𝚆𝙷𝙰𝚃 𝚆𝙰𝚂 𝙸𝚃 𝚃𝙷𝙴𝚈 𝚂𝙰𝙸𝙳 𝙰𝙱𝙾𝚄𝚃 𝙱𝙸𝚁𝙳𝚂 𝙾𝙵 𝙰 𝙵𝙴𝙰𝚃𝙷𝙴𝚁 ? Koriand’r cannot call to mind the rest of this earth idiom, focused plainly on the lulling drone of Jason’s voice and the peace she feels to have both him and Roy back within her fold. it seems like this was to be the natural order of things for the former outlaws ⸺ to appear on each other’s doorsteps at random and stay for varying periods of time, sharing with each other what has happened since they’d seen each other last.
it’s not usually so bittersweet, but Koriand’r, present, caring, always seeking the best for those dearest to her, had quietly asked Jason how therapy had been unravelling for him. now she held his hand gripped tight in her warm palm, heart at her throat to look upon him recounting his most recent session and suddenly looking so utterly lost.
❝ 𝙼𝚈 𝚃𝙷𝙴𝚁𝙰𝙿𝙸𝚂𝚃 𝚁𝙴𝙲𝙴𝙽𝚃𝙻𝚈 𝚃𝙾𝙻𝙳 𝙼𝙴 𝚃𝙷𝙴 𝚆𝙰𝚈 𝚃𝙾 𝙰𝙲𝙷𝙸𝙴𝚅𝙴 𝚃𝚁𝚄𝙴 𝙸𝙽𝙽𝙴𝚁 𝙿𝙴𝙰𝙲𝙴 𝙸𝚂 𝚃𝙾 𝙵𝙸𝙽𝙸𝚂𝙷 𝚆𝙷𝙰𝚃 𝙸 𝚂𝚃𝙰𝚁𝚃. 𝙸 𝙳𝙾𝙽'𝚃 𝚃𝙷𝙸𝙽𝙺 𝚂𝙷𝙴 𝙰𝙲𝙲𝙾𝚄𝙽𝚃𝙴𝙳 𝙼𝚈 𝙱𝚁𝚄𝚂𝙷 𝚆𝙸𝚃𝙷 𝙳𝙴𝙰𝚃𝙷 𝚄𝙿𝙾𝙽 𝚂𝚄𝙶𝙶𝙴𝚂𝚃𝙸𝙽𝙶 𝚃𝙷𝙰𝚃, 𝚃𝙷𝙾𝚄𝙶𝙷. ❞ @batagonist admits. Koriand’r is heartbroken to note the unease that permeates his body, prompting him to look more war-torn than usual.
a quick tilt of her head towards Roy allows her to see the bevy of emotions heavy on his handsome face from where he sat folding Lian’s freshly washed clothes, his hair pulled up on a half-knot to allow for more ventilation on his body in the San Francisco heat, ❝ does she know ? about .... you know .... ? ❞ ‘ your death, that you died ‘ goes unsaid as he gestures aimlessly, speaking in the vague way he was prone to when the conversation touched upon something he was confused by, uncertain of, or uncomfortable about.
❝ that does not matter. ❞ she deliberates imperiously almost as soon as Roy has finished speaking, the melodic soothe of her gentle voice like the whisper of summer air through windchimes. she releases his hand in favor of placing both her palms on either side of his face, steadying him, tethering their eyes together. ❝ Jason. ❞ the collection of syllables corresponding to his name roll from her tongue with languid elegance, tone warbled and an octave higher, inquisitive. it seems almost deceptive that she could sound so sweet when the blade of her warmhearted bluntness, the caring confrontationality she employed in situations where her beloveds grazed past what should be confronted head-on, seemed intent to cut through the crust of the scab covering the wound of his death. ❝ 𝙳𝙾 𝚈𝙾𝚄 𝙱𝙴𝙻𝙸𝙴𝚅𝙴 𝚃𝙷𝙰𝚃 𝚈𝙾𝚄 𝚂𝙷𝙾𝚄𝙻𝙳 𝚂𝚃𝙸𝙻𝙻 𝙱𝙴 𝙳𝙴𝙰𝙳 ? ❞
