The jaded part of Roland knows they'll probably never find out; if the people who leave them really do safely return home. Probably because the train doesn't bother to care, after they're done with us. But he figures hardening his heart like this won't do Inigo any good, so he pushes the thought aside and allows the boy to cry as much as he desires. He doesn't let up on how firmly he holds Inigo, doesn't allow himself to falter even when Inigo asks him the most painful question of all: I wonder if they're happy.
Inigo won't know it, but Roland thinks the exact same thing at that moment, the implied message that trails off as clear as the words he speaks. Happy without him, happy at home with a girl waiting for him. No matter how hard he looks at it, this Yuki who left will have an end to his story which Inigo can never be a part of ever again. Unless magic intervenes, or fate is kind. But fate rarely is, and Roland knows magic has its limits too. The tears Inigo sheds now, wrapped up in an embrace that can only do so much...they're heavier than they have ever been. A heartbreak no one can heal. Maybe time. Maybe.
Roland knows it hurts. He knows Inigo has kept this to himself for a long time, and this act of reaching out to him is nothing short of courage in its purest form. He leans his head back further, as if beckoning the sky, the heavens, whoever is listening, greater power that can help repair Inigo's spirit when Roland's comforts are no longer enough. Would Naga hear me, too? Would Naga be able to help her faithful servant?
The eternity that passes through them comes in thick silence, awash with only the soft cries muffled against Roland's shirt. Roland's hands are constants in their pats and strokes, for his mind is at a loss for words. To begin with, did such a confession need answers anyway? There's nothing to be done but to remember in grief, and to hope the wound that Yuki left him will finally cease festering.
"If they are happy, back home I mean..." Roland begins to stir, says it like a gentle whisper. "I guess that's the best thing you could hope for, for those who leave this place. But..." He heaves an exhale, loud and audible. His chin tilts down so he can speak tenderly against the top of Inigo's head, eyes once more drawing to a soft close.
"Yuki would be happy in a different kind of way. He'd never be happy the way you could have made him, had the train allowed him to stay." Because Roland knows this is the only thing he can say, now; that it isn't Inigo's fault, that his love is so strong it could anchor anyone to his side as naturally as the sky needed the sun. There are no other reassurances that he could honestly give anyone, having so little choice or control already. But as someone who has felt Inigo's light, lucky enough to bask in it every day, Roland's words are not disingenuous or uttered for the sake of filling spaces. He means it, with all his heart. Even if Inigo dismisses it.
no subject
Inigo won't know it, but Roland thinks the exact same thing at that moment, the implied message that trails off as clear as the words he speaks. Happy without him, happy at home with a girl waiting for him. No matter how hard he looks at it, this Yuki who left will have an end to his story which Inigo can never be a part of ever again. Unless magic intervenes, or fate is kind. But fate rarely is, and Roland knows magic has its limits too. The tears Inigo sheds now, wrapped up in an embrace that can only do so much...they're heavier than they have ever been. A heartbreak no one can heal. Maybe time. Maybe.
Roland knows it hurts. He knows Inigo has kept this to himself for a long time, and this act of reaching out to him is nothing short of courage in its purest form. He leans his head back further, as if beckoning the sky, the heavens, whoever is listening, greater power that can help repair Inigo's spirit when Roland's comforts are no longer enough. Would Naga hear me, too? Would Naga be able to help her faithful servant?
The eternity that passes through them comes in thick silence, awash with only the soft cries muffled against Roland's shirt. Roland's hands are constants in their pats and strokes, for his mind is at a loss for words. To begin with, did such a confession need answers anyway? There's nothing to be done but to remember in grief, and to hope the wound that Yuki left him will finally cease festering.
"If they are happy, back home I mean..." Roland begins to stir, says it like a gentle whisper. "I guess that's the best thing you could hope for, for those who leave this place. But..." He heaves an exhale, loud and audible. His chin tilts down so he can speak tenderly against the top of Inigo's head, eyes once more drawing to a soft close.
"Yuki would be happy in a different kind of way. He'd never be happy the way you could have made him, had the train allowed him to stay." Because Roland knows this is the only thing he can say, now; that it isn't Inigo's fault, that his love is so strong it could anchor anyone to his side as naturally as the sky needed the sun. There are no other reassurances that he could honestly give anyone, having so little choice or control already. But as someone who has felt Inigo's light, lucky enough to bask in it every day, Roland's words are not disingenuous or uttered for the sake of filling spaces. He means it, with all his heart. Even if Inigo dismisses it.