[ Kanda's eyes flash and his moods boil, then pass, hints of storms which never broke, kept at bay by something softer, gentler: the sound of home. And though Sion holds Kanda's gaze—gold interlocked and effortlessly accepting of blue—for a moment, perhaps two, he looks almost distant, echoes of the 'banter' between Lavi and Noah resonant in his ears. That is... warmth, isn't it? Even if Kanda may not yet have realized it for himself, his glance toward the door served only to strengthen Sion's whisper of a thought, leaving no doubt, no concern in the Director's mind, because--...
Kanda has just begun to tread upon it, hasn't he, the path which Sion himself could not walk.
Though...! There is, perhaps, another far more pressing (and humorous) worry waiting yet to be addressed: Kanda's propensity for being thoroughly dense (and often at the most questionable of times).
Kanda, don't you know...? ]
You reason for being.
[ —is Sion's answer, accompanied by a thoughtful lowering of white lashes over golden eyes. As much should have been obvious, but then, as Sion shifts atop the mattress, glancing to the sword which hangs as decoration for the second time, he knows in his heart that Kanda (his friend) will be just fine, even if...
He cannot pretend to agree with the man, that the life of someone held dear had to end by Kanda's own blade.
(However far away someone may have wandered; their being eroded, their sense of self gone, even then... their heart remained. Even when the smallest part of a person remained intact, if that flame managed to stay lit in the darkness, that person would not disappear. This, Sion believes more than anything.) ]
You know... I think I found my own on that day. I failed you. [ Failed many, despite his promises to protect them. ] I should have been strong enough to save the both of you, and yet...
[ At that time, his hopes had turned to ash in his mouth, the taste bitten back with a grimace when a knife had found its way into his gut, then refused entirely (spit back out), when it came time to spare the one person who deserved freedom more than anyone else.
Kanda, who had been the very first person to dislike him. Kanda, who could change and has, albeit in slow degrees and increments. ]
I could not, and I never had the chance to say that I am sorry.
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Kanda has just begun to tread upon it, hasn't he, the path which Sion himself could not walk.
Though...! There is, perhaps, another far more pressing (and humorous) worry waiting yet to be addressed: Kanda's propensity for being thoroughly dense (and often at the most questionable of times).
Kanda, don't you know...? ]
You reason for being.
[ —is Sion's answer, accompanied by a thoughtful lowering of white lashes over golden eyes. As much should have been obvious, but then, as Sion shifts atop the mattress, glancing to the sword which hangs as decoration for the second time, he knows in his heart that Kanda (his friend) will be just fine, even if...
He cannot pretend to agree with the man, that the life of someone held dear had to end by Kanda's own blade.
(However far away someone may have wandered; their being eroded, their sense of self gone, even then... their heart remained. Even when the smallest part of a person remained intact, if that flame managed to stay lit in the darkness, that person would not disappear. This, Sion believes more than anything.) ]
You know... I think I found my own on that day. I failed you. [ Failed many, despite his promises to protect them. ] I should have been strong enough to save the both of you, and yet...
[ At that time, his hopes had turned to ash in his mouth, the taste bitten back with a grimace when a knife had found its way into his gut, then refused entirely (spit back out), when it came time to spare the one person who deserved freedom more than anyone else.
Kanda, who had been the very first person to dislike him. Kanda, who could change and has, albeit in slow degrees and increments. ]
I could not, and I never had the chance to say that I am sorry.