[He's quiet for a second, just holding Yasusada, feeling that closeness, the warmth of his human form and the ricochet of heartbeats in both of their gifted bodies.
He'd said "wanna hear a song", but he doesn't sing, at first. It's a soft and quiet humming instead, something gentle and somewhat melancholy that sounds like it comes from a distant, different time. The things he turns to when he's hurting are always familiar, even if it's a painful sort of familiarity. Songs from the people he'd known, so many hundreds of years ago, who often had nothing but their voices to express all of that misery with.
Even now, he thinks he's grateful for it. To have this heart and this mouth. To have the ability to understand the grief he feels and express it. But it's hard in the moment to feel anything but hurt.]
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He'd said "wanna hear a song", but he doesn't sing, at first. It's a soft and quiet humming instead, something gentle and somewhat melancholy that sounds like it comes from a distant, different time. The things he turns to when he's hurting are always familiar, even if it's a painful sort of familiarity. Songs from the people he'd known, so many hundreds of years ago, who often had nothing but their voices to express all of that misery with.
Even now, he thinks he's grateful for it. To have this heart and this mouth. To have the ability to understand the grief he feels and express it. But it's hard in the moment to feel anything but hurt.]