[ Abel won't pretend he has all the answers; he won't pretend that any of the ones he's offered are even good ones. despite the confidence in which he's let all this leave him this morning, this subject is... delicate, fragile - and frightening, isn't it? without all the pieces of Dokja's life, without knowledge of his circumstances, there's no way to know if it's right or wrong. (would Abel even know one from the other himself? ...he has never been a good judge of these things. he doesn't possess Esther's ability to say the right thing at the right time, nor Caterina's level-headed, charismatic ability to know what one must do to carry on.)
but seeing that hollow gnaw in someone he cares for... even if it's clumsy and even if he makes a wrong step, Abel knows he has to try.
he can see this conversation has been thoroughly exhausting; he can see Dokja needs some time to absorb, to lick his wounds, to put himself back together again in whatever way he can. so... he shifts his weight gently, drawing the blankets a bit further up and trying to goad the other man to lay back down again. ]
...Maybe that nap is a good idea. Suppose I might be able to find one of those aforementioned delicious things to eat by the time you wake up, mm?
[ Dokja goes back down without a fuss, gingerly placing his still aching head against the pillow and sighing once he's lying down. Like this, he can feel his body and mind respond to the lull of sleep, eyelids growing heavy with each passing second. He's not accustomed to being able to doze off easily, his racing thoughts and the lurking nightmares chasing away any rest, but it seems as though he's long passed the point of exhaustion and his body is in desperate need of replenishing the sleep reservoir.
But before he can slip away into a much needed unconsciousness, Dokja settles a tentative hand against Abel's wrist. ]
... Thank you.
[ For this, for before. He practically has to choke out the words, voice shaking with the effort. He's never known how to respond to someone caring about him, always just filed it away as a debt to be repaid, but.
This time, it feels too impossible for Dokja to return this favor. ]
[ like tucking a sickly child into bed, Abel's drawing the blankets up around Dokja once the other man has settled comfortably among the pillows - or, as comfortably as one can get when they must feel like one walking bruise. sleep really is the best thing for him, and hopefully having some tiny comfort in the fact he isn't alone will be enough to see him off to rest a bit more peacefully.
Abel hesitates where he had been about to straighten when that hand touches his wrist-- and that soft gratitude, hoarse but so terribly earnest, has a tiny smile tugging at his lips. ]
Please rest well, Mr. Dokja.
[ there is no need for thanks, but he will accept it because... just this once, he thinks Dokja needs him to.
wouldn't be terribly surprising if his ward were asleep before Abel had time to collect two tea mugs and head to the door, hm... ]
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but seeing that hollow gnaw in someone he cares for... even if it's clumsy and even if he makes a wrong step, Abel knows he has to try.
he can see this conversation has been thoroughly exhausting; he can see Dokja needs some time to absorb, to lick his wounds, to put himself back together again in whatever way he can. so... he shifts his weight gently, drawing the blankets a bit further up and trying to goad the other man to lay back down again. ]
...Maybe that nap is a good idea. Suppose I might be able to find one of those aforementioned delicious things to eat by the time you wake up, mm?
[ 'it's going to be alright.
just keep moving forward.' ]
no subject
But before he can slip away into a much needed unconsciousness, Dokja settles a tentative hand against Abel's wrist. ]
... Thank you.
[ For this, for before. He practically has to choke out the words, voice shaking with the effort. He's never known how to respond to someone caring about him, always just filed it away as a debt to be repaid, but.
This time, it feels too impossible for Dokja to return this favor. ]
no subject
Abel hesitates where he had been about to straighten when that hand touches his wrist-- and that soft gratitude, hoarse but so terribly earnest, has a tiny smile tugging at his lips. ]
Please rest well, Mr. Dokja.
[ there is no need for thanks, but he will accept it because... just this once, he thinks Dokja needs him to.
wouldn't be terribly surprising if his ward were asleep before Abel had time to collect two tea mugs and head to the door, hm... ]