[ It ripples in his peripherals, hazy and loud, as if something detonated behind his eyes — and it had. Love and Sakurazuka and — mori, his feverish mind supplies. Even as he moves back inside with his typical pace and poise, going so far as to lift a hand to soothe at Anko's shivering, there's something he's focusing on blinking back. Whatever has rooted in his heart and blossomed violently at the mention sows possession and conflict in a way that even his tether can't properly convey.
There is something else in there with him, always. Prowling, strong, fated. His equilibrium shifts with invisible memory, with the falling reminders, and only when his actions seem to settle back in his body, the pot of water, the cup, the tea, does Subaru's tether thump uneasily back to the surface.
Sensations float over it like the colors of an oil spill, refusing to mix in the brief interlude of connection; those colors are Caelus's hurt, the spark of loneliness that might ignite it.
It's not precisely guilt and not precisely sorrow that he feels. It is... acknowledgement, tender in the recesses of his overused heart. ]
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There is something else in there with him, always. Prowling, strong, fated. His equilibrium shifts with invisible memory, with the falling reminders, and only when his actions seem to settle back in his body, the pot of water, the cup, the tea, does Subaru's tether thump uneasily back to the surface.
Sensations float over it like the colors of an oil spill, refusing to mix in the brief interlude of connection; those colors are Caelus's hurt, the spark of loneliness that might ignite it.
It's not precisely guilt and not precisely sorrow that he feels. It is... acknowledgement, tender in the recesses of his overused heart. ]
It's not your fault.