[ The urge to reach out, wind his arms around him, bury his face into the back of his neck—it pops up, saddled with the same old wounds. He hurt her, too. He didn't want to be alone then. He doesn't want to be alone now. ]

Yeah. Me too.

[ Really, most people don't deserve death, but she especially didn't. He doesn't deserve sympathy for her. He doesn't deserve sympathy for what happened to him and Tempest, and he probably doesn't deserve it for the story that was implanted in him.

But oh my god, does he ever want to hold him right now. ]

I made a lot of mistakes with her. [ And then, breaking up his monotony just a little, with a short huff that might be some kind of humourless laugh: ] Made one of them as "Rafael" too, apparently. He should've asked you to move in with him.