[It's amazing what a difference having his face clean makes. It shouldn't, really; there's no reason why something as small as that should have such a dramatic impact on the way he's feeling, but maybe it's psychological or maybe it's just such a small thoughtless comfort that it resonates with him. Either way, it helps more than he's expecting it to. It makes his skin feel cool instead of thick and tacky.
It's only when Rohan reaches for his hands that it really seems to sink in that what he's doing with the rag isn't just means to some end — it is the end, in and of itself. It's odd and uncomfortable in its intimacy, that he's just sitting here being cleansed with no real effort on his own part. It's the kind of thing that shows up in religious stories, sacred tales. He's supposed to be feeling like the exact opposite of that, and yet here he is.
Is that what this is? Washing his sins away?
His heart seems to stutter in his chest, even as his breath catches. It overwhelms him, how desperately he wants to believe in that. It's nothing he's asked for, nothing he's sought out, and maybe that means he never has to stop and ask himself whether it's something he warrants or deserves. Maybe it's something he can just have, as inexplicably as he'd gained his Star Platinum. Maybe it doesn't have to make sense. Maybe it simply is.
Tell me what you want, Rohan says.
He closes his eyes, wanting so much, and wonders if any of it will even be able to make it out of his throat.]
Tell me...what you see. Again. When you l-look at me.
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It's only when Rohan reaches for his hands that it really seems to sink in that what he's doing with the rag isn't just means to some end — it is the end, in and of itself. It's odd and uncomfortable in its intimacy, that he's just sitting here being cleansed with no real effort on his own part. It's the kind of thing that shows up in religious stories, sacred tales. He's supposed to be feeling like the exact opposite of that, and yet here he is.
Is that what this is? Washing his sins away?
His heart seems to stutter in his chest, even as his breath catches. It overwhelms him, how desperately he wants to believe in that. It's nothing he's asked for, nothing he's sought out, and maybe that means he never has to stop and ask himself whether it's something he warrants or deserves. Maybe it's something he can just have, as inexplicably as he'd gained his Star Platinum. Maybe it doesn't have to make sense. Maybe it simply is.
Tell me what you want, Rohan says.
He closes his eyes, wanting so much, and wonders if any of it will even be able to make it out of his throat.]
Tell me...what you see. Again. When you l-look at me.
[He draws in a wobbly, shuddering breath.]
Tell me what I am, Rohan.