[ He looks at her hand, the gentle splay of fingers reaching for his, and he's once again struck by the difference between them. His palm is longer, of course, wider, roughened with callouses and perpetually stained in bits of ink, but it's beyond that.
She uses touch to draw others in, to give comfort.
And Lavi?
He squeezes her hand briefly before letting it go, digits finding their way into his hair again as he closes his eye. ]
Maybe. Yes. No.
It's--complicated. I'm not who you think I am.
[ Deeper breaths, still trying to keep a rein on his emotions.
But he's human. Feeble, war-mongering, fragile. Flawed. Incapable of true objectivity. ]
no subject
She uses touch to draw others in, to give comfort.
And Lavi?
He squeezes her hand briefly before letting it go, digits finding their way into his hair again as he closes his eye. ]
Maybe. Yes. No.
It's--complicated. I'm not who you think I am.
[ Deeper breaths, still trying to keep a rein on his emotions.
But he's human. Feeble, war-mongering, fragile. Flawed. Incapable of true objectivity. ]
I'm not who I'm supposed to be.