[He asked her to call him that, and yet the recognition is a blow that shudders through him in a nearly-physical way. To be seen, to be known for who and what he is, and loved regardless... It is an impossible joy. How can he deserve this? And yet, it doesn't seem to matter. She breathes with him and he recognizes the technique even as it begins to work on his panic.
He nearly protests: he is no child, has never been a child, and yet... Why even fight it? He is weak, and he needs her in this moment, desperately.]
It was... [Eyes closed, struggling to remember; the dream slips away and that is almost more upsetting. Will he forget this experience, forget the Fade entirely, night after night, morning after morning, not even able to know his soul's home in this fumbling, broken way?] ...I cannot remember.
[He can hear the horror in his own voice, and doesn't care. How can they live like this? How can any of them want to live like this?]
no subject
He nearly protests: he is no child, has never been a child, and yet... Why even fight it? He is weak, and he needs her in this moment, desperately.]
It was... [Eyes closed, struggling to remember; the dream slips away and that is almost more upsetting. Will he forget this experience, forget the Fade entirely, night after night, morning after morning, not even able to know his soul's home in this fumbling, broken way?] ...I cannot remember.
[He can hear the horror in his own voice, and doesn't care. How can they live like this? How can any of them want to live like this?]
I cannot remember.