[ he isn't anticipating any kind of advice or any kind of answer that would somehow relieve the aching pressure of the night, not when it's just a touch of a much bigger problem, the conversation he'd ha with clara only having fueled the pain of a different kind of secret he's keeping. even with marta, he isn't sure the worth in confessing that particular one tonight.

but it's enough that she's here, because if it weren't for her, he'd just be surrounded by ghosts, by whispers from quell or even rei, their voices translating the judgment he casts on himself. it's a different kind of torment.

when she shifts, his eyes turn to give her a glance, exhaling a quiet breath. ]

I wanted her to hate me. When she wanted to end it, I ... said terrible things to her so that it'd keep her away. Because it — it would have been harder if we stayed close. Even though that's what she still wants, I — [ his thumb circles the lip of the bottle, his eyes falling to it. maybe it's the whiskey keeping his own lips loose.

there's a million things that come to mind. the deal that he made for clara, the secret he's trying to keep, the memories that will eventually fade, the way he wants to protect her, the way he wants to protect the doctor too. it's all the reasons he tells himself constantly, reasons for pushing her away, and yet when he parts his mouth again to speak — ] I don't want the reminder that I wasn't enough.