*Tonight in camp, all is quiet, the world blanketed in soft white snow under the stars. You turn over in your bed, shifting to a more comfortable position under the blankets and
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*it's a lot easier for Charles like this, with both of them on the same level and no chair being an obstruction between them. he stays propped up on one arm, his other hand coming to rest at Leto's face, more comfortable than sentimental*
*the steady softness (not lightness, perhaps not even gentleness) of the touch of both his body and his mind make it clear that his question isn't one of confusion but of a continued seeking of greater understanding*
I wanted him to save me, a man who couldn't even save himself. Now, time trickles through my fingers. My sister isn't resigned, but she is scared for me. I see it in her eyes. She knows I suffers and wants to save me.
In the end, Charles Xavier, everyone is lost to me. It is fact. Inescapable truth.
It's just me, Leto.
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*pushes himself up far enough to meet Leto with a kiss, quiet but intense, despite the playfulness he'd just been displaying*
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Leto...?
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What isn't?
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But then, I think, I was always a little in love with my father.
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I wanted him to save me, a man who couldn't even save himself. Now, time trickles through my fingers. My sister isn't resigned, but she is scared for me. I see it in her eyes. She knows I suffers and wants to save me.
In the end, Charles Xavier, everyone is lost to me. It is fact. Inescapable truth.
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Is there nothing that you can keep with you? Even if it only causes the rest of the loss to stand out in sharper relief?
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If it's necessary, though...
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What is necessary? I am impervious to pain and age. No. This is what I want.
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