[Spike lets his hand drop, only to keep hold of Vicious's fingers. It's not a familiar feeling, or one he'd missed; when had they ever held each other's hands? Not since they were children. He can't claim to have missed it while Vicious was intangible. But here he is.
He shakes his head, with that soft look like he's absolving Vicious, like some sort of saint with a gun. The kind of smile-less sweetness usually reserved for women, that he'd given to Vicious so very rarely— never too much, that Vicious would be coddled in a such a cold world, but never so little that he would starve of their friendship.]
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Date: 2023-03-01 06:05 am (UTC)He shakes his head, with that soft look like he's absolving Vicious, like some sort of saint with a gun. The kind of smile-less sweetness usually reserved for women, that he'd given to Vicious so very rarely— never too much, that Vicious would be coddled in a such a cold world, but never so little that he would starve of their friendship.]
You weren't.
[Plain and simple. It isn't Vicious's fault.]