[ a small twitch to falco’s lips stirs at the compliment, but the gravity of the situation he’s feeling keeps his smile from going ear to ear. he’s happy to hear that. he’s happy because that meant it would be useful.
but, how did he feel? falco goes quiet in an attempt to assimilate and put into words what he feels— he’s thankfully not one to shy away from dialogue or talking about what it is he’s feeling (it was, actually, the quality that netted him a future girlfriend in the middle of a war). ]
I, um, [ is that what he’s asking? he begins to fold away the fabric in a neat square once it’s been seen. ] I’m really happy that you care that much about me. [ and inhale, because, certainly, he’s getting emotional, these gentle hazel doe eyes tracking with his words. the smile that comes with it is soft, small, like a fluffed cap of feathers. ] I do, too. That’s why I can’t just . . . Not do anything. I don’t want to lose you, either.
[ it’s like— it’s like watching someone run off into danger. he’s never kept put. gabi, pieck, reiner, annie— he’s never been able to just watch them go, without doing a thing about it. most of those times, falco had made a right call. if he hadn’t been there, worse would happen.
at least some of the worst happened to him, and not them— he took the bulk for being there, and there’s no regret in it. not if he uses that time wisely. once the cloth if tucked into itself, falco sets it on top of the table. there was something else; he inhales to make sure he’s ready to talk about it. ]
I made a promise to someone back home. They’re the reason I’m still alive.
[ it echoes to him, all the time. when he sleeps, he dreams— he sees the world through galliard’s eyes, from his life to his last moments. he wasn’t afraid. he went down protecting someone else. ]
If I could help with something, whatever it is— I want to help. I like helping people, but . . . I need to make sure he didn’t die for nothing.
Whenever I’m stuck, I keep thinking, what would Galliard do, if he were still here? He wouldn’t just . . . Watch. [ or hide, or anything of the sort that had to do with being idle, much less with a gift (or curse) so rare in numbers. falco leaves out his inheritance, but only because it seems like too much information for one sit down. ] I can’t do that to him.
[Paul listens to this with the gravity it demands of him, with the absolute attentiveness that he learned from so many older faces in his own life. It's a look that says I see you, a way of holding someone in your eyes so that they know that they are the center of a universe of care.
He doesn't let himself be a mirror or to crumple under the weight of recognition. That's not how it works. (He remembers his mother's eyes, and their emptiness, and the bleak understanding that it was up to him, now, all of it, the world falling across his unready shoulders.) What he does do is let Falco see it, just a little: his quiet shared understanding when Falco says Galliard and Paul hears another name in his heart.]
It's all right to be afraid. [Because there is so much fear there: the fear of failing, of loss, of being alone, and Paul's voice aches.] I am too.
[With that, Paul reaches up, and gently gathers Falco down into his arms. He wraps them around the younger boy and runs a hand over his hair, guiding his face to the crook of Paul's shoulder where Paul had dug his fingers in, once, to save Falco from another bad dream.]
You are helping people. You help me all the time.
No one who dies for someone else does it for nothing. Never. [Paul presses the smaller boy closer to his chest, says this close to the curved shell of his ear.] Galliard knew that. You're not nothing, and I am not going to leave you, not if there is anything I can do about it, and even if -
[Even if, even if, Falco knows too much of even if and its aftermath to lie to about that. Paul breathes out, faintly tremulous, and says:] I'd come back for you.
