[private] Out of touch, are we out of time?

[firion]

FIRION

There is only so much that one man can bear—only so much that he can be expected to survive. He feels it now, that threadbare feeling of being stretched too thin. It frightens him. Very little frightens him more than his own control, his own darkness, that same feeling of not trusting what may become of him. But he doesn’t flee yet because he doesn’t know how that might feel for the young boy.

Instead he remains, rooted to the spot and his overbought eyes on the young boy.

“I see,” he replies quietly, that hoarseness not yet leaving his voice. He should soften, he knows. He should promise Fyr a lesson in magic like he has promised—like he has said that he would do. But the words don’t come. He just stands there, silently, watching the young boy and doing his best to hold back the tsunami of emotions that rage just below the surface, threatening to drive him into the shadows.

It’s only when the boy comes near that he feels anything come to the surface.

It’s fear that rises in him, desperate and shaky and he nearly pushes the boy away before he closes the distance, but he only manages to control himself—just barely. He breathes in sharply as Fyr touches his neck and looks down the edge of his nose to the other, studying him with an unchecked intensity.

“I’m not good company today,” his voice is strangled. “I’m really not.” 

so as our grief falls flat and hollow upon a billion blooded seas
all our worst ideas are borrowed (you do and don't belong to me)