[Her question is a difficult one, though not because he doesn't have an answer. It's more an issue of allowing himself to acknowledge it, to even entertain its potential. Literal years of suppressing any desire of his own in lieu of fulfilling his duty, guiding the squad members working under him, protecting Kaname and the rest of Walkure, battling the Var and any enemy in his way. The only time he'd come close to wanting something for himself is his reckless desire to fight and win against the White Knight of Windermere, and that desire is nothing like what he feels here and now. Wanting that had cost him dearly, but he survived it because of her. The difference between this and that is quite literally life and death.
Still, after so long keeping it to himself, resisting all urge to let her get close and know the truth, after telling himself over and over that what his heart desired was an impossible, unattainable dream, the words are a lump in his throat, heavy and unwilling to come forth. Her gaze is imploring, her body warm as she presses close to his. He's not an idiot, even if he lacks experience with such things; he recognizes the potential here, what she might be offering if he just... reaches for it. Just says it.]
I... don't know what I deserve. I haven't for years.
[He's done too much in his life, too many terrible things. His hands are a mess of blood and chaos, those he killed on Alfheim, in space, across all of the planets they fought on. He's dangerous, a wildcard, an explosion waiting to go off, barely held in check by her song. He has no business touching her, asking anything more of her than her company. Yet here she is, and he can't seem to pull himself away any longer.
His heart's pounding again. It hurts, overworked from all the bloodloss, but he can't do anything to quell its unsteady beat. Not trusting his voice yet, his hand moves beneath the covers to find hers, tentatively twining their fingers together. He meets her gaze for a long moment and then, tellingly, drop lower, to her lips.]
If you- if you let me, I'm afraid I'd ask for too much.
no subject
Still, after so long keeping it to himself, resisting all urge to let her get close and know the truth, after telling himself over and over that what his heart desired was an impossible, unattainable dream, the words are a lump in his throat, heavy and unwilling to come forth. Her gaze is imploring, her body warm as she presses close to his. He's not an idiot, even if he lacks experience with such things; he recognizes the potential here, what she might be offering if he just... reaches for it. Just says it.]
I... don't know what I deserve. I haven't for years.
[He's done too much in his life, too many terrible things. His hands are a mess of blood and chaos, those he killed on Alfheim, in space, across all of the planets they fought on. He's dangerous, a wildcard, an explosion waiting to go off, barely held in check by her song. He has no business touching her, asking anything more of her than her company. Yet here she is, and he can't seem to pull himself away any longer.
His heart's pounding again. It hurts, overworked from all the bloodloss, but he can't do anything to quell its unsteady beat. Not trusting his voice yet, his hand moves beneath the covers to find hers, tentatively twining their fingers together. He meets her gaze for a long moment and then, tellingly, drop lower, to her lips.]
If you- if you let me, I'm afraid I'd ask for too much.