He'd had an idea. To invite Rafal for a friendly spar in his yard, knowing that he knows how to make contact when he's fighting, not flirting, and they could just... lead up to being in each others' spaces. But the more Rafal talks, the more Claude realizes the folly of his ways. It may be an easier way to get there, but for once, the Council is correct in their assessment.
Not that he should be forced into it, of course. There's a terrible invasion of privacy and ridiculous besides, but he's beginning to realize that if there's one thing Rafal needs, it's to learn what friendly touch looks like, feels like. Something meant to help, to show camaraderie and closeness and love and affection, not as some byproduct of pain, pain, pain.
It makes him want to reach out for Rafal's hand himself, his own hand large and warm, as though he could shepherd Rafal into happier, more peaceful days single-handedly. He doesn't. He can't. But he'd like to. This is more than just a sentencing -- this is important. He collects his thoughts. ]
I'm sorry, Rafal. I can't imagine. I don't think anyone could. [ The only one who can is dead and gone. ] I believe she understood your love for her, deep down, despite all that you had gone through together. And I... realize how difficult it must be to accept another when that's all you've ever known.
[ Another's touch, another's affection, as though it could somehow override his memories of Nel, as though that's something he doesn't deserve. ]
But you've changed. You've changed in so many ways. [ Their footfalls feel heavy, loud on the cobblestones beneath their feet. ] It's time for you to experience something new for yourself too. To know only that -- it's torture.
[ He removes one glove and grips the sleeve of it in one hand, offers the other half to Rafal. ]
Here. Hold the other side.
[ When he said they'd take it slow, he means it. This looks foolish, feels foolish... but it's one step closer to holding his hand. ]
no subject
He'd had an idea. To invite Rafal for a friendly spar in his yard, knowing that he knows how to make contact when he's fighting, not flirting, and they could just... lead up to being in each others' spaces. But the more Rafal talks, the more Claude realizes the folly of his ways. It may be an easier way to get there, but for once, the Council is correct in their assessment.
Not that he should be forced into it, of course. There's a terrible invasion of privacy and ridiculous besides, but he's beginning to realize that if there's one thing Rafal needs, it's to learn what friendly touch looks like, feels like. Something meant to help, to show camaraderie and closeness and love and affection, not as some byproduct of pain, pain, pain.
It makes him want to reach out for Rafal's hand himself, his own hand large and warm, as though he could shepherd Rafal into happier, more peaceful days single-handedly. He doesn't. He can't. But he'd like to. This is more than just a sentencing -- this is important. He collects his thoughts. ]
I'm sorry, Rafal. I can't imagine. I don't think anyone could. [ The only one who can is dead and gone. ] I believe she understood your love for her, deep down, despite all that you had gone through together. And I... realize how difficult it must be to accept another when that's all you've ever known.
[ Another's touch, another's affection, as though it could somehow override his memories of Nel, as though that's something he doesn't deserve. ]
But you've changed. You've changed in so many ways. [ Their footfalls feel heavy, loud on the cobblestones beneath their feet. ] It's time for you to experience something new for yourself too. To know only that -- it's torture.
[ He removes one glove and grips the sleeve of it in one hand, offers the other half to Rafal. ]
Here. Hold the other side.
[ When he said they'd take it slow, he means it. This looks foolish, feels foolish... but it's one step closer to holding his hand. ]