Hushed Willows oh you should've been a mother, you should've been a wife

her words reassure him, though he has seen for himself seabreeze's progress, though it's a line. his fickle underbelly whispers to him curse; confronted by olive's face, silvered as the moon, delight tries to hold onto their last conversation. concern overtakes his momentary self-pity as olive chokes up, her words ringing hard in his ears. instinctively he steps forward and reaches out, offering an embrace if she desires, and says, "she is --she's the strongest of all of us." he's just a fool boy with a bag full of tragedy -- seabreeze is unshakeable faith in the goodness of things. she'll be fine. she'll be fine. 

but -- poor olive, of course! her wife is suffering. feeling idiotic for not thinking of trying to check in with her sooner, delight pulls away a little, just to try and read her expression. "it's okay," he says softly, "but it's -- hard, huh?" he doesn't know how to say it's okay if you cry in front of me about it, but he hopes that she'll understand, anyway.