This is why you get taken advantage of so easily, mi luz. You really should be less weak to pretty faces. [ well. he already knows it's only one (1) pretty face that he's weak to specifically, but anything to cut the weight of what's just been said.

objectively, they're far worse versions of themselves. but one could make the argument—the justification—that it took becoming these versions of themselves to finally grasp their concepts of a happy ending rather than chasing vague, ambiguous ideals. so are they? really? for whom, and for what purpose did they need to forge their own iberia, when what truly mattered had been in front of them all along? ] Don't forget what you've said today.

I love you.

[ in a litany that never seems to end, those words keep spilling out as they're both brought closer and closer to the edge. he covers thorns' hands with his own to ensure they reach their crescendo together, and even long after the high subsides, he clings to thorns and doesn't let go. he can't, and he won't, even if it means dragging thorns down to greater and greater depths each and every time they find themselves wrapped around each other.

does thorns realise how much closer they're creeping to inevitable double suicide end. does he. ]