[ it's a reprimand he expects, and one he answers with a light shrug, ] Never specified which one. [ it's flippant, merely following her lead as to how she wishes to proceed, for once allowing her to navigate their way from the labyrinth of grief they find themselves within. ]
[ he takes her invitation to move into her room, moving quickly to a desk to drop the food she had requested, perhaps in jest, onto the surface. he takes to removing the quiver from his arm to lay it down on its surface beside the food she'd ordered quickly during her rambling messages. he's uncertain if she even remembers asking him for a cheeseburger for her birthday, her own texts coming to him quickly and on top of one another as she had uncharacteristically rambled her feelings away to him. she hadn't needed to say i don't want to be left alone for luke to glean the message she hadn't wished to have dictated, her perhaps not strong enough to even utter the words aloud to perhaps the only person from home she knows inside and out, maybe even better than the back of her own hand. rather than pick up a burger or even an arrow to show her he'd been reading, even if he hadn't chosen to spam her inbox back with his own replies to every point she'd made, his hands remain empty. ]
[ it's a struggle to decide whether or not he should give into his instinct to approach her or to snuff it out before the ember ever has the chance to spark into an engulfing fire that sees him take to her as though time and a titan had never wedged itself between them. he lingers by the desk, fingers gliding against the surface, before he turns toward her. the tear marks hadn't been hidden from him when she'd opened her door to his voice, the stains upon her cheeks the one sign she gives him that she's not okay. it's not a question he wishes to even ask her, knowing from experience it only makes one stiffen and harden when all they want to do is collapse into the safety of one's arms, or even isolation, falling apart where no one could bear witness to their own vulnerabilities being exposed. it's never truly disappeared, his desire to fix things, to ensure no one he cares about ends up hurt or in danger. it'd been the crux of his war, wishing for the gods to see their own children in pain. it'd be cruel of him to follow in their footsteps and jest when she's hurting, even if a joke or two may make her feel better, distracting her from the inevitable that will ultimately consume her with or without him present. ]
[ lifting his arm, he scratches the back of his neck before his it falls uselessly to his side. with his eyebrow arched, he tries to communicate to the wolf he comes in peace before he takes the steps needed to erase the distance between them. he doesn't hesitate, nor even think — giving into instinct and following the steps of his heart as martha had whispered to him to during his journey of collecting her things — as he steps into her space, arms open as he wraps them around her, pulling her to him. his palms press hard against her back, fingers splayed, as though he can capture her within his hands and ensure nothing else comes to harm her. it's quiet, his mouth pressed against the side of her head, ] For what it's worth, I'm sorry.
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[ he takes her invitation to move into her room, moving quickly to a desk to drop the food she had requested, perhaps in jest, onto the surface. he takes to removing the quiver from his arm to lay it down on its surface beside the food she'd ordered quickly during her rambling messages. he's uncertain if she even remembers asking him for a cheeseburger for her birthday, her own texts coming to him quickly and on top of one another as she had uncharacteristically rambled her feelings away to him. she hadn't needed to say i don't want to be left alone for luke to glean the message she hadn't wished to have dictated, her perhaps not strong enough to even utter the words aloud to perhaps the only person from home she knows inside and out, maybe even better than the back of her own hand. rather than pick up a burger or even an arrow to show her he'd been reading, even if he hadn't chosen to spam her inbox back with his own replies to every point she'd made, his hands remain empty. ]
[ it's a struggle to decide whether or not he should give into his instinct to approach her or to snuff it out before the ember ever has the chance to spark into an engulfing fire that sees him take to her as though time and a titan had never wedged itself between them. he lingers by the desk, fingers gliding against the surface, before he turns toward her. the tear marks hadn't been hidden from him when she'd opened her door to his voice, the stains upon her cheeks the one sign she gives him that she's not okay. it's not a question he wishes to even ask her, knowing from experience it only makes one stiffen and harden when all they want to do is collapse into the safety of one's arms, or even isolation, falling apart where no one could bear witness to their own vulnerabilities being exposed. it's never truly disappeared, his desire to fix things, to ensure no one he cares about ends up hurt or in danger. it'd been the crux of his war, wishing for the gods to see their own children in pain. it'd be cruel of him to follow in their footsteps and jest when she's hurting, even if a joke or two may make her feel better, distracting her from the inevitable that will ultimately consume her with or without him present. ]
[ lifting his arm, he scratches the back of his neck before his it falls uselessly to his side. with his eyebrow arched, he tries to communicate to the wolf he comes in peace before he takes the steps needed to erase the distance between them. he doesn't hesitate, nor even think — giving into instinct and following the steps of his heart as martha had whispered to him to during his journey of collecting her things — as he steps into her space, arms open as he wraps them around her, pulling her to him. his palms press hard against her back, fingers splayed, as though he can capture her within his hands and ensure nothing else comes to harm her. it's quiet, his mouth pressed against the side of her head, ] For what it's worth, I'm sorry.