maybe who we were then is shattered, but who we are in the end is what matters
Even if he were capable of meeting her eyes, he wouldn't see much. Even with how well he can read her, Ru's walls are so high, her control so tight, that there wouldn't be much to interpret. Part of it is hurt, bitterness. The other part is protective and deferential; devoted to the goal of civility and understanding no matter how hard it might become.
So she listens. Even when the first thorn pricks at the rubble of her heart to realize he'd asked for his heart back without knowing its fate. When he pulls out the box she can't bear to look at it. Even looking at his face, as hard as it is, is a kinder fate than being presented with the sight of cherished gift that he'd taken back.
"I can't love you anymore."
Even with the provided context, it cleaves through her chest like an axe through dry kindling, splintering her apart. Understanding doesn't soften the blow of hearing what would otherwise mean a total, final end of a relationship. She isn't so sure that's not what this is anyway. The wounded, animal noise that tries to escape through the crack in her breastbone is caught and held only by the trembling clench of her teeth as she tries to stand strong through the deliverance of such a world-shattering truth.
Though she had tried to remain physically open and available, Hotaru can't help the compulsion to cross her arms to hold herself together and in some additional, laughable attempt to ward away the pain he brings. Shrinking further away from the slip in the bond that permeates a hollow cavern where feeling once lived. At least she can be darkly, uselessly, bitterly appreciative of his acknowledgement of her own stance, the blamelessness of her death and the unfair position it puts them both into.
Around her neck, Andraste tightens, wings descending to cover more of Hotaru's chest and back like it will somehow shield her. It makes Ru's heart ache with conflicted appreciation. That, at least, distracts her in some small way from Sunjata's final words. It feels like a decision has already been made no matter what he says. Even more cruel is the knowledge that she can't accept it. Not yet. Maybe not ever.
It takes a moment to swallow and remember to breathe before she can break her silence.
"If you don't want me to wait, then you want it to be over. Is that what you're saying?" Against her ribs, her fingers tremble and claws restlessly form and retreat, pricking her skin. "Anything else - repairing your heart, your self-exploration, us being together - is a maybe? Something only time will tell?" It is half clarification and half challenge. Pretty words won't comfort a heart as broken as hers is right now. Potentialities and ambiguity will keep her waiting, hoping, no matter how he tries to release her by saying she shouldn't wait around for him to figure himself out.
"If you don't want me to wait, you have to tell me - plainly - what that means." Her voice, which had been impressively even so far, holds out only through the end of this sentence. It warbles on the next, composure wavering. "Being free to move on romantically, not just my life? And when will we ever know if it's the right time to try again, if that door is still open, if we don't have some sort of transparent agreement on how that would happen?" It's a miracle she is managing to keep her emotions from breaking through into the bond. That she isn't yelling, or crying, or shutting down. It takes every ounce of strength in her soul to make it happen - but she does. She won't comment on his plans, or his maturity in making them. That's not her place anymore, it seems. All she can do is contend with the parts that are relevant to her place in his life. Something that will inevitably define her own life from this moment forward.
So she listens. Even when the first thorn pricks at the rubble of her heart to realize he'd asked for his heart back without knowing its fate. When he pulls out the box she can't bear to look at it. Even looking at his face, as hard as it is, is a kinder fate than being presented with the sight of cherished gift that he'd taken back.
"I can't love you anymore."
Even with the provided context, it cleaves through her chest like an axe through dry kindling, splintering her apart. Understanding doesn't soften the blow of hearing what would otherwise mean a total, final end of a relationship. She isn't so sure that's not what this is anyway. The wounded, animal noise that tries to escape through the crack in her breastbone is caught and held only by the trembling clench of her teeth as she tries to stand strong through the deliverance of such a world-shattering truth.
Though she had tried to remain physically open and available, Hotaru can't help the compulsion to cross her arms to hold herself together and in some additional, laughable attempt to ward away the pain he brings. Shrinking further away from the slip in the bond that permeates a hollow cavern where feeling once lived. At least she can be darkly, uselessly, bitterly appreciative of his acknowledgement of her own stance, the blamelessness of her death and the unfair position it puts them both into.
Around her neck, Andraste tightens, wings descending to cover more of Hotaru's chest and back like it will somehow shield her. It makes Ru's heart ache with conflicted appreciation. That, at least, distracts her in some small way from Sunjata's final words. It feels like a decision has already been made no matter what he says. Even more cruel is the knowledge that she can't accept it. Not yet. Maybe not ever.
It takes a moment to swallow and remember to breathe before she can break her silence.
"If you don't want me to wait, then you want it to be over. Is that what you're saying?" Against her ribs, her fingers tremble and claws restlessly form and retreat, pricking her skin. "Anything else - repairing your heart, your self-exploration, us being together - is a maybe? Something only time will tell?" It is half clarification and half challenge. Pretty words won't comfort a heart as broken as hers is right now. Potentialities and ambiguity will keep her waiting, hoping, no matter how he tries to release her by saying she shouldn't wait around for him to figure himself out.
"If you don't want me to wait, you have to tell me - plainly - what that means." Her voice, which had been impressively even so far, holds out only through the end of this sentence. It warbles on the next, composure wavering. "Being free to move on romantically, not just my life? And when will we ever know if it's the right time to try again, if that door is still open, if we don't have some sort of transparent agreement on how that would happen?" It's a miracle she is managing to keep her emotions from breaking through into the bond. That she isn't yelling, or crying, or shutting down. It takes every ounce of strength in her soul to make it happen - but she does. She won't comment on his plans, or his maturity in making them. That's not her place anymore, it seems. All she can do is contend with the parts that are relevant to her place in his life. Something that will inevitably define her own life from this moment forward.
