He knows. He knows she doesn't love herself — he knows it with the familiarity of his own degraded self-worth; because he has seen it, time and again, in her own actions and words; because it has been at the core of their tragedies. There's a pity he feels: a true sadness and tenderness that ends in a soft ache, hearing the tremble of the confession and watching the crystal beads of tears as they find their paths down her face. His thumb grazes the line of her jaw, slipping across the wetness that hangs there. He wants to touch it, to feel it in kind with his heart. To soothe it, knowing there is nothing he can do for her but this.
The scent of her hair envelopes him; drowns the salt of her tears. He feels them on his neck as he pulls her in close, eagerly; earnestly. He knows it is what she needs. It is what he needs, his head turning into her, nose pressing into the silk and fragrance. He's silent, for a moment, considering whatever roads she might take, whatever steps she might consider, are not for him to decide. He cannot follow. He cannot conceive any for himself, for them, past this; his hands rubbing her back and cradling the nape of her neck. Mourning whatever loss this might constitute. Whatever desires he has felt unfulfilled.
"I don't know." Despite the centuries he has spent loving and losing, he does not know. Camille was right. He spent his time in life avoiding the agony of loss. He did not know how to say goodbye before death, nor start anew here. But there is an anew here, and of that he is not afraid.
This may not seem like much to him, but for her it means more than he can say. He has been kind in his rejection. Even if they cannot be what they were before, he does not want to exorcise himself from her life. He is not leaving her alone to reckon with her pain, like so many before him have. So rarely has she received comfort outside of her sister.
Perhaps part of her will always be that young girl who made a terrible mistake, who wishes someone had listened instead of sending her away.
And so while this way not seem like much to him, for her it is more thn enough, more than she could have allowed herself to hope to want in this moment as his arms wrap around her in kind, cradling her close. The smell of him is warm and familiar, as comforting as his embrace itself. She is not ready to pull away, not just yet. She allows herself this tiny act of selfishness, who knows when or if he'll hold her like this again.
"Maybe it's okay if we don't know." This is new for both of them, albeit in different ways, and they will have to figure it out as they go. It is bound to be messy, caring for people always is. And she knows much of what is up ahead, she will have to figure out on her own, not that that's ever been her strong suit.
no subject
The scent of her hair envelopes him; drowns the salt of her tears. He feels them on his neck as he pulls her in close, eagerly; earnestly. He knows it is what she needs. It is what he needs, his head turning into her, nose pressing into the silk and fragrance. He's silent, for a moment, considering whatever roads she might take, whatever steps she might consider, are not for him to decide. He cannot follow. He cannot conceive any for himself, for them, past this; his hands rubbing her back and cradling the nape of her neck. Mourning whatever loss this might constitute. Whatever desires he has felt unfulfilled.
"I don't know." Despite the centuries he has spent loving and losing, he does not know. Camille was right. He spent his time in life avoiding the agony of loss. He did not know how to say goodbye before death, nor start anew here. But there is an anew here, and of that he is not afraid.
no subject
This may not seem like much to him, but for her it means more than he can say. He has been kind in his rejection. Even if they cannot be what they were before, he does not want to exorcise himself from her life. He is not leaving her alone to reckon with her pain, like so many before him have. So rarely has she received comfort outside of her sister.
Perhaps part of her will always be that young girl who made a terrible mistake, who wishes someone had listened instead of sending her away.
And so while this way not seem like much to him, for her it is more thn enough, more than she could have allowed herself to hope to want in this moment as his arms wrap around her in kind, cradling her close. The smell of him is warm and familiar, as comforting as his embrace itself. She is not ready to pull away, not just yet. She allows herself this tiny act of selfishness, who knows when or if he'll hold her like this again.
"Maybe it's okay if we don't know." This is new for both of them, albeit in different ways, and they will have to figure it out as they go. It is bound to be messy, caring for people always is. And she knows much of what is up ahead, she will have to figure out on her own, not that that's ever been her strong suit.