[He gasps when she moves and reaches out to him, the warmth of her breathing, living body chasing away the horror that plagues him. It's frustrating to still be caught between reality and nightmare, of knowing that by now it's all in his head and he shouldn't be letting it get to him. And it's frustrating as it's becoming more of a sign that his will and resolve is weakening, his mental strength becoming more vulnerable than it should.
He had always prided in himself in being able to remain clear minded, the steady rock that can keep even the most reckless in line. But if he can't even control himself and his own thoughts, then how can he maintain that position? How can he continue be strong enough to protect what he lives? Who he loves?
And when Tifa pleads for him to speak up, Eustace can only answer with a shaky breath before pursing his lips, his grip on her hand tightening as he can't bring himself to look at her. As if afraid he'll once again see that terrible image instead of her beautiful face. Again he knows he's being irrational, but perhaps at this stage it can't be helped.
After all, this isn't just baseless imagination.
He had already seen it before. Twice.
One near death. The second in his arms by his own hand.
It's not something that anyone can easily forget, if ever.
Feeling a strange burn in his eyes, he closes them tightly as he presses his face against the crook of her neck, desperately feeling and her pulse.]
...I can't.
[His voice, usually so strong and steady, so reliable, is quiet and hoarse. Frail. Vulnerable.
How can be tell her? How can he tell her without making her upset? Without making her worry and fret and in turn risk her safety? It all only makes him cling to her that much tighter.]
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He had always prided in himself in being able to remain clear minded, the steady rock that can keep even the most reckless in line. But if he can't even control himself and his own thoughts, then how can he maintain that position? How can he continue be strong enough to protect what he lives? Who he loves?
And when Tifa pleads for him to speak up, Eustace can only answer with a shaky breath before pursing his lips, his grip on her hand tightening as he can't bring himself to look at her. As if afraid he'll once again see that terrible image instead of her beautiful face. Again he knows he's being irrational, but perhaps at this stage it can't be helped.
After all, this isn't just baseless imagination.
He had already seen it before. Twice.
One near death. The second in his arms by his own hand.
It's not something that anyone can easily forget, if ever.
Feeling a strange burn in his eyes, he closes them tightly as he presses his face against the crook of her neck, desperately feeling and her pulse.]
...I can't.
[His voice, usually so strong and steady, so reliable, is quiet and hoarse. Frail. Vulnerable.
How can be tell her? How can he tell her without making her upset? Without making her worry and fret and in turn risk her safety? It all only makes him cling to her that much tighter.]