[ His voice is a soft exhale, half here in the moment, half so intimately with her in a way beyond bodies, all with Zenith. More and more as time passes, as they continue to grip one another. There's no need for it to be as strong as it is, but what else would he do in this moment but hold tight and never let go? She's a lifeline.
She's practically kin.
Amos can't tighten his grip any more than he already has; what he can do is look into her eye, the curve of her face, her neck, down to her arms outstretched to reach his, and step forward. Slowly, and telegraphed, but close the gap between the two of them, bring their presences that much closer. Because being inside one another's heads — or is it souls — is one thing, but he's always operated much better on the physical plane, so the closer the better. Even if he can't let go, can't disrupt the way they're holding both of their souls together...
He looks back up at her, something awed in his expression — and for once, not because of the grace Zenith is bestowing upon him once again. It's a deeper understanding of her — because yeah, they know one another, a little more than either one of them would like, but he's yet to comprehend why Hayame would be Meridian.
Why anyone would be, really, but Hayame? A hopemonger? If anything, she should be— ]
I can get that. Going back for kids. [ He speaks in hushed tones, a private conversation between two of them in the shadows, and not wanting to broadcast such a sentiment at all. For his sake. For hers. ] That'd be a good thing to do.
[ But they're already dead, he can't stop himself from thinking. It's supposed to be just for himself, not communed to her, but considering the sensitivities they have towards one another when like this...
Normally, his stomach would churn at the thought of those kids Hayame would go back to already being dead, but here, with Zenith flowing through him more and more, it doesn't occur to him. Because: Amos is used to death. His mom died when he was young. One of his friends committed suicide when he wasn't that much older. People died on the streets of Baltimore day after day after day, some he knew, most he didn't; death as much a part of life as life itself, and so he'd learned to accept it. Embrace it when he had to. Because doing anything else was foolish, futile, a good way to get yourself killed — or invite more and more and more pain on top of what was already there.
So why do anything but move forward and never look back? And as the Meridian leaves him, he knows he'll be safe again. ]
cw references to death, suicide
[ His voice is a soft exhale, half here in the moment, half so intimately with her in a way beyond bodies, all with Zenith. More and more as time passes, as they continue to grip one another. There's no need for it to be as strong as it is, but what else would he do in this moment but hold tight and never let go? She's a lifeline.
She's practically kin.
Amos can't tighten his grip any more than he already has; what he can do is look into her eye, the curve of her face, her neck, down to her arms outstretched to reach his, and step forward. Slowly, and telegraphed, but close the gap between the two of them, bring their presences that much closer. Because being inside one another's heads — or is it souls — is one thing, but he's always operated much better on the physical plane, so the closer the better. Even if he can't let go, can't disrupt the way they're holding both of their souls together...
He looks back up at her, something awed in his expression — and for once, not because of the grace Zenith is bestowing upon him once again. It's a deeper understanding of her — because yeah, they know one another, a little more than either one of them would like, but he's yet to comprehend why Hayame would be Meridian.
Why anyone would be, really, but Hayame? A hopemonger? If anything, she should be— ]
I can get that. Going back for kids. [ He speaks in hushed tones, a private conversation between two of them in the shadows, and not wanting to broadcast such a sentiment at all. For his sake. For hers. ] That'd be a good thing to do.
[ But they're already dead, he can't stop himself from thinking. It's supposed to be just for himself, not communed to her, but considering the sensitivities they have towards one another when like this...
Normally, his stomach would churn at the thought of those kids Hayame would go back to already being dead, but here, with Zenith flowing through him more and more, it doesn't occur to him. Because: Amos is used to death. His mom died when he was young. One of his friends committed suicide when he wasn't that much older. People died on the streets of Baltimore day after day after day, some he knew, most he didn't; death as much a part of life as life itself, and so he'd learned to accept it. Embrace it when he had to. Because doing anything else was foolish, futile, a good way to get yourself killed — or invite more and more and more pain on top of what was already there.
So why do anything but move forward and never look back? And as the Meridian leaves him, he knows he'll be safe again. ]