[ It's okay, she says, and something uncoils in his chest. He hadn't even known that he'd been seeking her permission, but she's given it anyway.
There's still a part of him that desperately tries to fight, unwilling to leave Altria alone, but the despair is overwhelming, and all he wants is to close his eyes and let go. It wouldn't matter in the end, because she would join him soon after.
That tiny part of him that still clings to Altria swells in his chest, giving way to a desire to convey the depth of his affection for her. She is so kind to him (and what if the photos work differently and they don't revive after? The past does not predict the future) and he hasn't adequately expressed his—ah.
Oh, he thinks, this is love, isn't it? It's like the love he had for Tatarasuna, and Niwa, and the nameless child. The all-encompassing desire to keep them close, make them happy by whatever means possible and protect them from danger. He loves her. And he hasn't told her. He wants to tell her, before he goes.
He squeezes her hands one last time before he lets go, and instead uses his hands to gently caress her face. He looks at her, taking in every last detail—her vibrant, golden hair, her beautiful green eyes, like the foliage of Sumeru. The soft expression she makes as she gazes at him, gentle and affectionate.
He loves her, he thinks again, and in a moment of impulsivity, as his desire to convey his feelings overwhelm him, he leans in and gently, so very gently, captures her lips with his. ]
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There's still a part of him that desperately tries to fight, unwilling to leave Altria alone, but the despair is overwhelming, and all he wants is to close his eyes and let go. It wouldn't matter in the end, because she would join him soon after.
That tiny part of him that still clings to Altria swells in his chest, giving way to a desire to convey the depth of his affection for her. She is so kind to him (and what if the photos work differently and they don't revive after? The past does not predict the future) and he hasn't adequately expressed his—ah.
Oh, he thinks, this is love, isn't it? It's like the love he had for Tatarasuna, and Niwa, and the nameless child. The all-encompassing desire to keep them close, make them happy by whatever means possible and protect them from danger. He loves her. And he hasn't told her. He wants to tell her, before he goes.
He squeezes her hands one last time before he lets go, and instead uses his hands to gently caress her face. He looks at her, taking in every last detail—her vibrant, golden hair, her beautiful green eyes, like the foliage of Sumeru. The soft expression she makes as she gazes at him, gentle and affectionate.
He loves her, he thinks again, and in a moment of impulsivity, as his desire to convey his feelings overwhelm him, he leans in and gently, so very gently, captures her lips with his. ]