sunburn and fever dreams

Xochipilli smiled slightly, as the other man grasped his hands and returned a firm, steady pressure. I think death would be preferable to this, don't you? He murmured the words, they fell from his lips like drops of acid. But somehow, I'm glad that we're... here. He was, on some level, glad that Carasson had come home.

Rough thumbs ran across the backs of Carasson's hands, it was the only thing he could think to do, given the way Cara swallowed, refused to make eye contact. He wondered if the other could not stand looking at him, now.

He averted his gaze when Cara apologized, when he noticed tears. The other man frantically wiped at his tears, and Chip exhaled softly. I'm... I want to forgive you. It wasn't... you, right? It was that spirit. He still didn't know its name. Nobody had told him.

One hand free, he curled his fingers through Cara's, and reached to brush his thumb under the others eyes. Don't cry. You'll make me cry. He huffed, an attempt at a weak laugh. It didn't land.

And then, he swallowed. And the topic shifted.

I'm... not sure. She went to find you. Thinking about Inala made dread settle in the pit of his stomach; he didn't want to think about her. He wanted to reconcile what he knew about Carasson, convince himself that he should forgive the man. That it hadn't been him, that none of it had been him.