[ Suddenly, all Alan feels is an overwhelming urge to just stop. Not here in the loop, but in the room where he writes: to stop writing, to stop editing, to just let things be. Except he did that once, didn't he? He did that, and it ended badly. The darkness took him. It's taken him more than once, and it'll take him again, but he can't willingly let it take hold of him.
Stopping means he loses. Maybe the whole world loses. Or reality as they all know it loses. It comes down to the same thing, doesn't it? I have to keep fighting it, keep pushing through, but I'm so tired. No, I just have to remind myself what's waiting at the end of all of this. Jesse's going to be there. The life we talked about is going to be there. I just have to keep reminding myself about that.
But the shift in her demeanour and the way her eyes fall speaks volumes. ]
I'm sorry. I know this isn't what you want. It's not what I want.
[ I want this all to end, but it's not going to for a long time, is it? ]
I wish I could tell you this was it: the end. No more loops, no more anything except me coming home. Coming home to you.
[ He presses his forehead against hers in the way they always do. When he's out of the Dark Place and free of everything, will they still do that? He hopes so. It's them, something they share. And hopefully, they'll have the time to share more things besides, when this is all over. ]
I won't disappear. I won't leave you.
[ His own answer is immediate, said with no hesitation. Her statement doesn't feel strange to him. He knows the tones she uses to convey different things, and he knows what that tone means. It's not a question, but it's a statement of fact while also a sort of demand for reassurance: a promise. A promise that he's coming back home. Alive. Changed, of course, because how could he not be? But the point is that he's going to come home. It's a promise that he'll make as many times as it takes until it finally comes true. ]
There's no way I'm going to disappear. I won't.
[ He leans into the kiss with no hesitation, no regrets. If this is their last time together for awhile (he refuses to accept that it'll be the last time period), he wants to take her breath away and sweep her off her feet. A part of him feels like he has no right to demand anything from her, but in the way he kisses her is need, desperation, and yes, a demand for more. They've crossed that intimate bridge before, whether he remembers it or not, but he wants to cross it again. Maybe they won't be able to go all the way, as time is short, but he wants to go as far as they can.
Maybe in doing so, he's making a promise to her, a commitment, that he's still chasing after that life that they both want: the one they've dreamed of. Maybe it'll finally become a reality. ]
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Stopping means he loses. Maybe the whole world loses. Or reality as they all know it loses. It comes down to the same thing, doesn't it? I have to keep fighting it, keep pushing through, but I'm so tired. No, I just have to remind myself what's waiting at the end of all of this. Jesse's going to be there. The life we talked about is going to be there. I just have to keep reminding myself about that.
But the shift in her demeanour and the way her eyes fall speaks volumes. ]
I'm sorry. I know this isn't what you want. It's not what I want.
[ I want this all to end, but it's not going to for a long time, is it? ]
I wish I could tell you this was it: the end. No more loops, no more anything except me coming home. Coming home to you.
[ He presses his forehead against hers in the way they always do. When he's out of the Dark Place and free of everything, will they still do that? He hopes so. It's them, something they share. And hopefully, they'll have the time to share more things besides, when this is all over. ]
I won't disappear. I won't leave you.
[ His own answer is immediate, said with no hesitation. Her statement doesn't feel strange to him. He knows the tones she uses to convey different things, and he knows what that tone means. It's not a question, but it's a statement of fact while also a sort of demand for reassurance: a promise. A promise that he's coming back home. Alive. Changed, of course, because how could he not be? But the point is that he's going to come home. It's a promise that he'll make as many times as it takes until it finally comes true. ]
There's no way I'm going to disappear. I won't.
[ He leans into the kiss with no hesitation, no regrets. If this is their last time together for awhile (he refuses to accept that it'll be the last time period), he wants to take her breath away and sweep her off her feet. A part of him feels like he has no right to demand anything from her, but in the way he kisses her is need, desperation, and yes, a demand for more. They've crossed that intimate bridge before, whether he remembers it or not, but he wants to cross it again. Maybe they won't be able to go all the way, as time is short, but he wants to go as far as they can.
Maybe in doing so, he's making a promise to her, a commitment, that he's still chasing after that life that they both want: the one they've dreamed of. Maybe it'll finally become a reality. ]