[He doesn't dare interrupt it, not for a moment, but even not knowing the voice's owner, Gale could feel the weight of its words, their warmth and genuine kindness, their affection. He feels his chest grow increasingly tight; this feels like an intensely private moment, one he shouldn't have been able to listen in on, and yet there had been no telling what Amelia would hear.
Amelia, too, has loved and lost. He doubts there are many in any world who have not— but the drop of her shoulders, the faint shudder that runs through her as her back remains turned long after the voice has faded...
He knows this grief well. This man had been her world. From the sounds of it, a light in dark times. Her reason for being.
He does not know what kind of comfort will be welcome now— he doesn't know her well enough to say for certain, but she doesn't seem the type who would like to be seen as vulnerable, and yet he cannot deny his instinct, either. He takes a few steps forward, coming to a careful halt just behind her and gently laying a hand against her arm, just beneath her shoulder. An offering— he is there, if she needs him.]
Amelia.
[He can see now that her glasses are off, that she's been crying, and he already knows the answer to what he's about to ask— but she had asked it of him. He would be remiss not to do the same. Softly:]
Are you alright?
[She's not, just as he wasn't, but sometimes in these moments, it's easier to lie to oneself.]
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Amelia, too, has loved and lost. He doubts there are many in any world who have not— but the drop of her shoulders, the faint shudder that runs through her as her back remains turned long after the voice has faded...
He knows this grief well. This man had been her world. From the sounds of it, a light in dark times. Her reason for being.
He does not know what kind of comfort will be welcome now— he doesn't know her well enough to say for certain, but she doesn't seem the type who would like to be seen as vulnerable, and yet he cannot deny his instinct, either. He takes a few steps forward, coming to a careful halt just behind her and gently laying a hand against her arm, just beneath her shoulder. An offering— he is there, if she needs him.]
Amelia.
[He can see now that her glasses are off, that she's been crying, and he already knows the answer to what he's about to ask— but she had asked it of him. He would be remiss not to do the same. Softly:]
Are you alright?
[She's not, just as he wasn't, but sometimes in these moments, it's easier to lie to oneself.]