[ she would be wise to argue that, for therein lies his flaw: he sees what he wants to see, even in acknowledging the truth. he feels what he wants to feel. and he takes what he wants to take. whatever contented silence he would adopt would be half-pretend. he made her a promise once, that their lives would intersect again. however long it took, he would be a possibility on the horizon. he would be hers one day, and she would be his.
love isn't like the careful compartmentalization he wishes it could be, but if he's learned anything in a millennia, he's learned to wait. to bide. to hope and to fight.
he smiles, the warm curve of his lips small and soft at the tease of her response. he has no argument there, though his eyes do watch the tilt of her head with something akin to heat. it fades at the weight of the rest of her explanation, at the meaningful weight of it. he also cannot argue it sounds like something he'd do and with pride and relish.
but he can hardly believe that he could mean that much for her. it silences him, constricting his throat. it overcomes him, like something he could never imagine to wish to hear; something he would not know he'd want and never have.
his hand reaches for hers; it drapes over one still beside his neck and holds it. he holds it tight, pressing it against his chest, over his heart. he opens his mouth, as if to speak, but no words come. there are none he has that can communicate the bittersweet fullness he feels. he searches her eyes. all he can offer is this: ] Let me show you the rest.
no subject
love isn't like the careful compartmentalization he wishes it could be, but if he's learned anything in a millennia, he's learned to wait. to bide. to hope and to fight.
he smiles, the warm curve of his lips small and soft at the tease of her response. he has no argument there, though his eyes do watch the tilt of her head with something akin to heat. it fades at the weight of the rest of her explanation, at the meaningful weight of it. he also cannot argue it sounds like something he'd do and with pride and relish.
but he can hardly believe that he could mean that much for her. it silences him, constricting his throat. it overcomes him, like something he could never imagine to wish to hear; something he would not know he'd want and never have.
his hand reaches for hers; it drapes over one still beside his neck and holds it. he holds it tight, pressing it against his chest, over his heart. he opens his mouth, as if to speak, but no words come. there are none he has that can communicate the bittersweet fullness he feels. he searches her eyes. all he can offer is this: ] Let me show you the rest.