Soft landing

Liam

I just want one more chance

For someone trying to portray an image of quiet calm, Liam's whitening knuckles around his mug and the faint lines that appeared across his face betrayed the tension that radiated through him. He was holding his breath - for what reason, he wasn't sure - and as soon as he realized, he forced a soft exhale through his nose, loosening his grip on the mug and smoothing the lines of his face. She said nothing as he revealed his own losses in a carefully controlled way, said nothing as he skated past them without allowing either of them to linger for too long on what he said or why it mattered. It was only when he asked what she wanted for her future that she spoke, and even that came on a stuttered breath, like she wasn't quite sure how or why he should care.

"You could ask a god for help," he suggested gently. "If, you know, it's something you decide you want." Hopefully that didn't sound like he was pressuring her; perhaps she was happier this way, not knowing. Maybe she didn't want to remember, for fear that memories of that time would only make things worse. Hesitantly, he took a breath. "I... could help you." It was a quiet, tentative offer, as though expecting her to reject him for even daring to think it. And honestly, he wouldn't blame her. She didn't know him. Why should she accept help from a perfect stranger?

To put my arms in fragile hands