Abraham struggled to contain himself, to keep his image whole and unbroken when all the small, frenzied pieces wanted nothing more than to fly apart. He buzzed with a anxious energy, strong enough to leave him feeling jittery, strong enough to scramble near passersby's mobile devices much to their dismay. Wrapping his arms around himself, Abraham tried to keep himself together as if he could hold all of himself in if he held on tight enough. It was an old habit of his, one he had always done when he was overwhelmed. It was an old habit he had lost as their relationship grew, as Abraham began to depend on Ciaran for the support he had only gotten from himself. But in the years since losing him, Abraham had fallen far back into his old ways, for better or for worse.
Every day he spent overseas, Abraham had dreamed of the moment when he would see Ciaran again, of what he would say. But what was there to say? With his cowardly disappearance, Abraham had hurt the only person he had ever loved and what excuses, what explanations, could he give that could have ever been enough. If he had spent every waking moment these last seventy odd years apologizing, he feared even that would not have been enough.
Just as a plethora of emotions ran rampant through Ciaran, a set just as powerful tore through the wraith. Overwhelming joy. Suffocating regret. Immobilizing fear. An all-encompassing love. All of those things grappled inside of him, a silent war that showed in the lines of his face, raged in the blue of his eyes. Abraham was at a loss for words now, all his many years of carefully crafted monologues lost to the winds as he stood there.
There had been many things Abraham had expected and somehow, he had not expected tears.
Rushing forward, his cold fingers manifested in time to brush them away as if they could have permanently stained his once-lover's face. "I'm sorry," he whispered quietly. "I'm sorry."