"I've thought about asking for that to be done on more than one occasion." It was breathed out after half the water bottle was drained, and Liam perched on the edge of the dresser, bare toes digging into the threadbare carpet as Trystan sat so lightly on the edge of the bed. "But something keeps me from doing so. From going through with it." Maybe he should have wished them away, instead. Remembering was good, but troublesome, and forgetting, not knowing, not remembering... at least then he didn't realise what he didn't have.
There was a hollow hole in his chest, something that ached at times, but he did his best to push the discomfort away. Instead, he focused on the smell of the cigarette, spicy and heady in the air, memorable in its own way.
"I don't remember you very well. Just so you know." It was said bluntly, without fanfare or further explanation. The past was a foggy, hazy thing that he was afraid to delve too far into. It had healed some wounds, leaving him not as broken as he had been at one point, but the man that remained was fragile still, held together precariously.