"How long will you hold onto this."


█▐ ❆ ࿐ᐤ POCKETING HIS tender right hand, Gray’s countenance nearly soured. Sooner or later, the remorse that he HARBORED was going to suffocate him. stifle him. &&. drown him like a surge in the sea. Taking an unsteady breath, he fingered the chain at his neck before twirling the pendant between the calloused pad of his thumb &&. forefinger.
A rush of memories. A flood of detest.
❝ —– As long as I live, I guess. I hold onto the important things. ❞
Or at least he tried to. Because important things, important people-– all of them, somehow, had a cruel habit of slithering through his fingers like WATER. An ironic sentiment, really; Gray wouldn’t lose anyone else ( not if he could unyield to fate ).