oh, these wings, they flicker and my feathers stir
'til I'm an ancient soul in a cascade world
There is no small part of him that wishes he had stayed away from her. That wishes that he had been able to spare her from the enormity of his own ugliness—that he had listened to his gut and kept to himself. But he hadn’t. Of course he hadn’t. Instead he had thrown himself into these relationships with women who were incredible—so kind and selfless and loving—and he was a wrecking ball for them.
He aches looking at her now, seeing the pain register on her face.
But that doesn’t soften him, even though it should. Even though the answer out of this is right before him.
“I am incapable of being friends,” and he nearly groans the words because he hates having to admit it. Hates having to look at her and push the knife in her chest in further. But he does. He keeps his gaze steady on her and doesn’t relent. Even when he wishes with every fiber of his being that he could just pull her close and press a kiss to the softest part of her forehead. That he could push the hair from her eyes and tell her that it’s going to be okay—that this is going to be okay.
He swallows, hard, and stands still, not closing the space between them that she creates. It would be better if she left, he knows. Would be better if he left too, but he isn’t capable of that—not yet.
“I can’t help you,” his voice is quieter now, “and you certainly can’t help me.”
He would consume her if she tried. Would greedily lock her away in his heart and never let her leave. He would hoard her like Astrum has taught him and that isn’t love. That isn’t friendship.
That’s dark, desperate need and he will shield her from it if it’s the last thing he does.
and I'm quick with the bullet when it comes undone
I got a head like a turret with a mouth for a gun
