It might have been no more than a possibility, perhaps. But that it had - for that one brief moment - been a possibility is enough to dig at wounds he had thought very nearly closed. Memories that he would have been otherwise perfectly content to let lie, to remain as simply that. Memories, of something that might have been. Fragments, echoes of what she has, with that single suggestion, spoken into the world. There may not have been a child. But there could have been. Without Zodiark. Without the Final Days. Without the decisions that had been made and not made.
It takes a moment, before he finds the right words. Before he finds it in himself to speak at all, when he knows that there are too many 'what if's to speak of the possibility of there having been one, had they not had cause to summon Zodiark.
"Emotions rarely care for if a thing should matter, I've found. The hurt is real. The possibility was real, if but for that brief moment."
The hope was real, though he can't say for certain if she'd allowed herself to do so the way he had, when she'd realized what could have been. Nor does he mean to ask. Some things are better left unsaid, and this, he suspects, is one of them.
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Date: 2021-01-12 06:19 am (UTC)It takes a moment, before he finds the right words. Before he finds it in himself to speak at all, when he knows that there are too many 'what if's to speak of the possibility of there having been one, had they not had cause to summon Zodiark.
"Emotions rarely care for if a thing should matter, I've found. The hurt is real. The possibility was real, if but for that brief moment."
The hope was real, though he can't say for certain if she'd allowed herself to do so the way he had, when she'd realized what could have been. Nor does he mean to ask. Some things are better left unsaid, and this, he suspects, is one of them.