[ his fingers make indents on the counter. there is a torrent of feeling in his chest that makes his breathing so tight, a vice-grip comfortably pressing in. he can't do this. he has to do this. why is it always one or the other? why can't the moment just be. why does he always have to make a fucking choice. it's agonizing.
no subject
he breathes it out. ]
Take them off.
[ a finger flick at the glasses. ]