your hands are scarred from murder

SUNJATA

the flood

with every breath and every intake
tip toe further away

Arms length wouldn’t work for him, not like this especially, when they were supposed to be more than that. But she tells him she’ll try, an echo of him mentioning that he too is trying, and it’s enough for him. Enough because trying was at least attempting and it was better than nothing in the end. Still, his gaze flits to her, when she tells him to not treat her like glass when that was what she was to him.

But everyone had been like that, in a way, to him.

His eyes linger on her open and outstretched arms for a heartbeat or two before he abandons the shower preparation to step toward her, opening his own to pull her as gently as he can into his embrace. “Okay.” He agrees quietly, another attempt at him trying, before he lingers in her touch briefly. He pulls away to gesture to the shower, however, offering her a somewhat somewhat knowing look after her appearance. But she might need help washing away everything or at least some support, and he begins by taking his shirt off.

“Come on, let’s get you in and cleaned up.” He rumbles to her, willing to help her step in, to climb in after her to ensure she’s supported and gets herself clean. He’s grabbed a comb from the vanity to try and untangle her hair, soap and shampoo within the confines of the shower that are ready to be used. He stretches out his arms to her, letting her use him how she may need, to get into the shower and get warmed up and clean.

further away from this mistake
i'm no savior, i'm no saint