[He feels her touch, always a welcome sensation. Dimitri drops his hand down, on top of hers when it rests in his lap, and gives her a fond, sidelong glance. A huff of amusement escapes his lips.]

And yet I was the first to ever carry you, though perhaps you do not remember it.

[Five years ago, when she had passed out after battle — a memory that will never loose itself from his head.

But that was the exception rather than the rule, wasn’t it? She had always been the pillar of the support, not just for himself, but for everyone. Even now, she is the one sitting here, wanting to hear about the ugliness of his nightmares. Whatever form their relationship has started to take, this much has always stayed the same.]

My pain... it is always the same, though. The same nightmares of Duscur, the royal camp set on fire and men swooping in to kill everyone. [He closes his eye, head pulsing again.] The same ghosts that haunt me after I awaken; I see them at a distance now, and they are only fleeting compared to before, yet they are there. I can feel their eyes on my back when they are not.

[He has decided to walk forward, past the skeletons, but many still cling to the footsteps left behind.]

You used to be one of them. Did you know that? If I did not dream of that day, which was rare, I dreamt of other faces lost to me. You, too, looked at me with scornful eyes while I slept.

[Unlike how she looks at him now, in reality, something he could lose himself in if he really tried. Dimitri leans in, instinctively seeking that closeness, until their shoulders touch.]

I am glad it was never the reality.