[ Enough... He wants to believe that. He wants to believe that the scraps he'd left for this version of himself aren't just the broken pieces, the parts that won't fit into place. He had been so careful with what he'd allowed the other half, painstakingly picking and choosing the happiest memories so that his companions would at least have that part of him.
It has, in turn, had devastating effects for the one left behind.
Dokja wipes at his eyes, then drops his hand from his face and turns his head, still resting on Abel's shoulder, to stare blankly at the wall. He's aching in new ways now, wanting to wrap those comforting words around himself despite feeling as though he doesn't deserve them.
Is it enough...?
His heart squeezes in his chest in a desperate longing, but in regret, too. It feels as though he's said too much, more of him growing conscious of what it is that's happening here. ]
... You didn't have to stay.
[ And wait for him to wake up. He would have... been fine eventually. ]
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It has, in turn, had devastating effects for the one left behind.
Dokja wipes at his eyes, then drops his hand from his face and turns his head, still resting on Abel's shoulder, to stare blankly at the wall. He's aching in new ways now, wanting to wrap those comforting words around himself despite feeling as though he doesn't deserve them.
Is it enough...?
His heart squeezes in his chest in a desperate longing, but in regret, too. It feels as though he's said too much, more of him growing conscious of what it is that's happening here. ]
... You didn't have to stay.
[ And wait for him to wake up. He would have... been fine eventually. ]