"I...," Abraham was at a loss for words then and any attempt for one to escape his throat was thwarted, all of them becoming stuck there as if their intent was to choke him. He had told himself he wasn't going to make excuses and maybe I'm sorry counted. Decades of justifications sat on his lips, hours of explanations hung in the air unsaid, because in his heart, Abraham didn't believe in any of them enough to give them life. He had fled for their life; for a thousand reasons he had fled. In the end, those reasons didn't matter because they couldn't affect the ripples that turned into waves, the consequences of his decision. A decision he had made... alone.
That was the most selfish Abraham had ever been in all his life and all his death. It was also his most cowardly.
Instead of speaking, Abraham kept his focus centered on maintaining this body, though he was growing weaker by the second. He anchored himself in the color of Ciaran's eyes, with the sound of his voice. Keeping himself manifested was disorienting as he was overwhelmed by the flood of sensations but he felt the most real in this moment that it was as equally mesmerizing.
Feeling Ciaran pull him into an embrace was almost what broke Abraham apart but he fought harder to hold himself together, bringing his own arms up to hold Ciaran closer. In the back of his mind, he was aware it must have felt as if he was encasing his partner in ice, but he couldn't force himself to let go.
"Ciaran." His voice was breathless, too soft and too quiet, and he was struggling both with his thoughts and with his control over his body. Abraham tried to speak again but his voice no longer seemed to work. Instead, he held on tighter, praying to express at least a quarter of what he felt through touch rather than with speech.