That's plain enough for him. "Of course," Dorian agrees, and gently withdraws his hand. He curls his fingers loosely into his palm to disguise their nervous quivering as his heart hammers somewhere near his throat and his stomach roils with anxious nausea. Outwardly at least he is mostly placid, thank the Maker. "No distractions. Understood."
The Qun is Bull's life. He knows that. He's always known that. And that is the worst part of all of this. He's been aware all along that this was a terrible idea, had warned himself against becoming too emotionally involved at every step and junction, and yet he did it anyway. It's been nothing but wishful thinking all along, and he has only himself to blame for the hurt he feels now. Bull is only acting according to his nature, one he had never tried to obfuscate. Dorian can't blame him for that.
"Well," he says, false levity as he forces a smile that doesn't quite reach his eyes. Bitterness draws the corners of his mouth too tight. "It was fun while it lasted, wasn't it?" Reducing everything they'd shared to that seems so cheap, but what else can he do? He has to stop giving it so much emotional weight if he's ever going to put this behind him.
There is still a part of him that urges him to fight harder for this, that tells him that he is giving up on the best thing that's ever happened to him. And that much is true, but how can he possibly compare to the Qun in Bull's life? It's become clear that Bull has had to pick one or the other, and he has chosen. It's deeply, viscerally painful, but it's no surprise.
Bull feels something in his chest shift when he says it. He's letting go of something he didn't realize he'd been holding so tightly. Dorian has gotten past most of his armor and Bull doesn't remember when exactly it happened. Little moments here and there of vulnerability and affection, and now he has to close himself off again.
But he does have to. There simply isn't an alternative. It would be dangerous for him, dangerous for Dorian, if they were to continue this. Bull knows who and what he is, knows what purpose he may be asked to serve. Knows that to put anything before the Qun is to unravel what he has believed his entire life. And he doesn't know that he has the strength or the bravery to do that. His whole life only makes sense under the Qun.
He knows that Dorian is in pain. The tight draw of his mouth, the false levity, the superficial smile. The way he seems ready to sweep their entire history under the rug. But Bull doesn't know what he can do to lessen the hurt. Give Dorian space, time.
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The Qun is Bull's life. He knows that. He's always known that. And that is the worst part of all of this. He's been aware all along that this was a terrible idea, had warned himself against becoming too emotionally involved at every step and junction, and yet he did it anyway. It's been nothing but wishful thinking all along, and he has only himself to blame for the hurt he feels now. Bull is only acting according to his nature, one he had never tried to obfuscate. Dorian can't blame him for that.
"Well," he says, false levity as he forces a smile that doesn't quite reach his eyes. Bitterness draws the corners of his mouth too tight. "It was fun while it lasted, wasn't it?" Reducing everything they'd shared to that seems so cheap, but what else can he do? He has to stop giving it so much emotional weight if he's ever going to put this behind him.
There is still a part of him that urges him to fight harder for this, that tells him that he is giving up on the best thing that's ever happened to him. And that much is true, but how can he possibly compare to the Qun in Bull's life? It's become clear that Bull has had to pick one or the other, and he has chosen. It's deeply, viscerally painful, but it's no surprise.
no subject
Bull feels something in his chest shift when he says it. He's letting go of something he didn't realize he'd been holding so tightly. Dorian has gotten past most of his armor and Bull doesn't remember when exactly it happened. Little moments here and there of vulnerability and affection, and now he has to close himself off again.
But he does have to. There simply isn't an alternative. It would be dangerous for him, dangerous for Dorian, if they were to continue this. Bull knows who and what he is, knows what purpose he may be asked to serve. Knows that to put anything before the Qun is to unravel what he has believed his entire life. And he doesn't know that he has the strength or the bravery to do that. His whole life only makes sense under the Qun.
He knows that Dorian is in pain. The tight draw of his mouth, the false levity, the superficial smile. The way he seems ready to sweep their entire history under the rug. But Bull doesn't know what he can do to lessen the hurt. Give Dorian space, time.
"Good night, Dorian."