"S'okay," He replies, placid, nearly unconcerned. In the morning, if he remembers this at all, it will be with a frantic, mortified guilt, but at the moment, Sorrel is calm, "You're not the only one, y'know? Nobody ever sees me. Like a secret."
And here he is, wearing Dirth'amen on his face. Lord of Secrets indeed, ha! He snorts at that, private laughter for a private joke. His eyes are closed, and he's halfway drowsing now, completely unconscious of Cyril's personal crisis.
"'Cept Bel, 'course. But that's just how she is, sees everything. M'so proud of her. She got out! I'm never gonna..."
"But, I do see you," Cyril said before he could stop himself. "Sorrel..." he starts again, but he feel like there's a hand gripping onto his throat stopping the words and making him choke.
It's the same hand that always stops him from saying things the way that he means, and guides him to pretend he can't take anything personal too seriously.
The only answer Cryil gets is a soft, formless sound, part-query, but mostly breath. Sorrel is more than merely half drowsing, now, with his head down on Cyril's shoulder, a warm limp weight: he's asleep.
Cyril takes a deep breath and feels almost relieved that Sorrel has passed out and lightly won't remember any of this conversation. Slowly, he reaches up to adjust Sorrel into a more comfortable position. A part of his chest still aches from what Sorrel had told him, and probably always will.
It wasn't that he didn't want Sorrel, it had just been so complicated with Sorrel's mother and his own complicated and twisted feelings. He smooths out Sorrel's hair and lets him rest against him for now. Eventually he'll have to be brought back to the Clan and left here. That thought hurts most of all.
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And here he is, wearing Dirth'amen on his face. Lord of Secrets indeed, ha! He snorts at that, private laughter for a private joke. His eyes are closed, and he's halfway drowsing now, completely unconscious of Cyril's personal crisis.
"'Cept Bel, 'course. But that's just how she is, sees everything. M'so proud of her. She got out! I'm never gonna..."
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It's the same hand that always stops him from saying things the way that he means, and guides him to pretend he can't take anything personal too seriously.
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And now Cyril, and his feelings, are alone.
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It wasn't that he didn't want Sorrel, it had just been so complicated with Sorrel's mother and his own complicated and twisted feelings. He smooths out Sorrel's hair and lets him rest against him for now. Eventually he'll have to be brought back to the Clan and left here. That thought hurts most of all.