He braces a hand on the table; scrubs at his forehead fitfully with the other. Hangs his head.
"That wasn't what I meant," he says. Nothing he's thinking, or doing, seems to be what he means to do. It makes that panic flutter at the back of his throat again; Alistair breathes, swallows it down. "I wouldn't do that to you. I -- "
It's so hard just to think.
"It's not denigration. You're the only other person I know who went through something like this, so I expect a decade's normal. Better than normal, probably. I didn't mean it as a slight. More like...I have ten years of this to look forward to." A twist of brittle sarcasm breaks his last word: "Goody."
He looks over his shoulder, meeting Cullen's eyes. "I'm sorry."
(How many times will he be saying that over the next decade, when he slips up, when he can't think, when someone who's not Cullen makes the mistake of waking him and gets a broken nose for their trouble?)
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"That wasn't what I meant," he says. Nothing he's thinking, or doing, seems to be what he means to do. It makes that panic flutter at the back of his throat again; Alistair breathes, swallows it down. "I wouldn't do that to you. I -- "
It's so hard just to think.
"It's not denigration. You're the only other person I know who went through something like this, so I expect a decade's normal. Better than normal, probably. I didn't mean it as a slight. More like...I have ten years of this to look forward to." A twist of brittle sarcasm breaks his last word: "Goody."
He looks over his shoulder, meeting Cullen's eyes. "I'm sorry."
(How many times will he be saying that over the next decade, when he slips up, when he can't think, when someone who's not Cullen makes the mistake of waking him and gets a broken nose for their trouble?)