Hearing sorry in that soft, ember-warm voice makes Wyvern (Clive?) shake his head vehemently. He hates it, hates hearing it, hates the thought of his brother ever being sorry for anything. If this really is his brother, that isβ it's still unbelievable, an impossibility that Wyvern struggles with through the haze of his rut.
"No," he whispers. His vision blurs, but he doesn't know why; he can't acknowledge nor understand his own tears for what they are. He'd thought he had none left to shed. "It was me, I didn't protect youβ"
The conversation is garbled. He has a feeling that he isn't responding properly to what's being said to him, like a dream in which he jumps from location to location, time period to time period, with no sense of logic or narrative cohesion. He strips his gloves and gauntlets off to press warm, callus-rough hands to this stranger's (?) perfect face. Founder, he could never have imagined what kind of young man Joshua might have become if not for his failings.
"Flames, you're so fucking beautiful," he breathes. "And you smell so perfect."
His voice hitches, just a bit. "My Joshua. I never dared to even dream of you."
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Date: 2025-12-14 03:01 am (UTC)"No," he whispers. His vision blurs, but he doesn't know why; he can't acknowledge nor understand his own tears for what they are. He'd thought he had none left to shed. "It was me, I didn't protect youβ"
The conversation is garbled. He has a feeling that he isn't responding properly to what's being said to him, like a dream in which he jumps from location to location, time period to time period, with no sense of logic or narrative cohesion. He strips his gloves and gauntlets off to press warm, callus-rough hands to this stranger's (?) perfect face. Founder, he could never have imagined what kind of young man Joshua might have become if not for his failings.
"Flames, you're so fucking beautiful," he breathes. "And you smell so perfect."
His voice hitches, just a bit. "My Joshua. I never dared to even dream of you."