It shouldn't be possible, unless everything he knows of the ritual is wrong, or there's more to it than others have discovered, because who goes back once that path is set?

Look at what's become of it indeed. He leans into her touch, listening as intently as she did. More importantly, hearing her.

"I feel like a child sulking that I must eat my dinner to have my dessert," he murmurs, gaze flicking to the side but returning soon enough.

"But I know it's so with emotions. We don't get to pick and choose what we feel and what we don't. Repress one, you dull them all sooner or later. I'm existing proof of that." He extends his caress along her upper arm.

"I wouldn't trade what we have for complete control or perfect unflappability. But I miss the certainty at times, and I hate revisiting a familiar ache I dulled for a good reason. It just lives there, a hot ember in dried flesh with no answer, and it will happen again, and again as it has before. It's hard to view going back as moving forward, even when someone so enticing and beloved beckons me there." He shifts to press forehead to forehead.

"I'll do it, because I know you're right. Sometimes it feels a little like impaling myself, though, and to what end I can't see. I'm glad one of us sees."