He wasn't sure how long had passed between the time he'd started crying and when Greengrass spoke, and he probably should have been more worried about what was happening in that time, but he'd risen his hands to press the base of his palm against his wet eyes as he continued to sob. He was not sure why exactly he was crying—of course, the thought that he was being a monster did not come with good feelings, but there was more. More that went beyond this exchange, beyond this entire encounter, beyond the last seventy-two hours spent without his potion. He did not want to live like this anymore, but - but this was his life. This is who he was. He was the healer with a potion problem, one he'd indirectly caused by being stupid and way too confident, and now he was - a criminal, plain and clear by definition.
He continued to cry through Greengrass' words, his his hands slipped from his face and his sobs softened just enough to hear the words the other man spoke. He blinked rapidly until the blurry outline of shoulders and a head of curls became Greengrass again, and he looked... almost sincere. His expression was soft and his eyes were big and brown and a little confused-looking, and he hated it because it only made him feel worse.
"Don't," he choked. Don't be nice, don't try to help, don't say anything that would make this even heavier on his heart, because he didn't need to focus on his existential crisis anymore when he had a clear goal in mind. "I need - I need it. I need my ingredient. It'll - make it better, I promise. I'm not - not a monster." He would feel better—he always did. But looking around the room, it was so big and nothing was organized like it was in an apothecary or hospital cabinet, and he had no idea what to do.
He looked around, his head stopping as he glanced over his shoulder. Yes—yes. That's it. He needed it. "My wand," he murmured, not to Greengrass and not to himself, but to the universe, because it made sense. He turned around and started towards it.
He continued to cry through Greengrass' words, his his hands slipped from his face and his sobs softened just enough to hear the words the other man spoke. He blinked rapidly until the blurry outline of shoulders and a head of curls became Greengrass again, and he looked... almost sincere. His expression was soft and his eyes were big and brown and a little confused-looking, and he hated it because it only made him feel worse.
"Don't," he choked. Don't be nice, don't try to help, don't say anything that would make this even heavier on his heart, because he didn't need to focus on his existential crisis anymore when he had a clear goal in mind. "I need - I need it. I need my ingredient. It'll - make it better, I promise. I'm not - not a monster." He would feel better—he always did. But looking around the room, it was so big and nothing was organized like it was in an apothecary or hospital cabinet, and he had no idea what to do.
He looked around, his head stopping as he glanced over his shoulder. Yes—yes. That's it. He needed it. "My wand," he murmured, not to Greengrass and not to himself, but to the universe, because it made sense. He turned around and started towards it.
