[ When had he last been embraced like this? How long had it been since anyone's tried to comfort him? Dokja had suffered alone for thousands upon thousands of years with only his beloved story for company. And even that story had felt tainted, corrupted, and undone because of his part in it.
He doesn't have it in him to resist, doesn't sink into the hold, but doesn't move much besides dropping his forehead against Abel's shoulder. One hand stays where it is over his eyes, while the other clutches at the sheets. He's shaking, breaths ragged with the occasional sniffle in between.
But other than that, he's silent.
It takes a while for his crying to subside, and he's back to feeling exhausted and like a weight is pressing down on his eyelids. There's too many emotions for him to process. Grief, shame, embarrassment, self-loathing. He doesn't budge from where he's fixed himself into place, though. He's not sure he can look Abel in the eye after this.
... ]
I want to tell you something.
[ His voice is hoarse, tired, empty in a way. Like he's detached himself from this moment in an attempt to scavenge and gather what remains of him. ]
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He doesn't have it in him to resist, doesn't sink into the hold, but doesn't move much besides dropping his forehead against Abel's shoulder. One hand stays where it is over his eyes, while the other clutches at the sheets. He's shaking, breaths ragged with the occasional sniffle in between.
But other than that, he's silent.
It takes a while for his crying to subside, and he's back to feeling exhausted and like a weight is pressing down on his eyelids. There's too many emotions for him to process. Grief, shame, embarrassment, self-loathing. He doesn't budge from where he's fixed himself into place, though. He's not sure he can look Abel in the eye after this.
... ]
I want to tell you something.
[ His voice is hoarse, tired, empty in a way. Like he's detached himself from this moment in an attempt to scavenge and gather what remains of him. ]