[When the shower is cut off it doesn't take long for the warm steam to evaporate around them. The chill air against his damp skin causes shivers to ran through Richard's spine, making him shudder. But yet, despite of it all, he did not feel the least cold when standing in there, on the arms of the other man. The almost uncharacteristically gentle kiss on top of his head manages to quell some of the anxieties storming in his mind, chasing away some of the restlessness from his body. While the gesture might for Silco's sake, calming his nerves as he tries to find a way to approach the dark tale of his past, it definitely is smart move considering Richard's state. When they finally pull apart from the embrace, Richard does not fret nor fear, instead of only looking down at their joined hands as they walk across the bathroom.
The forest is not as threatening anymore.
He pulls the blanket further on himself, and turns his eyes back up to Silco. There still traces of distress in his face, brows knitted together into a frown as he listens to the story that the other man weaves to him. Richard bows his head down just a notch as Silco proceeds to dry off his hair, but other than that he stays still like a statue, allowing his companion to take the time and space he needs to finish his words.
There is something very familiar in the scene that Silco describes to him. Of course, he could not really relate to the dramatic confrontation with the hostages, but other than that? Having to choose which direction to go, which voice to listen to. Which future to choose for himself. Both Joan and father leading him to different paths towards to Henry. Choosing George's fate. Buckingham pinning him down on the bed of rose petals, forcing the darkness out of him.
His thoughts led him to the first time when Silco had talked to him about his death. And how he had chosen to spend his last moments before the angel of death had claimed him. Closing his eyes, Richard reaches to take Silco's hand to his own and brings it up to against his cheek, leaning into it and nuzzling gently to it.]
I feel my respect towards you grown ten-fold. [He says, voice soft and gentle -- just like the brief kiss he places on middle of Silco's palm.] I see you found the light and held it in your hands.
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The forest is not as threatening anymore.
He pulls the blanket further on himself, and turns his eyes back up to Silco. There still traces of distress in his face, brows knitted together into a frown as he listens to the story that the other man weaves to him. Richard bows his head down just a notch as Silco proceeds to dry off his hair, but other than that he stays still like a statue, allowing his companion to take the time and space he needs to finish his words.
There is something very familiar in the scene that Silco describes to him. Of course, he could not really relate to the dramatic confrontation with the hostages, but other than that? Having to choose which direction to go, which voice to listen to. Which future to choose for himself. Both Joan and father leading him to different paths towards to Henry. Choosing George's fate. Buckingham pinning him down on the bed of rose petals, forcing the darkness out of him.
His thoughts led him to the first time when Silco had talked to him about his death. And how he had chosen to spend his last moments before the angel of death had claimed him. Closing his eyes, Richard reaches to take Silco's hand to his own and brings it up to against his cheek, leaning into it and nuzzling gently to it.]
I feel my respect towards you grown ten-fold. [He says, voice soft and gentle -- just like the brief kiss he places on middle of Silco's palm.] I see you found the light and held it in your hands.