The fingers wound around Sorey's twitch slightly at that; the malak's expression doesn't change, but the way his own grip tightens lacks the enthusiasm the other is feeling. He hesitates, those words falling over them like a thick blanket, suddenly suffocating.

Vahvuus doesn't pull away, but there's a slight tug against Sorey's grasp, almost imperceptible.

"Many years...?" is his reply, soft and uncertain. Because it doesn't matter, it shouldn't matter, what he wants or needs is irrelevant and he has no reason for rejecting the idea, but he feels a sudden rush of something heavy and he doesn't want it, not even a little bit.