[In spite of all of this, the flowers still bloom a little bigger and they rustle in the crisp wind that passes through. And when he sits next to her, she moves so that she's tucked right up against his side.
Another stretch of silence lingers, and Tifa keeps her eyes fixed on the sunrise, trying to keep her attention focused on that and not on the awful knotting in her stomach or the twisting in her heart as it sweeps over them. What is usually so natural and so comfortable has turned into something sad and uneasy... painful to sit through, and although there's so much to say, she doesn't know where to start or how to say it.
Instead, she slips her hands away so that she can zip open her bag and pulls out the canteen of coffee, twists the cap off and pours some of it in before offering him the container while she nurses the small lid, lifting it to her lips to take in the scent and the comforting, familiar warmth it gives off.
...
....
After a few more moments of watching the sunrise and a couple of careful sips of the hot coffee, she sets it down on the rock next to her and folds her hands in her lap, her fingers fidgeting among themselves.]
Eustace... I can't stand this. I don't like... whatever this is.
[There's no easy way to do this, so she's just going to come out and say it, and there's a nervous energy about her—it shakes her voice and twists the smile that she tries to put on for him, but she's going to push through it anyway because there's nothing else worse than sitting here in this silence with him.]
no subject
[In spite of all of this, the flowers still bloom a little bigger and they rustle in the crisp wind that passes through. And when he sits next to her, she moves so that she's tucked right up against his side.
Another stretch of silence lingers, and Tifa keeps her eyes fixed on the sunrise, trying to keep her attention focused on that and not on the awful knotting in her stomach or the twisting in her heart as it sweeps over them. What is usually so natural and so comfortable has turned into something sad and uneasy... painful to sit through, and although there's so much to say, she doesn't know where to start or how to say it.
Instead, she slips her hands away so that she can zip open her bag and pulls out the canteen of coffee, twists the cap off and pours some of it in before offering him the container while she nurses the small lid, lifting it to her lips to take in the scent and the comforting, familiar warmth it gives off.
...
....
After a few more moments of watching the sunrise and a couple of careful sips of the hot coffee, she sets it down on the rock next to her and folds her hands in her lap, her fingers fidgeting among themselves.]
Eustace... I can't stand this. I don't like... whatever this is.
[There's no easy way to do this, so she's just going to come out and say it, and there's a nervous energy about her—it shakes her voice and twists the smile that she tries to put on for him, but she's going to push through it anyway because there's nothing else worse than sitting here in this silence with him.]