The blow crushes the skin of Melkor's lips against his teeth. It's not a light blow; and Mairon's knuckles come away bloodied. There's a smear of the same darkly red blood on Melkor's mouth.

He straightens from the blow. Slides from Mairon's grip on his shoulder; the maia could grip at handfuls of water with more ease, and Melkor is unnaturally, bonelessly graceful. The physical pain feels somehow good and right; as if at last his body is beginning to reflect even the smallest wounds of his spirit.

Melkor's own hands move slowly. Go to the breast pocket of the jumpsuit, withdrawing something very small, and gleaming. An old token; the pin Mairon had made for him in truly ancient days, when Melkor had been fair and walked freely among his fellows. Something the vala had kept painstakingly untainted. At first, he does so while meeting Mairon's gaze; the calm cracking, until his features are composed of all the furrows and runnels of deep agony. By the end of his movement, he cannot even bear to look upon the familiar face before him.

He set the pin down atop the edge of the bed while flowing again towards the door.

"I loved you."

He says it like a farewell.