Athan's heart pounded aloud, almost banging his ears. He glanced at the porcelain flooring before his eyes closed.
'To hell with this quiet yet suffocating place.' He clasped his hands, trembling from the sudden urge to do crazy things at this point.
The rest of the words left unspoken as he tried to muster his courage to bring it up to her. When he thought it wasn't enough, he looked at her in the eyes. Even with his throat got hoarse and dry, he went for it.
"I'm sorry."
Meanwhile, his sincere words had almost Mystique slipped off the grimoire between her hands.
"...Is all I wanted to say, I don't mean to antagonize you or whatever you thought."
In that brief moment, Mystique's mask fell off—eyes glistened, and lips parted, somewhat trembling.
"I realized that, possibly, your ideas could work," Athan trailed off his voice with a gaze carefully sizing every reaction she had. "You could mean well, but it doesn't mean we couldn't change the way it is, no?"
It was that point.
