DEIMOS
He laughed, though it wasn’t a loud, booming thing, a quiet, nearly broken chuckle, rumbling through chest and lungs. Eyes fell, understanding the nuance of the joke, of striving to make moments bearable instead of stifling, instead of overwhelming – light, joviality, amiability, out of the hellhole he constantly spun upon. Then the gaze lifted as she shifted closer, in his sights, so he couldn’t hide, so he couldn’t stifle, so he couldn’t lurk in the damnation lurking below the surface. “Was worth an effort,” the half-smile there, resting in the depths of his mouth, in the sigh as he worked, in the echoes and fronds of more contemplations, considerations, and circumstances surrounding the void. “What would you like to see?” To make her visit worthwhile, to make it an adventure, rather than a muddling, confusing sentiment of movements, and motions.And while he went to further carve and portion the deer, the punch to his arm caused the arch of his brows, glancing down at her, snorting. “You would not have wanted any letters from me while I was ill.” He couldn’t imagine spelling out anything of worth, let alone sense. “But I will try.” A token promise and vow, an assurance to course its way through.
You aren't afraid of throwing yourself
in the path of danger
but you're terrified of letting anyone in
