Hawke takes his hand and turns his words around and it would be so much easier to just let him be right, to just accept that they can feel badly together as he had with Jon just the other night. He grits his teeth through a wash of anger he knows isn't actually meant for Wolfe, but makes him want to turn and sock the man for pushing anyway.
It runs through him and then fades and he's just left more tired. His cracks are on full display and he can't find how to cover them again. Maybe he shouldn't. Not for his boys. All three of them left.
His mind jumps to the empty, silent, theatre. A place of ghosts and memories of people he should have done better by, for all they'd given him. His spine bows under the weight of it and the thought of Hawke being gone when he next opens his eyes makes Chris' hand curl tight around the fingers under his. He doesn't want to vanish too, he doesn't want his nightmares to come true. He doesn't want to lose anyone else who's his. He doesn't want to feel so...sad anymore.
His forehead falls to Hawke's chest, his other hand digging into the sodden fabric of his own shirt like it might make his chest stop aching so deeply. The keening sound that comes out of him is unfamiliar for having only heard it from himself once. After that night in Ilinivur, when he'd gone off by himself, punched some drunk in an alley, and tucked himself away in some dirty corner to brake down. It's the same sound now as everything crumbles in him and his shoulders shake and sobs wrack his frame. He opens his mouth to say something, to explain, and he can't form words around the chunk of pain that comes out in wretched shout and shuddering breaths.
no subject
It runs through him and then fades and he's just left more tired. His cracks are on full display and he can't find how to cover them again. Maybe he shouldn't. Not for his boys. All three of them left.
His mind jumps to the empty, silent, theatre. A place of ghosts and memories of people he should have done better by, for all they'd given him. His spine bows under the weight of it and the thought of Hawke being gone when he next opens his eyes makes Chris' hand curl tight around the fingers under his. He doesn't want to vanish too, he doesn't want his nightmares to come true. He doesn't want to lose anyone else who's his. He doesn't want to feel so...sad anymore.
His forehead falls to Hawke's chest, his other hand digging into the sodden fabric of his own shirt like it might make his chest stop aching so deeply. The keening sound that comes out of him is unfamiliar for having only heard it from himself once. After that night in Ilinivur, when he'd gone off by himself, punched some drunk in an alley, and tucked himself away in some dirty corner to brake down. It's the same sound now as everything crumbles in him and his shoulders shake and sobs wrack his frame. He opens his mouth to say something, to explain, and he can't form words around the chunk of pain that comes out in wretched shout and shuddering breaths.