His eyes dropped back to the carpet. He didn't need to look at Greengrass to see the expression on his face; he knew him so well, so intimately, that he could imagine his expression using the tone of his voice alone. It had only been six months now, but Valerian felt he knew Greengrass that well.
And yet, propped on the edge of the bed that was meant to be their refuge for the rest of the night, he couldn't have felt more like a stranger. He could have hated Greengrass in the moment had he not been so paralyzed by the heartache. How did he argue against a man's feelings?
"Because you choose to," he said quietly. Brokenly.
And yet, propped on the edge of the bed that was meant to be their refuge for the rest of the night, he couldn't have felt more like a stranger. He could have hated Greengrass in the moment had he not been so paralyzed by the heartache. How did he argue against a man's feelings?
"Because you choose to," he said quietly. Brokenly.
