[ ...the worst thing he did to Muffin wasn't before the end of that ritual. It was after.
Contrition isn't words. It isn't explanations. He'd already dismissed both those things as worthless, coming from him, and in a way he'd been right, just... not quite on the mark. Instead of listening, he'd tried to cauterize away a feeling that needed, like tears, to flow.
...he doesn't have a kerchief to offer, today. He settles for never letting go of that hand, and leaning in, gingerly, mindful of the weight of his body. But there. ]
no subject
Contrition isn't words. It isn't explanations. He'd already dismissed both those things as worthless, coming from him, and in a way he'd been right, just... not quite on the mark. Instead of listening, he'd tried to cauterize away a feeling that needed, like tears, to flow.
...he doesn't have a kerchief to offer, today. He settles for never letting go of that hand, and leaning in, gingerly, mindful of the weight of his body. But there. ]
...do you... need water?