['stop' is the word he's looking for. he has it ready, until Robin looks up at him, and he can't shake the feeling of warmth and weight on him. Robin's pulse is under his fingers. he's both centered in the moment and drifting at the same time--slowly spinning, maybe--and he wishes he could be all of one or the other. he either drank too much, or should have killed another bottle before climbing into bed.
he doesn't answer. his fingers work on Robin's wrist instead, as he's caught in limbo. frustrated.
he hopes that he won't remember this in the morning. that's the worst part. he can't walk away from this once the night it over. he knows the name of the person looking back at him, and they know his.
he forces a tense sigh, finally, because he doesn't know how to deal with this. he doesn't know what this means, and he feels too clouded to focus on it.]
no subject
he doesn't answer. his fingers work on Robin's wrist instead, as he's caught in limbo. frustrated.
he hopes that he won't remember this in the morning. that's the worst part. he can't walk away from this once the night it over. he knows the name of the person looking back at him, and they know his.
he forces a tense sigh, finally, because he doesn't know how to deal with this. he doesn't know what this means, and he feels too clouded to focus on it.]