It helps, though. And he believes it. And he hates himself a little for it too, because he already knows this isn't an easy memory, and maybe he should want Taako to forget instead. But at least... at least he won't have meant nothing.
The moment of desperate panic seems to ease off a little, and when he wraps both arms around Taako to hold him close again, it's with less of the sense of a drowning man clinging to a muddy bank. ]
Thank you.
[ For a long moment he's quiet, just re-orienting. Following the comfortingly regular rhythm of Taako's breathing, silently counting the beats of his heart. And then something comes to mind out of nowhere that draws a quiet chuckle. ]
It's funny, you know, I--
[ And apparently that's it. The sentence he was never going to make it to the end of. It's so sudden that it feels like it should make some kind of noise, but it doesn't - there's just what appears to be an entire person there one moment, and then as if a switch was flipped somewhere (which, who knows, maybe it was) - nothing at all. The only thing to say that there might ever have been anyone else there, a book left on the nightstand, still open to the last page he'd been reading. ]
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It helps, though. And he believes it. And he hates himself a little for it too, because he already knows this isn't an easy memory, and maybe he should want Taako to forget instead. But at least... at least he won't have meant nothing.
The moment of desperate panic seems to ease off a little, and when he wraps both arms around Taako to hold him close again, it's with less of the sense of a drowning man clinging to a muddy bank. ]
Thank you.
[ For a long moment he's quiet, just re-orienting. Following the comfortingly regular rhythm of Taako's breathing, silently counting the beats of his heart. And then something comes to mind out of nowhere that draws a quiet chuckle. ]
It's funny, you know, I--
[ And apparently that's it. The sentence he was never going to make it to the end of. It's so sudden that it feels like it should make some kind of noise, but it doesn't - there's just what appears to be an entire person there one moment, and then as if a switch was flipped somewhere (which, who knows, maybe it was) - nothing at all. The only thing to say that there might ever have been anyone else there, a book left on the nightstand, still open to the last page he'd been reading. ]