[ His blow doesn't land where it ought, slamming into the muscle of one arm rather than the hard bone of Abel's temple. Unfortunate, because it means he has to drag this fight out longer than he wants.
Has to listen to Abel's pleading voice longer than he wants.
The worst part is that the man isn't wrong. There's truth threaded through each word, every one of them landing like a heavy fist on his already bruised heart. It's always unwavering belief that hurts the most, managing to find its way through the tissue thin fissures that spread across his walls. Insults, avoidance, dislike, hatred....all those are easy to ignore and to brush off as he resolutely trudges forward. But genuine sympathy? It's misplaced, absolutely wasted on someone like him, a person who should have died over fifteen years ago.
Resentment uncoils in the pit of his stomach, flaring hot and ugly for a moment as his fist clenches, nails digging into the flesh of his palm. It would be easy enough to shut the man up with a few well-placed hits, and to redirect his anger towards the target closest at hand. Too bad easy has never been the road he's chosen for himself.
His fist stills and pulls back—and then he's pulling back, unhooking his leg so he can push himself back onto his feet with movements stiff but efficient. Not alone though; he still has a job to do. ]
Get up.
[ The desire to finish this wars with his desire to push this man far, far away. Ultimately, the two meet in a muddled compromise as he leans down to grab Abel's wrist again, movements rough and unkind as he tries to drag Abel to his feet. To hand off to someone else ideally, though things won't be as simple as that. ]
HOW is he still thinking about the ears at a time like this
Has to listen to Abel's pleading voice longer than he wants.
The worst part is that the man isn't wrong. There's truth threaded through each word, every one of them landing like a heavy fist on his already bruised heart. It's always unwavering belief that hurts the most, managing to find its way through the tissue thin fissures that spread across his walls. Insults, avoidance, dislike, hatred....all those are easy to ignore and to brush off as he resolutely trudges forward. But genuine sympathy? It's misplaced, absolutely wasted on someone like him, a person who should have died over fifteen years ago.
Resentment uncoils in the pit of his stomach, flaring hot and ugly for a moment as his fist clenches, nails digging into the flesh of his palm. It would be easy enough to shut the man up with a few well-placed hits, and to redirect his anger towards the target closest at hand. Too bad easy has never been the road he's chosen for himself.
His fist stills and pulls back—and then he's pulling back, unhooking his leg so he can push himself back onto his feet with movements stiff but efficient. Not alone though; he still has a job to do. ]
Get up.
[ The desire to finish this wars with his desire to push this man far, far away. Ultimately, the two meet in a muddled compromise as he leans down to grab Abel's wrist again, movements rough and unkind as he tries to drag Abel to his feet. To hand off to someone else ideally, though things won't be as simple as that. ]