[ His expression falls short of actual culpability, eyes blinking too bright, too caught, by the intensity of Kaoru's stare as it falls and diffuses past him. He can't manage words; every time he attempts to voice his sympathy, it dies in his throat, the sticky discomfort of never expressing empathy when he's meant to. And he can tell, clearly discern the affection in Kaoru's eyes, even if there's something strange about the way it's transposed. A coolness at complete polar odds with the wayward stares — for Kaoru, whose directness he takes as a given, it's odd.

But her sister is gone. That's understandable, too.

Without comprehension, he lets his eyes wander, then plaintively raises the tea cup for a sip, a slow intake of warmth that settles in protracted suffusion within him. Out of cowardice, he doesn't lift his gaze. ]

I've loathed my sister, once. Just once. [ A beat. ] But that didn't mean I didn't care about her even then. She ... if she had a flaw, it would be pride. It blinded her to the truth at hand. And then she died.

[ His tone waxing quiet at the end, he glances up at last, eyes boring holes into Kaoru. ] Where do you think they go after they die? Do you think there's an afterlife, or do you believe that nothing awaits us after we breathe our last breaths and inevitably perish?