[But he does need to do penance. He'll always need to. It's his punishment for what he'd caused; while he never really thinks it literally, it's completely and utterly true. So he looks at her, trying to look for something—maybe hoping she doesn't believe that, or hoping it's true despite his every thought that it isn't. Eventually he just swallows hard and softens his stare, and his shoulders slump at the sudden invisible weight; added weight, without warning.]
... I'm just tired.
[That's it. He's just—tired. But it's gotten to the worst point of weariness: the point where living exhausts you, down to the bone. He's so tired, Heather. He closes his eyes and scrubs a hand across one eyelid, looking the part. And then he says it again, like he's trying to make it a casual statement for himself, against all the odds.]
no subject
... I'm just tired.
[That's it. He's just—tired. But it's gotten to the worst point of weariness: the point where living exhausts you, down to the bone. He's so tired, Heather. He closes his eyes and scrubs a hand across one eyelid, looking the part. And then he says it again, like he's trying to make it a casual statement for himself, against all the odds.]
I'm just tired.