[ He lifts his head up at her voice, turning it to look at her. His eyes are dull and tired, lips slightly parted as though on the verge of starting an answer — but for a long moment, nothing comes.
Instead, his gaze roves over her as though there'll be something in her physical form. She does, indeed, have a bigger presence than him — much bigger, because where he carries himself physically, there is always a part of him that remains small and uncertain. A child who needs his mother's guidance all throughout life, and there's none of that to be had here — not even as she carries that air about her, as she seems better suited for this than he could ever be. He's left to curl around the shell of himself as though that will protect him from the foreign sentiments worming their ways in (it won't), too hurt by the desperation of what must still be out there, beyond his grasp but out there, to do much more.
Just try to keep himself alive, but for once, he wants more.
He meets her eyes again when he's finally able to speak. ]
I don't know. [ It could be a copout of an answer; it's true, delivered with a plain sincerity that would make it odd to question. ] I've never... I don't know what's going on. Why I'm feeling this way. I know everything's gone, but I can't shake this feeling that it's not. And it...
[ It hurts, it hurts so badly via a pain he's never felt before, did not know existed, and it brings forth a pathetic, childlike answer with no obvious means of fulfilment, no way to make this shit stop. ]
2 caren...
Instead, his gaze roves over her as though there'll be something in her physical form. She does, indeed, have a bigger presence than him — much bigger, because where he carries himself physically, there is always a part of him that remains small and uncertain. A child who needs his mother's guidance all throughout life, and there's none of that to be had here — not even as she carries that air about her, as she seems better suited for this than he could ever be. He's left to curl around the shell of himself as though that will protect him from the foreign sentiments worming their ways in (it won't), too hurt by the desperation of what must still be out there, beyond his grasp but out there, to do much more.
Just try to keep himself alive, but for once, he wants more.
He meets her eyes again when he's finally able to speak. ]
I don't know. [ It could be a copout of an answer; it's true, delivered with a plain sincerity that would make it odd to question. ] I've never... I don't know what's going on. Why I'm feeling this way. I know everything's gone, but I can't shake this feeling that it's not. And it...
[ It hurts, it hurts so badly via a pain he's never felt before, did not know existed, and it brings forth a pathetic, childlike answer with no obvious means of fulfilment, no way to make this shit stop. ]
I just want to go home.