[Thirty years, a lifetime; they all know how the world looks through bars; they're all bound together by the memory. But that doesn't mean anything is owed, and he knows better than to assume more than decent bedside manner: gallows humour, a distraction from pain. Warmth would be incongruous, would suggest a deficiency in recognizing the seriousness of violence—or else a disregard for it. At worst, an appreciation.
Still, he didn't need to stay. (Ilias didn't stay. Couldn't bear to see what he'd done, even to finish it.)
Cleaner now, the open wound hardly seeping, his hand finds the wrist again. While privacy remains,]
Thank you.
[His gaze clings to focus, a sharp point in the haze. The barest squeeze of cold fingers.]
no subject
At worst, an appreciation.
Still, he didn't need to stay. (Ilias didn't stay. Couldn't bear to see what he'd done, even to finish it.)
Cleaner now, the open wound hardly seeping, his hand finds the wrist again. While privacy remains,]
Thank you.
[His gaze clings to focus, a sharp point in the haze. The barest squeeze of cold fingers.]
I understand now.