PCs with Gerome

[swordhandled]

[ some threads are nsfw ]

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[swordhandled]

[ wraps his arms tighter around him, listening to gerome's words and trying to get meaning from them ] Was it... about your parents?

[maskarang]

[ muttered quietly ] ... Mother.

[swordhandled]

[ he hums quietly, pulling gerome closer ] So, she was apart of the Foundation as well.

[maskarang]

For what felt like an instant. [ any time spent with her at all would feel too short. this, especially, seemed like no time at all. he debates continuing, there's much he doesn't wish to say but much he feels he should.

he takes some time to wait for his throat to relax, then he swallows and mutters again ] I never asked when she hailed from. I could never bring myself to, but it was clear she wasn't as youthful as the Cherche of the past.

[swordhandled]

[ owain listens quietly, waiting for gerome to get to the crux of the issue. he nods along, giving him the space and time to tell him what happened. when gerome mentions how.... young, the cherche in his memory was, owain can't help but stiffen at the implication there. ]

You believe...? [ he trails off, not wanting to give voice to the thoughts they're certainly sharing here ]

[maskarang]

[ his only reply is silence. if it was, he's lost her again. if it wasn't, she was close enough that she could be called a mirror image anyway. both hurt impossibly, but he doesn't want to focus on the memory

focusing on owain seems better. it seems better, yet, it might be too late. he wedges a hand behind himself and owain, roughly wiping away the tears he wants to fight against. that quickly doesn't feel like enough so he just roughly kisses owain instead ]

[swordhandled]

[ he kisses back just as rough. though, almost in contrast to the kiss, owain's hands come up and gently cradle the sides of gerome's face, thumbs reaching up to brush away the tears that escaped his eyes. ]