[ Tatara lifts his gaze to Solomon at the touch. He holds eye contact there for a moment, pausing in the offer, and...
He can't help it. His brows knit upward and the corners of his mouth pull downward, and a fresh deluge of tears spill past the corners of his eyes and down his cheeks. He scoots forward, and promptly presses his face into Solomon's shoulder.
He isn't sure what he has to be sad about anymore, at this point. But maybe he's reached a point where the grief just comes, and it hits hard. It's been more than a month—maybe now it's just settling in that he'll never see Homra again...
[Even in the span between life and death, humanity remained.
It's why he doesn't interrupt. He doesn't soften the moment with pleasantries, or tell him that it would be okay, or give reassurances to finding another way. Those aren't things he can promise. Those aren't things that are fair to the reality that Tatara is facing.
The fear - the inevitability - of death. Something so, so human.
With gentle motions, Solomon presses a hand to the back of Tatara's hair, as the other slips to rest against his back and pull him close. It's a relief, sure, to see the complexities of one's personhood still hanging on, bending and cracking to show the depths of the heart. But it doesn't make it any less painful, or the fear any less of a monster.
So he holds his Sage, a quiet hushing between deep breaths the only answer to the weeping.
[ There was one. One whose visage is captured in a scratched recording, reflected in a lens that did make it to this world. Though inaccessible, due to lack of power...
Tatara doesn't hate him, though. He only worries about his family, his king. He cries not for himself but because he doesn't know how his king will react, or how angry he'd be with him for being so careless. He liked the little bumps on the head when he was being silly, or the clicks of his tongue when Tatara did something he didn't like.
It turned out okay, for him, just like he always said it would. His life was happy, and he's found himself shunted to a world full of magic and wonder, a playground for a starry-eyed, curious creature like him. But it's hard not to miss the people who acted as his only anchor in his past life.
Solomon's comfort is appreciated. He's no King or Kusanagi, but having it, regardless, in a situation as strange as this is a blessing.
He inhales sharply, rubs his nose and eyes against his knees. The large wash of grief passes, and Tatara tries to gently pry himself from Solomon's hold. ]
Sorry... I'm pretty sure I got snot all over your shirt.
[There's a tightening in his chest at the thanks. Something protective, almost parental, digging its roots in so deep that they ache. He wishes there was more they could do. He knows there isn't. But a wish wasn't meant to be logical.]
I'm glad you're here as well, Tatara.
[With a gentle touch, he lifts his palm to rest against Tatara's hair.]
I'll treasure our time. No matter how long it lasts.
[He only hopes that he can take this man's story home with him. Perhaps to tell to Nightbringer, lest it be carved into the Fountain of Knowledge for eternity.
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no subject
He can't help it. His brows knit upward and the corners of his mouth pull downward, and a fresh deluge of tears spill past the corners of his eyes and down his cheeks. He scoots forward, and promptly presses his face into Solomon's shoulder.
He isn't sure what he has to be sad about anymore, at this point. But maybe he's reached a point where the grief just comes, and it hits hard. It's been more than a month—maybe now it's just settling in that he'll never see Homra again...
He sobs. Sorry about the wet shirt, Solomon. ]
no subject
It's why he doesn't interrupt. He doesn't soften the moment with pleasantries, or tell him that it would be okay, or give reassurances to finding another way. Those aren't things he can promise. Those aren't things that are fair to the reality that Tatara is facing.
The fear - the inevitability - of death. Something so, so human.
With gentle motions, Solomon presses a hand to the back of Tatara's hair, as the other slips to rest against his back and pull him close. It's a relief, sure, to see the complexities of one's personhood still hanging on, bending and cracking to show the depths of the heart. But it doesn't make it any less painful, or the fear any less of a monster.
So he holds his Sage, a quiet hushing between deep breaths the only answer to the weeping.
It's okay. It's okay, to feel this way.
No one rejoices at the throne of loss.]
no subject
Tatara doesn't hate him, though. He only worries about his family, his king. He cries not for himself but because he doesn't know how his king will react, or how angry he'd be with him for being so careless. He liked the little bumps on the head when he was being silly, or the clicks of his tongue when Tatara did something he didn't like.
It turned out okay, for him, just like he always said it would. His life was happy, and he's found himself shunted to a world full of magic and wonder, a playground for a starry-eyed, curious creature like him. But it's hard not to miss the people who acted as his only anchor in his past life.
Solomon's comfort is appreciated. He's no King or Kusanagi, but having it, regardless, in a situation as strange as this is a blessing.
He inhales sharply, rubs his nose and eyes against his knees. The large wash of grief passes, and Tatara tries to gently pry himself from Solomon's hold. ]
Sorry... I'm pretty sure I got snot all over your shirt.
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Don't worry. What's a little mess to a wizard, right?
[As much as he might like to wipe those tears away, his hand stays obediently still this time.]
Do you think, while the time lasts, that you can find it in yourself to treasure those things that your special ones would want you to treasure?
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I think so... I carry their memory with me in everything that I do, in every new experience...
[ He laughs, embarrassed. ]
I just wish I could tell them that I miss them, and that it's okay.
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[A looping around to their original topic.]
It's not easy to be separated. But trust in them to deal with their new tomorrows.
And... let yourself miss them. Say it to the wind and let it travel, if only so it doesn't stay locked up in your heart.
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Yeah. [ He feels another well of tears in his eyes, and he wipes at them gingerly. ] You're right.
[ He looks up at Solomon again, behind glassy, reddened eyes. ]
Thanks, Uncle Solomon. I'm glad you're here.
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I'm glad you're here as well, Tatara.
[With a gentle touch, he lifts his palm to rest against Tatara's hair.]
I'll treasure our time. No matter how long it lasts.
[He only hopes that he can take this man's story home with him. Perhaps to tell to Nightbringer, lest it be carved into the Fountain of Knowledge for eternity.
A treasure, indeed.]