[she tries not to mention it, if she can help it. something like that was private, deeply so, and not something she wanted to mention if Aerith was hurt by it. it still lingers in her mind, of course, every detail, but if Aerith is broaching the subject, then it's safe to speak of.]
...You trusted him that much.
[an observation, a question, but an understanding all the same.]
[ With Emily, it’s always safe to speak. Of the world, of life, of death, and everything in between— all the beautiful things and the ugly things, too. ]
[she nods, feeling their shared warmth on her mask, the presence of it.]
And now I can think of a thousand things I'd tell him, if he was here - but those regrets will simply have to stay with me.
[carried behind her, a trail of broken Emilys, who spoke too much or too little, consigned to the fire. nothing ever fitting right. regret, guilt, the past - it burns on. they remain. she keeps it fed.]
[ There isn’t much Aerith can offer in response to that. She turns her head to Emily, letting go of the mask. Her fingers go cold, then, losing the warmth of skin, of body heat when she relinquishes her touch from it. The smile she offers Emily is gentle and waxes half-full, like a receding moon. There are a great deal of things on her mind— all of them losses. Then, after a pause full of implications and would-bes or have-beens, Aerith speaks. ]
[taking the mask back, fastening it on her waist, it gives her a plausible reason to look down and away from Aerith. she won't see her eyes for this.]
I'm not sure what you mean.
[maybe I'm just tired of having the same fucking argument with you when I know you're just going to work yourself to death anyway. Andy's words, hot and caustic, kept alive in some corner of her heart to keep her humble. apology after apology, because it applies to everyone else. their emotions can come in, fill up space in the construct that is "Emily Dyer". there's room for it. the less of herself, the more space they have.]
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...You trusted him that much.
[an observation, a question, but an understanding all the same.]
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Anyone who knew him did.
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And now I can think of a thousand things I'd tell him, if he was here - but those regrets will simply have to stay with me.
[carried behind her, a trail of broken Emilys, who spoke too much or too little, consigned to the fire. nothing ever fitting right. regret, guilt, the past - it burns on. they remain. she keeps it fed.]
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That's how you know you'll carry him with you forever. He'll never really be gone, Emily.
[ ...and offers that, a little bit of her own beliefs. ]
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[the smile she offers Aerith can't quite cover up the sorrow that's stirred in her heart, but it's truthful - as true as those dreams had been.]
Thank you - I hope you don't feel like I made you comfort me, when this should be about your reminisces.
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[ Ahem. ]
I'm sorry for bumming you out.
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[you can practically hear the quotes on her words.]
Sharing your emotions is nothing to apologize for, Aerith!
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Speaking from experience?
[ She knows Emily isn’t. ]
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I'm not sure what you mean.
[maybe I'm just tired of having the same fucking argument with you when I know you're just going to work yourself to death anyway. Andy's words, hot and caustic, kept alive in some corner of her heart to keep her humble. apology after apology, because it applies to everyone else. their emotions can come in, fill up space in the construct that is "Emily Dyer". there's room for it. the less of herself, the more space they have.]