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O'Brien looked down at Winston, in the dim light of the room he looked even more decrepit and drained than he already was. It was quite surprising, but more so that somehow, for whatever unbelievable reason, Winston couldn’t help but still find him… attractive.
He didn’t want to find him in such a light, he wanted to hate him, to despise him. He wanted to want to chew his finger off, he wanted not to want his touch, nor his comfort. He wanted to hate the way his own body leaned into his hand, like a domestic pet looking for the affection of his owner.
More than all that, he wanted to go deaf, so he could at least pretend that the moment was something… tender, loving.
“This is your fault.” But the words still pierced his heart.