It feels like it should be a victory - Rama will go back home if and when this place allows it. Crozier won't have to put up a fight or beg for Ram to see reason; one day the aurora will open up and Crozier will do as he's always done: he'll say goodbye. It should be a relief, but that would mean cutting himself off from the joy that's been living in his heart all these months.
He'd stay anyway. Rama would choose him if he could. It's not like Sophia at all, who wouldn't choose to be his wife even if the world hadn't been so judgemental. Ram would have him, age and one-hand and constant nightmares and melancholy and all.
Christ, he's a lucky man. It makes him a little sick from the whiplash of the emotions, some of his own, some of Ram's. Maybe he is what Rama deserves. Maybe he can believe he's of some worth still, even if he has to claw the idea out from his self-loathing and sadness.
Crozier brings his fingers up to Ram's cheek, his own vision blurring around the edges as he wipes the damp from underneath his eyes. Ah, damn it all, he can't cry too. He smiles instead, watery and pathetic, and he tries to bring him into another embrace, this one slightly less awkward in the way they're twisted together. "We won't know when you'll get the opportunity to leave. It could be tomorrow, it could be in months. Years. I'll keep you well until we have to part." And be grateful for every single moment until then.
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It feels like it should be a victory - Rama will go back home if and when this place allows it. Crozier won't have to put up a fight or beg for Ram to see reason; one day the aurora will open up and Crozier will do as he's always done: he'll say goodbye. It should be a relief, but that would mean cutting himself off from the joy that's been living in his heart all these months.
He'd stay anyway. Rama would choose him if he could. It's not like Sophia at all, who wouldn't choose to be his wife even if the world hadn't been so judgemental. Ram would have him, age and one-hand and constant nightmares and melancholy and all.
Christ, he's a lucky man. It makes him a little sick from the whiplash of the emotions, some of his own, some of Ram's. Maybe he is what Rama deserves. Maybe he can believe he's of some worth still, even if he has to claw the idea out from his self-loathing and sadness.
Crozier brings his fingers up to Ram's cheek, his own vision blurring around the edges as he wipes the damp from underneath his eyes. Ah, damn it all, he can't cry too. He smiles instead, watery and pathetic, and he tries to bring him into another embrace, this one slightly less awkward in the way they're twisted together. "We won't know when you'll get the opportunity to leave. It could be tomorrow, it could be in months. Years. I'll keep you well until we have to part." And be grateful for every single moment until then.