[Maybe it's the lines under his eyes. Those are something he doesn't usually project. If only because he forgets they're even there half the time. The exhausted expression he's worn for months on end. One hand, slowly exposed with the use of his teeth and determination, is metal. From bicep to fingertip. The other is wrapped in strips of pink cloth, the flesh and bone fingers held stiffly.]
[She looks younger than he'd thought. Somehow more vulnerable than he'd thought, despite how he knows she's fighting. How he knows she's strong enough to get through this.]
It means a lot to you, to be able to do this, doesn't it?
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[She looks younger than he'd thought. Somehow more vulnerable than he'd thought, despite how he knows she's fighting. How he knows she's strong enough to get through this.]
It means a lot to you, to be able to do this, doesn't it?