[ It’s said simply, and with a quiet sort of sincerity. Harold so rarely raises his voice, Carver’s realized. He so rarely has to. But he chooses his words with care, commits himself to their echo through the world.
There’s something to admire in that. Something holy, maybe.
Carver scrubs a tired hand through his hair, watching Harold. Wondering what the fuck he’s supposed to do with himself now. ]
It changes something when you do, [ Carver admits softly. ] In your soul.
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There’s something to admire in that. Something holy, maybe.
Carver scrubs a tired hand through his hair, watching Harold. Wondering what the fuck he’s supposed to do with himself now. ]
It changes something when you do, [ Carver admits softly. ] In your soul.