Aremu’s room, The Tsuqeqachye’ki
When he got them to the bed, she clung to him just a moment. It’s all right, Aremu wanted to say, if you want to be held; I won’t think anything of it. She shifted away, though, mumbling several apologies, and Aremu just sort of shook his head, uncertain. His right wrist tucked behind his thigh, out of sight, with Aurelie - as usual, on his left.
She was still crying; it made something awful out of the smile, her eyes and nose red, but it was better still than the shaky look which had proceeded it, and Aremu felt a little bit relieved. He had smiled too, or at least he had tried.
Or furniture, she said, and something went uncertain on his face. But she was giggling, and he thought that was well, and he didn’t need to understand, not really.
Aurelie took the handkerchief, just sort of holding it, and explained that she wasn’t usually so...? Weepy, Aremu supposed. It didn’t seem like a kind word for it, somehow. Sad? Distressed?
I know, he wanted to say. No one who is would have been brave enough to leave. But he swallowed the words back, because he knew he didn’t - couldn’t - understand, and he didn’t want to play at it. It’s not hard to believe; I don’t think you a liar, except where perhaps you don’t know yourself.
“It’s all right,” Aremu said, gently, instead. He thought of taking her hand again, because it had seemed to comfort her, earlier. It seemed different somehow, here and now, than it had on the bench, and he didn’t do it.
“Everyone cries sometimes,” Aremu said, quietly. “Even the strongest men and women I know, and some of them more than just sometimes,” he offered her a smile, and he found it came a little easier.
It seemed strange to go on talking when she was crying. There were things he had thought to say and do: to show her the cabin, for all that there wasn’t much of it; and to talk to her about the next day and a half, and how it might be. None of it seemed important enough that he needed to do it while tears rolled down her face.
Instead, Aremu looked back at the trunk, wonderingly, and then again at the small girl sitting beside him. He smiled a little more at her, and he found himself hopeful once more.
A thrum ran through the walls of the ship. Aremu sighed; it ran through him too, and he smiled, something inside him lifting. “We’ll take off soon,” he said, smiling at Aurelie, thinking that this might be a more pleasant distraction. “We can watch from the window. If you want, I mean.”
“I can cover it, if you rather,” Aremu offered after a moment, frowning. He had thought of fear of the dark, and fear of small spaces; he hadn’t thought of fear of heights. In some ways it didn’t matter much anymore; he didn’t think any of it scared her as much as staying, for all that he wasn’t entirely sure he understood why.
“Are you hungry?” Aremu asked, too, because that seemed important. “There’s food, if you like.” He gestured with his hand at the covered bowl, and then lowered it, slowly, back to his lap.