[ It may not be entirely clear if he's listening to her, even as when she speaks his eyes fall on hers. The wild desperation is still in them, his body still rigid and chest still heaving. He can't breathe— Maybe if he just... goes away for a little while...
But then the Shroud begins to loosen, and after a moment, he becomes aware of that pressure against his body easing. His breathing begins to slow; he shifts his arms, no longer pinned to his sides. It is a moment of relief; it is a moment of immense confusion from someone who had been prepared to dive over the edge and submerge his consciousness, now no longer needing to.
Eventually, her words sink in, and he stops moving. Merely stares up at her, conscious of the wasp's buzzing nearby. It's a look of childlike innocence— of reverence— of someone who has just been put through the wringer and reaching out to the first person he sees.
Poor thing, he thinks she called him? And his breathing slows. ]
I'm not going to run. [ He's quiet, his voice still coming back to him. And because he doesn't want to be louder than the buzzing. ] I...
[ He what. Why is it so hard to get a grip on himself. ]
Please don't do that again.
[ Not just in this moment, where she has said she won't; forever. He can't so much as muster up a thank you, stuck on the edge of distraught and getting over it.
He just. Does not want to experience that again — and maybe, maybe, damn the consequences. ]
no subject
But then the Shroud begins to loosen, and after a moment, he becomes aware of that pressure against his body easing. His breathing begins to slow; he shifts his arms, no longer pinned to his sides. It is a moment of relief; it is a moment of immense confusion from someone who had been prepared to dive over the edge and submerge his consciousness, now no longer needing to.
Eventually, her words sink in, and he stops moving. Merely stares up at her, conscious of the wasp's buzzing nearby. It's a look of childlike innocence— of reverence— of someone who has just been put through the wringer and reaching out to the first person he sees.
Poor thing, he thinks she called him? And his breathing slows. ]
I'm not going to run. [ He's quiet, his voice still coming back to him. And because he doesn't want to be louder than the buzzing. ] I...
[ He what. Why is it so hard to get a grip on himself. ]
Please don't do that again.
[ Not just in this moment, where she has said she won't; forever. He can't so much as muster up a thank you, stuck on the edge of distraught and getting over it.
He just. Does not want to experience that again — and maybe, maybe, damn the consequences. ]