[ She knows he's right. Some part of her had known before she'd put the words forward, but what she wouldn't do to see Akemi again, to have her there with them where she should be, where she belongs. If Kouta had agreed, she would've been prepared to leave right then and there, to chase the answers they needed to find their Akemi and cut a path to her if that's what was required. Her heart aches with the thought that she is so far from them now, that she may very well have moved onto her next life having fallen short of enlightenment or taken up residence in some higher realm or whatever it is that happens to human souls after they depart from their physical shell. There's a lot of conflicting information about that. Some of it she knows from experience with various spirits and ghosts that linger in this world, but getting a straight answer regarding the nature of "the after life" from those who might have it has tended to be more of a challenge than not in her experience.
Whatever the case, it's a little late to snatch Akemi up now, of that much she's mostly certain, and she wishes she had. She tends to wish she had done a lot of things when it comes to Kouta and Akemi. More than she likes because she loves them so much and she hates how bitter the taste of regret, how long it clings to the tongue, the lips, the heart.
Closing her eyes, Setsura leans her forehead against Kouta's and gives his hand a tighter squeeze as though to reassure him, her that he's here, that she's here, that she's never, ever going to let go of that hand again. They're all they have now between them, them and three hearts worth of memories. ]
Can't blame me for asking.
[ She murmurs the words softly, the casualness of her speech an honest, heartfelt yield. ]
no subject
Whatever the case, it's a little late to snatch Akemi up now, of that much she's mostly certain, and she wishes she had. She tends to wish she had done a lot of things when it comes to Kouta and Akemi. More than she likes because she loves them so much and she hates how bitter the taste of regret, how long it clings to the tongue, the lips, the heart.
Closing her eyes, Setsura leans her forehead against Kouta's and gives his hand a tighter squeeze as though to reassure him, her that he's here, that she's here, that she's never, ever going to let go of that hand again. They're all they have now between them, them and three hearts worth of memories. ]
Can't blame me for asking.
[ She murmurs the words softly, the casualness of her speech an honest, heartfelt yield. ]