[The heavy grief that falls on Diluc's shoulders makes the samurai regret unwittingly leading him down the path of this conversation, if just for the way it visibly affects the other man. Being touched he trusts him enough to share it doesn't even cross his mind— his sole focus is on Diluc and the shifts of his body language.
This is, unfortunately, a feeling he does understand. Kazuha is not the same person he was before he'd witnessed his friend's execution. He is not the same person he was before his father died. The difference is, while he had failed to do anything to save them, it was not at his hand. This is a feeling he can only imagine.
He lets Diluc have his moment to collect himself, his fingers stroking against the palm of his hand, and then he pushes his seat back. Kazuha slips to his feet, his height making it more of a hop than a smooth stand, his hand still entwined around the taller man's. Standing at the edge of the table, he tugs him gently.]
no subject
This is, unfortunately, a feeling he does understand. Kazuha is not the same person he was before he'd witnessed his friend's execution. He is not the same person he was before his father died. The difference is, while he had failed to do anything to save them, it was not at his hand. This is a feeling he can only imagine.
He lets Diluc have his moment to collect himself, his fingers stroking against the palm of his hand, and then he pushes his seat back. Kazuha slips to his feet, his height making it more of a hop than a smooth stand, his hand still entwined around the taller man's. Standing at the edge of the table, he tugs him gently.]
Come with me.