[ falco glides himself into the hold that comes effortlessly with tight lips and a wide gaze of recognition, as if it were always waiting for him and if he had been doing the same. he barely has to hunch over to meet paul’s already lowered height, as small as he was, only bending his knees some and canting his head into the crook that welcomed him. with one hand, the falcon presses against his hair and the start of his back while falco’s other grips fabric and tightens. even his face disappears for a stretch, soothing the hot sting to the corners of his eyes and nose into the elder boy’s jacket, just as the hand to the back of his head does.
there is nothing quite as heavy, or as potent, than a candid heart speaking up. as if paul’s own loss were palpable, his arms hug tighter around his neck. I’ll come back for you. he believes it. he knows it’s true. he breathes out, a voice slightly strained but firming itself to give his heart back. he’s already spoken it, but he’s been encouraged— to feel everything and use it. ]
I know you will. [ once the shared embrace comes to a natural close, falco’s hold loosens only to bring him to paul’s front, facing him— the falcon rests on his shoulder, and the boy’s opposite hand finds the space between his jaw and his neck. it’s a warm-hearted gesture of care. ] If you can’t find me, I’ll find you.
[Paul cups Falco's face on the opposite side of his falcon's perch, brushing a thumb over his cheek. It's a thing he doesn't remember ever having done for anyone else before, only had done to him, and it feels like a part of the world shifting under his hand. He doesn't know what his own eyes might look like, except that he feels a salt-sharp prick at their corners he blinks away.]
That's right. [Paul nods, emphatically, letting his hand come down to Falco's shoulder.] So we don't need to be so worried, do we?
[We being the operative word. Falco is going to worry, Paul is not unrealistic, but Paul will shoulder as much of it as he can for him. That starts with being steady enough to balance it. That starts with coaxing Falco back into his chair and sliding a pastry in front of him before Paul pulls his chair around the table to sit next to him and drape an arm over his shoulder companionably.]
So let's eat, and we can talk about it, if you want to, or we can talk about anything else. I still owe you a story, don't I?
[ if he could just stay in this wrap just a little bit longer, because something aches in chest despite being reassured. falco lets his weight be guided back to the chair he sat in regardless, but the phantom touch still brushed his cheek where paul had cupped his hand. he was no longer a paleblood, but there was . . . a sense of foreboding hanging close to his head. worry. it was the same feeling he had before war would break and he’d find himself in the middle of the battlefield searching desperately for his squad, colt, and when they were all gone— gabi.
it’s a feeling, and sad comprehension, that despite their words to be true to each other, it might not always happen the way they’d expect it to. whenever there’s battle in the picture, one might not find the other among the living. the risk is there— that was the bane that involved combat. falco attempts a smile, a weak one that he wished he could’ve made stronger for his elder friend the same way he’d made himself for falco.
he nods his head and agrees, but the melancholy awareness sits behind his soft agreement, too sympathetic, and a little bit selfish, to ruin it. he wants to enjoy the time paul is offering with him, too. this pastry, a story, his milk and paul’s coffee. he doesn’t want to feed the future he doesn’t know clearly, but he’ll be there to aid in shaping it however he could.
and he would find paul, wherever he was. ]
I’d like all of those. [ talking about the thing that’s dated to arrive, to prepare better, talk about something else— and the story. but, after a pause, falco brings honesty into a meek rise: ] Maybe a story, first.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
but, how did he feel? falco goes quiet in an attempt to assimilate and put into words what he feels— he’s thankfully not one to shy away from dialogue or talking about what it is he’s feeling (it was, actually, the quality that netted him a future girlfriend in the middle of a war). ]
I, um, [ is that what he’s asking? he begins to fold away the fabric in a neat square once it’s been seen. ] I’m really happy that you care that much about me. [ and inhale, because, certainly, he’s getting emotional, these gentle hazel doe eyes tracking with his words. the smile that comes with it is soft, small, like a fluffed cap of feathers. ] I do, too. That’s why I can’t just . . . Not do anything. I don’t want to lose you, either.
[ it’s like— it’s like watching someone run off into danger. he’s never kept put. gabi, pieck, reiner, annie— he’s never been able to just watch them go, without doing a thing about it. most of those times, falco had made a right call. if he hadn’t been there, worse would happen.
at least some of the worst happened to him, and not them— he took the bulk for being there, and there’s no regret in it. not if he uses that time wisely. once the cloth if tucked into itself, falco sets it on top of the table. there was something else; he inhales to make sure he’s ready to talk about it. ]
I made a promise to someone back home. They’re the reason I’m still alive.
