#//oooUUUGHH JAE YOUR LAST REPLY MADE ME SO SICK IN THE HEAD

[splinteredash]

//continued from here; @fenrena

So much for a quick rip.

Instead, Sharena is slow with how she pulls off the bandage--meticulous. Had time been allowed any chance to rekindle the fires of what had been lost, she has come to undo that process, surgically unzipping and re-opening the pores of his pain. There is a Sharena--not his, but a--dampening his professorial coat with her tears. Like any younger sister would to her big brother, she cries. But this is not for the same reason. A breakup, a bad day, a scolding from father... Any and all are preferred to the harrowing sense of guilt shooting up his ethereal nerves. Nerves that aren't even there, but can still be felt like thorns growing in between plates of armor. They exist in the gaps between hardened layers over the heart. He abandoned her, turned her away--and even if it wasn't him who hurt this Sharena, he has hurt another.

He wants to laugh. Fate could not be any crueler.

The sheer difference in size makes it easy for Sharena to hug him while seated, but that does not stop Lif from abstaining at first. His hands are poisonous. They grab the hilts of swords designed to cull the living and bleed dry the sacrificial lambs laid upon Hel's--or Thorr's, or whoever's--unholy altar. They are unclean. Lif wonders if they even remember how to be tender anymore. Because after all,

'Even if our world were to be saved, as we wish it to be...'

'It would be no place for us.'

Silence drapes over them like a shadow. Seconds? Minutes? An hour? Lif does not know how long he waits. Only when the slow stutter and mumble of his otherworldly sister comes to a complete stop does he stir.

Perhaps he is right. Perhaps he has no right, not to touch or help or even love her, after soaking his hands in the pool of Askr's demise. Ask anyone sane, and they may say that for once hoping to barter another Sharena for his--another Alfonse's mind for the small trickle of healing his would receive--he should earn her scorn. But the heart is not sane, nor does its beat ever truly stop. Not even in the husk of a corpse.

"... Very well."

A piece of Alfonse remains: his arms. They guide Lif's, slowly encircling them round Sharena's back until her hug is mirrored. His hands give a few gentle taps, before they recede into his psyche and it is just Lif's left on Sharena. Then Alfonse's legs push up against the weight of the Revenant so that he may stand. By circumstance, he's gained a significant portion of height over her, but that changes their dynamic very little. He is still Alfonse, solemn keeper of Askr's peace; protector of those he holds dear. This small part of home walks among him, and so as she always has, Sharena receives his shield.

Fingers find a latch by her shoulder and brush past her uniform to hold on. A gentle squeeze locks her firmly in place, pushing her tear-damp face against his outfit in the hope that cold steel and colder leather could provide some sort of comfort. What he wouldn't give to radiate some warmth, though--even just a little bit.

But some things are simply unattainable now. He'll have to accept that fact.

"... What would you like to talk about, Sharena? I... Have the time."

His eyes squeeze shut, trying to choke down tears that will never fall. And if I don't, I will make it.

✢⁎. stitching bonds