[ How onerous it must be, for Julius to speak of himself; of the sentiment which so often is buried deep within his chest, kept precious and safe and coveted for reasons which Sion has only just come to know. And for the Director, who has given so very much of himself away to others, to hear the words I can believe in you causes his heart to swell, his breath stolen from him for a second time because--... He is enough of a person to be trusted, to be believed in, to be cared for and held by branches which secure themselves about his hand, tethers which keep him centered, balanced as the moons of the Quad in orbit. After all this time, he's so very glad that someone (that Julius) is able to see him, the Sion that exists beyond an ever-present need to redefine himself so that he might better be able to aid and protect others.

But then there are tears in grey eyes which have never been cold, rather like flint-stone instead of hard marble, capable of sparking with all the emotion Julius endeavored to keep in close restraint.

You must not die, Julius says, and Sion can only shake his head, smiling still: ]

Do you not remember, Julius? [ —his laughter, after that, is something soft and delicate, a touch charmed by the other man's boldness, and a touch frightened by it as well. ] I said that I would always stand at your side.

[ Or, as it is in the here and now, lay at the side of his friend in companionable proximity; a warm sort of closeness. ]

I'll not be parted from you so easily. [ And it's perhaps fitting, that the statement is resonant as a vow before Sions' voice sobers, colored by solemn notes and traces of the loss which he'd glimpsed not only in Julius dream, but in the recent passing of a subordinate: ]

Though I am sorry to hear it, that you lost someone dear to your own heart. But--... you must think of him, and how he perceived you in his own eyes. This is what you must honor, not a curse.