It's so shocking that it takes a moment for what she's saying to sink in, but when it does the surprise and concern in his eyes shifts, first to horror, then to anguish. "My god," he says, aghast beyond all possible words. "Su – "
But what is there to say? Nothing. It clogs in his chest and his throat as though someone has ripped his voice from him.
(She feels so real. She feels so alive and warm, her hand gentle at his cheek, her eyes on his. But in the end, they are both ghosts, are they not? Ghosts who only remember what it was to live and breathe and age and hurt. And die.)
And the look in her eyes – the very knowledge that she is, in this moment, concerned for him takes his breath utterly away. Tenderly, he lifts his hand to take hers from his cheek, to press her fingers between his palms. "I'm so sorry, Su," he says, low. "Dear one, I am so sorry."
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But what is there to say? Nothing. It clogs in his chest and his throat as though someone has ripped his voice from him.
(She feels so real. She feels so alive and warm, her hand gentle at his cheek, her eyes on his. But in the end, they are both ghosts, are they not? Ghosts who only remember what it was to live and breathe and age and hurt. And die.)
And the look in her eyes – the very knowledge that she is, in this moment, concerned for him takes his breath utterly away. Tenderly, he lifts his hand to take hers from his cheek, to press her fingers between his palms. "I'm so sorry, Su," he says, low. "Dear one, I am so sorry."