joe sighs, shoulders slumping in apparent defeat, holding the weight of all those 1000 years on his shoulders. part of him wants to scream at booker that having nicky at his side was painful in a different way — the terror of wondering if every death would be the last death when they put their lives on the line so often. especially nicky who would throw himself in front of any of the others and die so they didn't have to. he has watched his lover die hundreds of thousands of times, in some truly horrific ways, and every second that passes where nicky doesn't draw breath feels like it will unravel joe entirely.
part of him wants to force that experience on booker but it feels pointless so he say nothing of the sort. ]
no subject
[ nicky.
joe sighs, shoulders slumping in apparent defeat, holding the weight of all those 1000 years on his shoulders. part of him wants to scream at booker that having nicky at his side was painful in a different way — the terror of wondering if every death would be the last death when they put their lives on the line so often. especially nicky who would throw himself in front of any of the others and die so they didn't have to. he has watched his lover die hundreds of thousands of times, in some truly horrific ways, and every second that passes where nicky doesn't draw breath feels like it will unravel joe entirely.
part of him wants to force that experience on booker but it feels pointless so he say nothing of the sort. ]
I want falafel. And your flask.