And that's another driving force of his fear-- That writing down the scattered pieces of language he remembers from class and tracking down the herbs to cook the way he remembers might feel more like a memorial than a torch to carry. That it will sting just as much as it soothes, much like his own name does.
He feels small. Helpless. Barely conscious of it, he tugs the covers closer, over her shoulders. He's curled as tightly against her as is reasonably possible, hands finding more cold than warm every time he shifts.
"I love you."
The words stumble out, murmured into her hair with a will of their own. That's what it means, really. That's what all of this means.
no subject
And that's another driving force of his fear-- That writing down the scattered pieces of language he remembers from class and tracking down the herbs to cook the way he remembers might feel more like a memorial than a torch to carry. That it will sting just as much as it soothes, much like his own name does.
He feels small. Helpless. Barely conscious of it, he tugs the covers closer, over her shoulders. He's curled as tightly against her as is reasonably possible, hands finding more cold than warm every time he shifts.
"I love you."
The words stumble out, murmured into her hair with a will of their own. That's what it means, really. That's what all of this means.