[Honestly? He's not that desperate for the headache.
Not right now. The pressure building in his skull is just shy of his limits, the kind of expansion in a cramped space that strains him, that he can feel in the cracks of his thoughts.
Some of which follow her, restless and dissatisfied; they circle and pace and loop back on themselves, a cognitive ouroboros. He doesn't waver. Exhaustion leaks in, and he lets that drown them. And perhaps later the coldness of his heart, if he even has one, will ice everything back over.
For now he turns his back on her fully, and walks away in the opposite direction.]
no subject
Not right now. The pressure building in his skull is just shy of his limits, the kind of expansion in a cramped space that strains him, that he can feel in the cracks of his thoughts.
Some of which follow her, restless and dissatisfied; they circle and pace and loop back on themselves, a cognitive ouroboros. He doesn't waver. Exhaustion leaks in, and he lets that drown them. And perhaps later the coldness of his heart, if he even has one, will ice everything back over.
For now he turns his back on her fully, and walks away in the opposite direction.]