[He leans into her despite himself, his head dropping to her shoulder and his hand sliding from the wall to grip her arm. He hurts, in every conceivable way there is to hurt, the warmth of her cheek and the soft brush of her fingers through his hair both a balm that he desperately wants to let himself accept. He can't answer her- any words that comes out of him are going to be too broken.
She finally pulls away and he shivers, suddenly cold. His skin itches and his cybernetics ache, familiar annoyances that seem amplified now in the absence of what pleasure had felt like, even for a moment. It's the way she yanks her hand back from his face that drives the final nail into what they'd had and for a brief moment, he feels something bitter and angry rising up in the back of his throat. Of course, even if he did allow himself the pleasure of screaming, he's not sure much would have come of it with the way it feels like he can't quite get a full breath.]
It's fine. [He's wheezing, but it's fine. What else was he going to say? His hands drop away from her and he leans over to push himself up, his body protesting, but it's all coming back to him now. Pain is familiar; the way his head spins when he finally straightens up isn't. He catches himself, his first step more of a stagger, and he holds his breath if only to keep silent the noise his breathing makes as he gropes for his mask. There's a soft hiss of pressurized air as he clips it back into place with shaking fingers, leaning heavily against the edge of Angela's desk. Glancing aside, he spots the little hologram disc, teetering on the edge, having just barely avoided being swept to the floor earlier. He reaches out on a whim and slides it back, the schematics for the new suit flickering on again, a silent reminder of his conviction. Tomorrow, everything would change.]
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She finally pulls away and he shivers, suddenly cold. His skin itches and his cybernetics ache, familiar annoyances that seem amplified now in the absence of what pleasure had felt like, even for a moment. It's the way she yanks her hand back from his face that drives the final nail into what they'd had and for a brief moment, he feels something bitter and angry rising up in the back of his throat. Of course, even if he did allow himself the pleasure of screaming, he's not sure much would have come of it with the way it feels like he can't quite get a full breath.]
It's fine. [He's wheezing, but it's fine. What else was he going to say? His hands drop away from her and he leans over to push himself up, his body protesting, but it's all coming back to him now. Pain is familiar; the way his head spins when he finally straightens up isn't. He catches himself, his first step more of a stagger, and he holds his breath if only to keep silent the noise his breathing makes as he gropes for his mask. There's a soft hiss of pressurized air as he clips it back into place with shaking fingers, leaning heavily against the edge of Angela's desk. Glancing aside, he spots the little hologram disc, teetering on the edge, having just barely avoided being swept to the floor earlier. He reaches out on a whim and slides it back, the schematics for the new suit flickering on again, a silent reminder of his conviction. Tomorrow, everything would change.]