[He remains quiet, offering a small word of thanks when she hands him the coffee—but he doesn't drink it, instead holding it in his hands as he stares out at the sun. He knows he shouldn't, but because of that dream, he wonders how many more will they have? Days? Weeks? Months? Years? And when the dark reds bleed into the oranges, a more unpleasant memory comes to mind, forcing him to look away before it completely spoils everything.
It's around then that Tifa speaks up, and he only glances at her, fingers tightening their grip OK the thermos before makes a small sound of acknowledgement.]
...Mm.
[But then what? How should they start? With a small sigh he sets down the untouched thermos to the ground.]
...It's difficult. And I know you're having a tough time with it as well.
[And then be voices the question they both share.]
no subject
It's around then that Tifa speaks up, and he only glances at her, fingers tightening their grip OK the thermos before makes a small sound of acknowledgement.]
...Mm.
[But then what? How should they start? With a small sigh he sets down the untouched thermos to the ground.]
...It's difficult. And I know you're having a tough time with it as well.
[And then be voices the question they both share.]
Where do we even begin?