[he can't help a sick sort of feeling that rises in his chest. it's this too-familiar lump of thought that climbs it's way up until he can't take keeping it down. he lets go of Coil's face to wrap his arms past his shoulders and hold him, pull him close. he holds on too tightly, presses too close. it's the sort of grip that'll leave a bruise where his fingers are digging into his arms.]
You don't have to. [he's still angry, but it's the kind of angry that hurts.] You don't have to forgive yourself. Just stop running. Just do something.
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You don't have to. [he's still angry, but it's the kind of angry that hurts.] You don't have to forgive yourself. Just stop running. Just do something.