He didn't want to. He didn't want to let go of Peter and risk the chance he might fade away again. He didn't want this to be a hallucination or some kind of post-death vision. He also didn't want to draw back from the young man and let him see the tears in his eyes, but what was pride when you were standing on the platform to the train to take you to hell?
Huh, when did he decide he even believed in hell or heaven?
He realized belatedly, that he'd let a few more moments pass without reacting to Peter's words. What had he said?
"Yeah," he said, in a strained, small voice. He pulled back and tried not to look the kid in the eyes, but he couldn't help it. He was so relieved to see his stupid, irritatingly perfect face. The face, he touched lightly like it was made of something incredibly fragile and precious, still trying to convince himself this was real. Letting his hand drop, he broke eye contact to look at the train. "Sorry, yeah."
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Huh, when did he decide he even believed in hell or heaven?
He realized belatedly, that he'd let a few more moments pass without reacting to Peter's words. What had he said?
"Yeah," he said, in a strained, small voice. He pulled back and tried not to look the kid in the eyes, but he couldn't help it. He was so relieved to see his stupid, irritatingly perfect face. The face, he touched lightly like it was made of something incredibly fragile and precious, still trying to convince himself this was real. Letting his hand drop, he broke eye contact to look at the train. "Sorry, yeah."