CHULANE
"I'll try anything at least once, even your cooking" he quipped with a wink and a playful smirk that appeared for a second, before fading into the raw abyss of emotions that swirled through them. In truth he loved her cooking, not necessarily for what she cooked, but for why she did: The care, the wholesomeness, the simple act of sharing a meal with him.
He picks up on her concern, her hesitation to endorse Fiat Lux being held here, which is confirmed when she speaks, as they come to the doorstep. Kia leaning closer to him was, as it always would be, welcomed, reciprocated, his hand returning the pressure, the squeeze, the assurance that yes, he was still here, for her, in whatever capacity she needed from him.
"Will you go this year, even if last year's was terrible?" he opened the door with the key she had given him, gesturing that she might step in before him, before following. Some night in the future they would be hosting a family dinner here, and he'd be lying if he said it didn't make him nervous, anxious but also in some way, strangely excited - it was a change to the grief, the sorrow. It was something to look forward to, to aim for, to help them take the next step in the ever-turning wheel of life.
Reluctantly he released her hand once they were inside, walking to the kitchen where he got both of them some water to drink - tears and crying and everything else took it out of you, often without one realising it. Sitting down at the table, he pressed the cup into her hands, murmuring an insistent "Drink," as he hoped she would join him.
He picks up on her concern, her hesitation to endorse Fiat Lux being held here, which is confirmed when she speaks, as they come to the doorstep. Kia leaning closer to him was, as it always would be, welcomed, reciprocated, his hand returning the pressure, the squeeze, the assurance that yes, he was still here, for her, in whatever capacity she needed from him.
"Will you go this year, even if last year's was terrible?" he opened the door with the key she had given him, gesturing that she might step in before him, before following. Some night in the future they would be hosting a family dinner here, and he'd be lying if he said it didn't make him nervous, anxious but also in some way, strangely excited - it was a change to the grief, the sorrow. It was something to look forward to, to aim for, to help them take the next step in the ever-turning wheel of life.
Reluctantly he released her hand once they were inside, walking to the kitchen where he got both of them some water to drink - tears and crying and everything else took it out of you, often without one realising it. Sitting down at the table, he pressed the cup into her hands, murmuring an insistent "Drink," as he hoped she would join him.
it is better to know some of the questions
than all of the answers
than all of the answers
