[there's a start where she feels that pull on her neck (or more the idea of her neck) but it's not enough for her to break the contact - and if anything her fingers tighten just a fraction as the feeling floods into her - not ease, not even easy, but careful, cautious acceptance. the surety that yes, this moment is fucked up in so many ways, and the whole of the situation is, too. it's sad, and unfair, and terrible and probably unanswerable. but she can at least put words to that.]
I don't think there's any reason. I don't think it's to test you, or to make you stronger or ...because it was fate, I just think it happened. I know that doesn't make it any better, or any easier.
It's probably not about them, and not about you, either. But it's fucking terrible, and I wish it would stop.
[she doesn't know what to say in the wake of the news itself, or how to ask around the edges of it - it's a raw, open wound, and she tries not to poke at it, but:]
It feels like a pattern. I know it's not. But it's hard when something feels like a fact when it's not.
[He breathes in slowly, trying to leave the pain behind. It's not working very well.]
I don't think he told anyone. Maybe the people from his world knew, but... I don't really know them. He probably figured we would just worry if we knew...
Yeah. 'Cause whatever's true doesn't feel true in the moment, it ...fucks all the facts up, and then they feel like they don't mean anything.
M-maybe. That's a good reason not to say anything, and Falco's--- [wince. it's was now. was.] ---he didn't like to worry people.
[maybe he counted on coming back. she doesn't say that aloud. sometimes feelings can't be helped by slotting in 'hope' everywhere - sometimes a feeling just has to be ridden out, and through and ...something. she wishes she were better at this.]
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I don't think there's any reason. I don't think it's to test you, or to make you stronger or ...because it was fate, I just think it happened. I know that doesn't make it any better, or any easier.
It's probably not about them, and not about you, either. But it's fucking terrible, and I wish it would stop.
[she doesn't know what to say in the wake of the news itself, or how to ask around the edges of it - it's a raw, open wound, and she tries not to poke at it, but:]
I ...I didn't know he was sick, either.
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[He breathes in slowly, trying to leave the pain behind. It's not working very well.]
I don't think he told anyone. Maybe the people from his world knew, but... I don't really know them. He probably figured we would just worry if we knew...
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M-maybe. That's a good reason not to say anything, and Falco's--- [wince. it's was now. was.] ---he didn't like to worry people.
[maybe he counted on coming back. she doesn't say that aloud. sometimes feelings can't be helped by slotting in 'hope' everywhere - sometimes a feeling just has to be ridden out, and through and ...something. she wishes she were better at this.]
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[Talking about him in the past tense, he just... he can't...]
No, he doesn't. I... we're going to have to have a talk when he comes back... I'd rather be worried than have something like this happen...