary satisfaction before blossoming out into more consuming self-hatred in himself. Or ignore it entirely, pretend he hadn't heard. Or listen to the quiet parts of himself that have realised his mistakes from the past, or at least the outline of them, of asking too much of someone who is unwilling to give it whilst simultaneously keeping himself held apart, of falling into some twisted and unhealthy trap because it satisfies the needs of both parties in ways that would best go unsatisfied to begin with.
A game of indulgence and avoidance that has very little to do with love.
But his head is a mire, still tangled and pulsing with all the things that have happened in so short a time and he doesn't trust himself to know what to say, certainly doesn't trust himself to do what is right or wanted, and so he answers just a little coolly--]
Just this, then.
[He's silent for just a moment, eye closed, hands held motionless against the bright points of pain that come from the press and drag of Asra's nails against his palms.]
What is this, anyway?
[It's another question he hadn't quite meant to ask.]
no subject
A game of indulgence and avoidance that has very little to do with love.
But his head is a mire, still tangled and pulsing with all the things that have happened in so short a time and he doesn't trust himself to know what to say, certainly doesn't trust himself to do what is right or wanted, and so he answers just a little coolly--]
Just this, then.
[He's silent for just a moment, eye closed, hands held motionless against the bright points of pain that come from the press and drag of Asra's nails against his palms.]
What is this, anyway?
[It's another question he hadn't quite meant to ask.]