[ heine keeps his gaze trained on the sewing kit as daan speaks—something about looking the other man in the eye right now would feel too intimate. the tone of his voice talking about his wife, someone he loved enough to marry, someone with whom he wanted to build a family... it's the kind of tone he's only ever heard from mihai, talking about milena. it makes heine shiver to imagine.
at least he had been there when lily died. no matter how bloodstained the memory, how fucked up inside it still makes him feel to think about—at least he had been there. heine can't imagine the horror of coming home to find your lover dead, and then to know how long she'd been dead by how long her letters hadn't been coming. ]
Fuck. [ what words could possibly touch this? heine feels like an asshole for his quip about daan not having tested the theory since he had all his arms and legs. ] I'm sorry.
no subject
at least he had been there when lily died. no matter how bloodstained the memory, how fucked up inside it still makes him feel to think about—at least he had been there. heine can't imagine the horror of coming home to find your lover dead, and then to know how long she'd been dead by how long her letters hadn't been coming. ]
Fuck. [ what words could possibly touch this? heine feels like an asshole for his quip about daan not having tested the theory since he had all his arms and legs. ] I'm sorry.
What keeps you going?