It's like a recitation of a prayer, or something memorized a long while ago. He lets himself settle to the ground a little more comfortably, one knee drawn up, back up against the sturdy bark of a tree. They're words that they've said many, many times before, so often that they might even be engraved indelibly, like a handprint on their heart.
There's something soothing about that. About the child asleep in Chara's lap, the picture of peace that they so weren't in their final moments, illuminated in flashes of green and orange. About the child reading to them, no longer straining against the beartrap of arms closed around their middle.
Maybe it's not forgiveness; he wouldn't know that feeling. But he imagines that if it's the closest he's liable to get.
How good.
It lifts the tired corners of his mouth before he understands what's happening, easing tired lines and a tension he hadn't realized was there.
no subject
There's something soothing about that. About the child asleep in Chara's lap, the picture of peace that they so weren't in their final moments, illuminated in flashes of green and orange. About the child reading to them, no longer straining against the beartrap of arms closed around their middle.
Maybe it's not forgiveness; he wouldn't know that feeling. But he imagines that if it's the closest he's liable to get.
How good.
It lifts the tired corners of his mouth before he understands what's happening, easing tired lines and a tension he hadn't realized was there.
How good.