[It is no comfort; it's pain. What he feels when John approaches is increasing pain, like someone driving a spike right into his skin, pressing further inside with each step he takes. Petre can barely look at him, let alone acknowledge his presence. Talk to him. What will he say? The only thoughts he can manage are streams of I'm sorry. He's done so many horrible things to him, when he's sure that he once loved him too much to even consider the possibility.]
... I remember. Everything.
[There's no change in his voice; it is still deep and mellow, but the smoothness that Petre would once carry has given place to that fidgety nature of the boy who came before. Subdued and submissive. Gentle and careful.]
no subject
... I remember. Everything.
[There's no change in his voice; it is still deep and mellow, but the smoothness that Petre would once carry has given place to that fidgety nature of the boy who came before. Subdued and submissive. Gentle and careful.]