His heart feels like a rock in his chest, and emotions he'd long thought himself incapable of feeling rise up to his throat. His red eyes, already burning from the tears earlier, go back to stinging. He had missed this. Most of all, he had missed her. It doesn't feel right or fair to speak his own sentiments, not after everything he'd put her through. Not after the life she had given him. He'll never know, now that he thinks about it, why she had gone to such lengths for someone like him.
Because he'll never find the courage to ask.
It had been so easy to think of all the things he wished he could say back when he'd been alone on that subway, those listless minutes ticking into long hours, then days. He'd lost track so easily and time had just molded into one meaningless concept.
And now, faced with the very person he owes everything to, he can't say any of what he'd wanted to say. ]
I'm...
[ ... not happy that you're here, he thinks as his voice trails off. She should be living with the others, she should be forgetting all of this. She shouldn't be here, in a war that isn't her own, in a life destined to be fraught with more pain and loss, the kinds that Dokja himself has grown more and more familiar with as every month passes by.
But... she is here. As much as he wants to tell himself that she doesn't belong here, a selfish part of him desperately latches on to the fact that this is real. That he has her with him now. It twists his stomach, makes his dry mouth wet with bile. After everything he's taken from her, how can he even think to feel this way? ]
no subject
His heart feels like a rock in his chest, and emotions he'd long thought himself incapable of feeling rise up to his throat. His red eyes, already burning from the tears earlier, go back to stinging. He had missed this. Most of all, he had missed her. It doesn't feel right or fair to speak his own sentiments, not after everything he'd put her through. Not after the life she had given him. He'll never know, now that he thinks about it, why she had gone to such lengths for someone like him.
Because he'll never find the courage to ask.
It had been so easy to think of all the things he wished he could say back when he'd been alone on that subway, those listless minutes ticking into long hours, then days. He'd lost track so easily and time had just molded into one meaningless concept.
And now, faced with the very person he owes everything to, he can't say any of what he'd wanted to say. ]
I'm...
[ ... not happy that you're here, he thinks as his voice trails off. She should be living with the others, she should be forgetting all of this. She shouldn't be here, in a war that isn't her own, in a life destined to be fraught with more pain and loss, the kinds that Dokja himself has grown more and more familiar with as every month passes by.
But... she is here. As much as he wants to tell himself that she doesn't belong here, a selfish part of him desperately latches on to the fact that this is real. That he has her with him now. It twists his stomach, makes his dry mouth wet with bile. After everything he's taken from her, how can he even think to feel this way? ]
... I'm sorry.
[ That's all he can say. ]