[For a little while his gaze remains on the spectacle outside, old memories reflecting on the surface of those rippling colors like waves. His youth, his teens, recent years, and even months. No real order, just a random blur of moments that meant something to him. Quiet moments. Peaceful moments. Moments so fleeting yet poignant like this. Moments he usually shared alone.
But in recent years he was able to stand with others, to be able to share that peace and quiet in close company. And it's thanks to that time, that progression, that he can even feel himself opening as much as he had towards the one with him now. It's as if this open window is a reflection of his own heart, a window where he would have just kept close while watching from within but now pushed open as if to invite him to step out. How many times has that window been open and closed, people intruding in and trying to pull him out. How many times has he sat on its sill, ventured out briefly before returning to close it...only to be forced open again. How many times has he stood there wondering if he should open it himself.
Slowly Eustace extends a hand out over her head to catch one of those snowflakes, the initial cold melting into something warm. So fleeting, yet leaving such a lasting impression. As he glances down at her, he wonders. Wonders if he should just forget about his earlier thoughts and let things go as they want. To move past lingering insecurities and doubts. In that moment he feels something brush against his fingertips—a flower petal? He tries to grasp it but is distracted when Tifa suddenly steps back and turns away.]
...Tifa?
[He catches the movement and concern washes over him as his attention focused on her. Almost reflexively now, a hand gently moves to her shoulder as he steps closer to her.
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But in recent years he was able to stand with others, to be able to share that peace and quiet in close company. And it's thanks to that time, that progression, that he can even feel himself opening as much as he had towards the one with him now. It's as if this open window is a reflection of his own heart, a window where he would have just kept close while watching from within but now pushed open as if to invite him to step out. How many times has that window been open and closed, people intruding in and trying to pull him out. How many times has he sat on its sill, ventured out briefly before returning to close it...only to be forced open again. How many times has he stood there wondering if he should open it himself.
Slowly Eustace extends a hand out over her head to catch one of those snowflakes, the initial cold melting into something warm. So fleeting, yet leaving such a lasting impression. As he glances down at her, he wonders. Wonders if he should just forget about his earlier thoughts and let things go as they want. To move past lingering insecurities and doubts. In that moment he feels something brush against his fingertips—a flower petal? He tries to grasp it but is distracted when Tifa suddenly steps back and turns away.]
...Tifa?
[He catches the movement and concern washes over him as his attention focused on her. Almost reflexively now, a hand gently moves to her shoulder as he steps closer to her.
Had she been reminded of something?]