Carlisle reddens, his hands wringing together as he tries again -- slower this time. "I know, truly," he starts, his eyes flicking to the ground. He puts a hand to his chest, continuing. "I feel it here, within our Bond, but it," —his gaze lands on Glacius as he puts a hand to his own temple— "it's hard to make sense of it here. The path of logic often struggles to find its way through the chambers of the heart."
Even now, his head tells him that Glacius wouldn't say such things if he didn't feel they needed reiterating -- that Carlisle needs a reminder, needs that reassurance. He does need it, and he knows it, and though he realizes that is just something he'll have to accept, he finds himself frustrated with his inability to do so. His time may not be as brief as it once was, but he should still attempt to make the best of it, lest Glacius find he's wasting his time and—
Stop. Carlisle manages to quell that spiral by falling back on bad habits -- ones that have been redirected in a more positive direction than before, but arguably bad nonetheless. Glacius would disapprove of such thinking; he might not consider Carlisle to be a disappointment, but he would disapprove all the same. If he cannot think better of himself for his own well-being, he should do it for Glacius, his partner for whom he'd do anything.
If nothing else, his guilt has always been a strong motivator. He reaches for Glacius' hand, wanting to envelop himself in his partner's arms; there is no place he feels safer, even from the tempest of his own self-loathing.
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Even now, his head tells him that Glacius wouldn't say such things if he didn't feel they needed reiterating -- that Carlisle needs a reminder, needs that reassurance. He does need it, and he knows it, and though he realizes that is just something he'll have to accept, he finds himself frustrated with his inability to do so. His time may not be as brief as it once was, but he should still attempt to make the best of it, lest Glacius find he's wasting his time and—
Stop. Carlisle manages to quell that spiral by falling back on bad habits -- ones that have been redirected in a more positive direction than before, but arguably bad nonetheless. Glacius would disapprove of such thinking; he might not consider Carlisle to be a disappointment, but he would disapprove all the same. If he cannot think better of himself for his own well-being, he should do it for Glacius, his partner for whom he'd do anything.
If nothing else, his guilt has always been a strong motivator. He reaches for Glacius' hand, wanting to envelop himself in his partner's arms; there is no place he feels safer, even from the tempest of his own self-loathing.