[She can't even look at him, so when he realises what she's trying to do, he lifts his hand to take his shard back. There's a tightness in his chest even now, though, as though her anguish has become his own, and how can he not feel for that, behave as though he has any authority to admonish her for it? She's received rejection and condemnation enough not to need more. People die in war, whether that be former allies or, in some other world, old schoolmates. Conflict doesn't discriminate when it comes to personal feelings.
Still, his hand closes around his shard, and that almost feels like a rejection on its own, even as it's a relief for him to reach for his nape and affix that golden crescent back to its proper place. He had wanted to comfort her, but he wonders if he only succeeded in making things worse, tearing open a wound she would have found easier to deal with in silence.]
I'll take it, but you don't need to push me away. [He reaches for her cheek, brushing away tears with his thumb once more.] My feelings haven't changed.
[Even being that close to her own shard, being held by her, realising what she'd done. He accepts all of it.]
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Still, his hand closes around his shard, and that almost feels like a rejection on its own, even as it's a relief for him to reach for his nape and affix that golden crescent back to its proper place. He had wanted to comfort her, but he wonders if he only succeeded in making things worse, tearing open a wound she would have found easier to deal with in silence.]
I'll take it, but you don't need to push me away. [He reaches for her cheek, brushing away tears with his thumb once more.] My feelings haven't changed.
[Even being that close to her own shard, being held by her, realising what she'd done. He accepts all of it.]