There was a quick comeback to that - something involving logic, correlations, Old World Gentlemen and their resistance towards change - but it's almost instantly buried another wave of pain. It's sitting at the back of his head now, together with the rest of the things that he would have been thinking about if he wasn't so damned tired.
So Hikaru's shifting, taking care not to jostle his own body too much as he's letting one arm flop over his chest (because if he moved it any lower he's pretty sure he'd crack another rib), dropping the other to where the ash from the cigarette he's got between two stiff fingers can drip to the floor instead of the carpet. He's turning, as well, watching Riley move around.
He's lost count of the number of times he's found himself in a situation like this with the Daywalker, and he'll never forget the first (1801, this office, the night he realized that he was quite possibly dying all over again and it was the thought of leaving Lia behind/never resolving things with Alistair that made him realize that he was getting sick and fucking tired of it). He'll never forget, as well, how Riley always seems to do exactly the right things, and have the right words, and know when not to say anything at all. It's hard, almost impossible, to unlearn the responses he has developed to this sort of kindness, to tell himself, instead, not to relax, to keep up the front, to look for the soonest possible way to get out while he still could (before he broke).
So there he is now, watching the other King, wishing he could turn away and at least have enough time to not look exactly the way he felt, and knowing full well that he just couldn't do it.
Living could be such a bitch. Feeling occasionally made it that much worse.
no subject
So Hikaru's shifting, taking care not to jostle his own body too much as he's letting one arm flop over his chest (because if he moved it any lower he's pretty sure he'd crack another rib), dropping the other to where the ash from the cigarette he's got between two stiff fingers can drip to the floor instead of the carpet. He's turning, as well, watching Riley move around.
He's lost count of the number of times he's found himself in a situation like this with the Daywalker, and he'll never forget the first (1801, this office, the night he realized that he was quite possibly dying all over again and it was the thought of leaving Lia behind/never resolving things with Alistair that made him realize that he was getting sick and fucking tired of it). He'll never forget, as well, how Riley always seems to do exactly the right things, and have the right words, and know when not to say anything at all. It's hard, almost impossible, to unlearn the responses he has developed to this sort of kindness, to tell himself, instead, not to relax, to keep up the front, to look for the soonest possible way to get out while he still could (before he broke).
So there he is now, watching the other King, wishing he could turn away and at least have enough time to not look exactly the way he felt, and knowing full well that he just couldn't do it.
Living could be such a bitch. Feeling occasionally made it that much worse.