Dimitri's hand stays on Darcy's shoulder as she slides down, just shifting so it's more on her bicep. She's right: it doesn't solve anything. Whenever they leave this room, they'll still be on the ship; Darcy will still be a living ghost, and Dimitri will still be a monster. Goddess knows his own crying fit just left him feeling hollowed-out and headachey. And yet ... somehow, something is a little better. A little less cracked. A little more whole.
It's because Darcy's with him. Because she talked to him; because she listened, and offered up her own feelings in return. Because, at its root, crying is a social behavior with a social purpose, the first and most profound human instinct: help me!
"If I hadn't had Dedue, after it happened," he says, throat knotted painfully, "if he hadn't had me ... I think we both would have gone mad." Or, in Dimitri's case, madder than he already has. He's already hoarse from crying; his rallied composure slips away, leaving his voice raw, plaintive. "Does it have to solve anything? Can't it be enough just to hurt a little less?"
His own guilt would cry, no, it's not enough. The only relief he deserves is victory; anything less is a betrayal of those who've suffered, those who depend on him, who have no other choice. But Darcy is hurting. His friend is in pain. The wheel turns; the ouroboros swallows itself; a pair of broken pillars can lean on each other, and for Darcy's sake, Dimitri has to afford them both the compassion he denies himself.
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It's because Darcy's with him. Because she talked to him; because she listened, and offered up her own feelings in return. Because, at its root, crying is a social behavior with a social purpose, the first and most profound human instinct: help me!
"If I hadn't had Dedue, after it happened," he says, throat knotted painfully, "if he hadn't had me ... I think we both would have gone mad." Or, in Dimitri's case, madder than he already has. He's already hoarse from crying; his rallied composure slips away, leaving his voice raw, plaintive. "Does it have to solve anything? Can't it be enough just to hurt a little less?"
His own guilt would cry, no, it's not enough. The only relief he deserves is victory; anything less is a betrayal of those who've suffered, those who depend on him, who have no other choice. But Darcy is hurting. His friend is in pain. The wheel turns; the ouroboros swallows itself; a pair of broken pillars can lean on each other, and for Darcy's sake, Dimitri has to afford them both the compassion he denies himself.