not a single thing could make him stay, she thinks. there's another little wave of something full of sorrow - twice, even, because she'll be losing two people at once, two people she's grown to care about.]
I don't want you to hurt. [she says, finally. that's true. she doesn't. he doesn't deserve to have to keep going when it's the last thing he wants.
still. she holds his hand a little tightly.] But I would miss you.
[it feels heavy. it's been so long since she's felt this heavy.]
[He grips her hand back a little, half-reflexive and half-responsive. He's felt heavy for so long, but he can still sense each new weight in it.
The last thing he wants is to give her another reason to curse her heart, or think it not strong enough. Being able to speak with her, knowing that he understood her - they're all invaluable moments. Little, precious glimmers of gold dust in the sand. In such a short span of time, she'd become a comrade to him.]
...I would miss you, as well.
[Or he would, if he was able to. If he did follow Buzen, he doesn't know what would await. Oblivion doesn't sound too terrible.]
to lose three people who understood what it's like to not quite interact with humanity the same way in one weekend is a painful concept, to her. there are things she's only told matsui, things she's only told rang, only told buzen, because they would know what she meant. libby had said she hadn't planned the death of three people, but shenhe thinks - it doesn't matter. she did. and she thinks that she can't forgive that.
she doesn't say it to him, but she's not surprised that calamity followed her here too.
she sits, watching the tree finally burn out.]
I'll remember Buzen. [she tells him. she wishes she still knew how to cry.] And I'll remember you.
[Matsui keeps hold of her hand through the silence, because he never really knows what to say. Especially in times like this, when words are so difficult and so painful.
Physical connection is something he's minutely better with, but even then, not by much. This is the most he can do, and he feels inadequate for it, as he often does. But there's a stir in his emotions when she says that. Something light - something grateful, rising out of the mires of his misery.]
...I-- will try.
[He can't make any promises, but. He'll try. He'll try to not let himself be pulled away by the force of his own despair - at least not so soon.]
But thank you. Please, remember him in particular. It's always meant the most to him.
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no subject
not a single thing could make him stay, she thinks. there's another little wave of something full of sorrow - twice, even, because she'll be losing two people at once, two people she's grown to care about.]
I don't want you to hurt. [she says, finally. that's true. she doesn't. he doesn't deserve to have to keep going when it's the last thing he wants.
still. she holds his hand a little tightly.] But I would miss you.
[it feels heavy. it's been so long since she's felt this heavy.]
no subject
The last thing he wants is to give her another reason to curse her heart, or think it not strong enough. Being able to speak with her, knowing that he understood her - they're all invaluable moments. Little, precious glimmers of gold dust in the sand. In such a short span of time, she'd become a comrade to him.]
...I would miss you, as well.
[Or he would, if he was able to. If he did follow Buzen, he doesn't know what would await. Oblivion doesn't sound too terrible.]
no subject
to lose three people who understood what it's like to not quite interact with humanity the same way in one weekend is a painful concept, to her. there are things she's only told matsui, things she's only told rang, only told buzen, because they would know what she meant. libby had said she hadn't planned the death of three people, but shenhe thinks - it doesn't matter. she did. and she thinks that she can't forgive that.
she doesn't say it to him, but she's not surprised that calamity followed her here too.
she sits, watching the tree finally burn out.]
I'll remember Buzen. [she tells him. she wishes she still knew how to cry.] And I'll remember you.
no subject
Physical connection is something he's minutely better with, but even then, not by much. This is the most he can do, and he feels inadequate for it, as he often does. But there's a stir in his emotions when she says that. Something light - something grateful, rising out of the mires of his misery.]
...I-- will try.
[He can't make any promises, but. He'll try. He'll try to not let himself be pulled away by the force of his own despair - at least not so soon.]
But thank you. Please, remember him in particular. It's always meant the most to him.