And I don't want you to die. So, we've gotta meet somewhere in the middle.

[There's a pause, then slowly, selfishly, he interlocks his fingers with the other man's. The scars lining around Vergilius' hands make them rough, but he doesn't mind it. Despite the sheer strength in the man's body, Daan treats him like he'll shatter at the wrong move. The way someone would handle priceless treasure.

"The heart might as well be made of glass, for you and me."]

I don't want to be another part of your guilt, or your regrets. No more than I think you want me to carve away pieces of myself for you.

Can't we do better than that?