deathsmajesty | (Reply)

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And was there anything to solidify his statement quite as firmly as something like that, of having Liliana there, even closer than before, his arms drawing her in to eradicate every possible space between them as he turned his head and buried his face in her hair in kind.

Again, the first response of his lips was isn't it obvious, what he wanted, but, again, he was starting to understand that, no, perhaps it wasn't. Perhaps she was as blind to the thing that was so monolithic and towering and absolutely unavoidable to him as he was to the rest of the world.

"I want this," he said, firmly, resolutely, but not without that flare of guilt within him, as he always would, whenever he asserted himself on something solely because it made him happy, that it made him feel fulfilled, instead of it being about someone else's contentment, comfort, safety, whatever it was being placed on his shoulders. "I want you, and me, together, here, building this house together, building this life together, and breaking ourselves free from the shackles of our previous ones."

Yes, the emphasis there was important, because while it was Liliana who had the actual contracts hanging over her head and etched into her skin, he knew he was still weighted down by the expectations of a life that no longer even existed, and it was something he'd struggled with immensely ever since he wound up here again.

"I want," and here, he laughed, a rough sound in all its wryness, "...to stop wasting money on what has essentially become a glorified storage unit, when I could be better using it to buy new coats of paint or elegant cabinet fixtures or new books for you to complain about or jewelry as elaborate to feel as it is to look at, just because I'm too afraid of having no where else to go when all....this begins to lose its sheen and luster for you."

When he, like so many other things, no doubt, over years, decades, centuries, ceased to be amusing or useful