[Josh knows that look. He's seen it on his own face, watery eyes staring back at him in the mirror; he's felt the same twist and pull in his own chest, that very same inability to speak.
He hates it.
He hates seeing Oboro wear it even more.
His arms are out as soon as the kid leans toward him, and the embrace that follows is strong, firm, and warm, both sympathetic and reassuring. It's then that his memory flashes, lights up like a summer storm and lands him back in the living room of his childhood home, back in his mother's arms, the scene exactly like this one right here, right now. Except he was younger than Oboro is now, and he hadn't yet learned the fine art of keeping himself together, and he hadn't understood what death even meant aside from that his sister wouldn't be around anymore.]
Yeah.
[Josh tilts his head to lean his cheek against Oboro's hair and does the same: breathes until the pang in his chest has dulled, until his eyes don't feel quite so wet.]
no subject
He hates it.
He hates seeing Oboro wear it even more.
His arms are out as soon as the kid leans toward him, and the embrace that follows is strong, firm, and warm, both sympathetic and reassuring. It's then that his memory flashes, lights up like a summer storm and lands him back in the living room of his childhood home, back in his mother's arms, the scene exactly like this one right here, right now. Except he was younger than Oboro is now, and he hadn't yet learned the fine art of keeping himself together, and he hadn't understood what death even meant aside from that his sister wouldn't be around anymore.]
Yeah.
[Josh tilts his head to lean his cheek against Oboro's hair and does the same: breathes until the pang in his chest has dulled, until his eyes don't feel quite so wet.]
...yeah.