[Nice to see her face, not hidden by blankets. Too bad it means she's looking at his, with eyes that seem flat and blank, a face half torn, hair draping down. He's still capable of looking sad when she says that.
He doesn't think he meant to die. No one wants to be bitten. He didn't want to be what he is. But he knows it's not as simple as that. He's hurt people. Existing, still, hurts people. The risk remains.
Which is why, when she reaches up, he hesitates. He looks uncertainly into her eyes, then back to her hand. He draws his own back, fusses with his own striped sleeve until it covers the reach of his fingers and he can make yet another small barrier between them. But he does hold her hand.
Her words, in tandem with this, make his dead heart flip over itself. Love, she says, but she can't mean that. It's too much. She's quoting. He can tell by her voice. And yet, they hold each other. He tries to tease.]
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He doesn't think he meant to die. No one wants to be bitten. He didn't want to be what he is. But he knows it's not as simple as that. He's hurt people. Existing, still, hurts people. The risk remains.
Which is why, when she reaches up, he hesitates. He looks uncertainly into her eyes, then back to her hand. He draws his own back, fusses with his own striped sleeve until it covers the reach of his fingers and he can make yet another small barrier between them. But he does hold her hand.
Her words, in tandem with this, make his dead heart flip over itself. Love, she says, but she can't mean that. It's too much. She's quoting. He can tell by her voice. And yet, they hold each other. He tries to tease.]
I think we are... anything... but ordinary...