[Understanding the consequences. He understands them well, even if his cognizance was flitting and fleeting at the time. He remembers the tremor in Connor’s touch, the shake in his voice, his expression as he pressed close and kept fingers against the gunshot wound that kept spilling, spilling, spilling crimson.
He hates that he was the reason for it, and yet there was no other way. No circumstance in which he would’ve done anything differently; the universe itself couldn’t bend his will in another direction, only sluice itself around it.]
I do understand. And I’m sorry.
[But this doesn’t make him immune from the guilt. He wouldn’t want to be. You reap what you sow.]
no subject
He hates that he was the reason for it, and yet there was no other way. No circumstance in which he would’ve done anything differently; the universe itself couldn’t bend his will in another direction, only sluice itself around it.]
I do understand. And I’m sorry.
[But this doesn’t make him immune from the guilt. He wouldn’t want to be. You reap what you sow.]
I never meant to frighten you. Or him.