He wants to run away. From those words which escape against his palms. From Carlisle saying them for what he's saying them for. From the fact it sits on his tongue, banging at his teeth to say it's fine or he shouldn't, a million innocuous apology brush offs from decades counted in one endless day, a life together.
Carlisle apologies too often. Edward too infrequently.
He pulled his hands off Carlisle's mouth, with a half warning look as though he might do it again. He wouldn't but its in him to look sharp from the tattered edge those two words pluck at as though to unbind cloth from a few loose strings.
He doesn't fight free from Carlisle's hands even though his own settle, one in his pocket and one at his side, when his shoulders give a graceful shrug, his voice far calmer than he expected it would manage,
"One person more than before. Better that than none."
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Carlisle apologies too often. Edward too infrequently.
He pulled his hands off Carlisle's mouth, with a half warning look as though he might do it again. He wouldn't but its in him to look sharp from the tattered edge those two words pluck at as though to unbind cloth from a few loose strings.
He doesn't fight free from Carlisle's hands even though his own settle, one in his pocket and one at his side, when his shoulders give a graceful shrug, his voice far calmer than he expected it would manage,
"One person more than before. Better that than none."
Better that it was you.