[ it echoes to him, all the time. when he sleeps, he dreams— he sees the world through galliard’s eyes, from his life to his last moments. he wasn’t afraid. he went down protecting someone else. ]
If I could help with something, whatever it is— I want to help. I like helping people, but . . . I need to make sure he didn’t die for nothing.
Whenever I’m stuck, I keep thinking, what would Galliard do, if he were still here? He wouldn’t just . . . Watch. [ or hide, or anything of the sort that had to do with being idle, much less with a gift (or curse) so rare in numbers. falco leaves out his inheritance, but only because it seems like too much information for one sit down. ] I can’t do that to him.
no subject
He doesn't let himself be a mirror or to crumple under the weight of recognition. That's not how it works. (He remembers his mother's eyes, and their emptiness, and the bleak understanding that it was up to him, now, all of it, the world falling across his unready shoulders.) What he does do is let Falco see it, just a little: his quiet shared understanding when Falco says Galliard and Paul hears another name in his heart.]
It's all right to be afraid. [Because there is so much fear there: the fear of failing, of loss, of being alone, and Paul's voice aches.] I am too.
[With that, Paul reaches up, and gently gathers Falco down into his arms. He wraps them around the younger boy and runs a hand over his hair, guiding his face to the crook of Paul's shoulder where Paul had dug his fingers in, once, to save Falco from another bad dream.]
You are helping people. You help me all the time.
No one who dies for someone else does it for nothing. Never. [Paul presses the smaller boy closer to his chest, says this close to the curved shell of his ear.] Galliard knew that. You're not nothing, and I am not going to leave you, not if there is anything I can do about it, and even if -
[Even if, even if, Falco knows too much of even if and its aftermath to lie to about that. Paul breathes out, faintly tremulous, and says:] I'd come back for you.
no subject
there is nothing quite as heavy, or as potent, than a candid heart speaking up. as if paul’s own loss were palpable, his arms hug tighter around his neck. I’ll come back for you. he believes it. he knows it’s true. he breathes out, a voice slightly strained but firming itself to give his heart back. he’s already spoken it, but he’s been encouraged— to feel everything and use it. ]
I know you will. [ once the shared embrace comes to a natural close, falco’s hold loosens only to bring him to paul’s front, facing him— the falcon rests on his shoulder, and the boy’s opposite hand finds the space between his jaw and his neck. it’s a warm-hearted gesture of care. ] If you can’t find me, I’ll find you.
no subject
That's right. [Paul nods, emphatically, letting his hand come down to Falco's shoulder.] So we don't need to be so worried, do we?
[We being the operative word. Falco is going to worry, Paul is not unrealistic, but Paul will shoulder as much of it as he can for him. That starts with being steady enough to balance it. That starts with coaxing Falco back into his chair and sliding a pastry in front of him before Paul pulls his chair around the table to sit next to him and drape an arm over his shoulder companionably.]
So let's eat, and we can talk about it, if you want to, or we can talk about anything else. I still owe you a story, don't I?
no subject
it’s a feeling, and sad comprehension, that despite their words to be true to each other, it might not always happen the way they’d expect it to. whenever there’s battle in the picture, one might not find the other among the living. the risk is there— that was the bane that involved combat. falco attempts a smile, a weak one that he wished he could’ve made stronger for his elder friend the same way he’d made himself for falco.
he nods his head and agrees, but the melancholy awareness sits behind his soft agreement, too sympathetic, and a little bit selfish, to ruin it. he wants to enjoy the time paul is offering with him, too. this pastry, a story, his milk and paul’s coffee. he doesn’t want to feed the future he doesn’t know clearly, but he’ll be there to aid in shaping it however he could.
and he would find paul, wherever he was. ]
I’d like all of those. [ talking about the thing that’s dated to arrive, to prepare better, talk about something else— and the story. but, after a pause, falco brings honesty into a meek rise: ] Maybe a story, first.
[ any kind. ]