AngleWings112
"Lyra..." he breathed, overwhelmed, his forehead resting against hers.
His eyes slipped shut as he drew in slow, measured breaths, trying, failing, to calm himself by matching hers.
She tilted her head, throat tightening.
His fingers found hers where they lay stiff at her sides. Carefully, almost reverently, he gathered her hands and guided them to his chest.
She bit the inside of her cheek, but she no longer had the strength to pull away.
Her palms met the pounding beneath his skin. His heart was raging.
"Lyra... I'm tired," he whispered, voice breaking at the edges.
"I can't take it anymore."
She stared at him, breath catching. Take what?
His hands trembled as he held hers in place over his chest.
"If this is a trick... some spell..."
She shook her head, and he let out a brittle, disbelieving breath, shaking his own in return, as if refusing the comfort of her denial.
"If it is..." he choked, "then end it. End my agony."
He pressed her hand harder against his chest, as if trying to anchor himself to the pain.
Two creatures who were never meant to touch,
touching anyway.
"You don't understand," he whispered.
"What this does to me... how many times I've tried to outrun you in my own mind."
A quiet, broken laugh escaped him, hollow, miserable.
"Gods... I've lost it."