[There's tension there, in the gritted inhale that he manages in response to Alastair's question, eyeline lifting despite his low-set jaw.]
If guilt is truly wringing your heart, brother... [Gray starts, pausing only to let his throat adjust to something that isn't drowning-- that isn't gasping for air-- words chosen for a dig between ribs that he can't physically match, locked away behind rotted bars.] then hurry up and end it.
[He won't tolerate a slow, biting death. Not with Alastair within reach, playing the part of a mournful martyr, suffering the plight of the world they live in, wholly blameless for the betrayal he'd pressed on Grayson's broken spine. The thought makes him ill beyond weakness and starvation.]
no subject
If guilt is truly wringing your heart, brother... [Gray starts, pausing only to let his throat adjust to something that isn't drowning-- that isn't gasping for air-- words chosen for a dig between ribs that he can't physically match, locked away behind rotted bars.] then hurry up and end it.
[He won't tolerate a slow, biting death. Not with Alastair within reach, playing the part of a mournful martyr, suffering the plight of the world they live in, wholly blameless for the betrayal he'd pressed on Grayson's broken spine. The thought makes him ill beyond weakness and starvation.]