[ Trepidation. That's what he feels from her pulse, from its highs and lows. A sincere apology for a reason he can't quite grasp, disarming but melancholy: he thinks of fractured glass, stilled but steady breathing.
Sometimes he wishes he can see, because as much as he's honed his mind's eye to see better than he ever could before, it's still not enough. What color are her eyes? Are they wavering? How vivid are her expressions, how do her lips curve when they frown, smile?
He lets her hold his hand, but eventually draws it up to let it rest on his cheek. ]
Apology accepted. But only so you don't have to make any more, starting now.
[ He lets himself smile, if only so she can feel it instead of hear it. ]
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Sometimes he wishes he can see, because as much as he's honed his mind's eye to see better than he ever could before, it's still not enough. What color are her eyes? Are they wavering? How vivid are her expressions, how do her lips curve when they frown, smile?
He lets her hold his hand, but eventually draws it up to let it rest on his cheek. ]
Apology accepted. But only so you don't have to make any more, starting now.
[ He lets himself smile, if only so she can feel it instead of hear it. ]