Inigo stands and listens. Somehow it feels easier to listen to Roland when he takes on this tone, one that's so familiar to Inigo, even though not necessarily from the man standing in front of him right now. But it feels more like what he deserves right now. He should be scolded. He should be punished.
But despite Roland's tone, the words themselves aren't harsh. They're not hurtful. There's no real scolding in it - if anything, it's more like tough encouragement. Roland being steadfast. (Yet another piece of proof that Roland is so much better than him, so much stronger than Inigo could ever be. Because Inigo can't see through, can't see beyond, is much too used to idealising even his own biological father already as someone far beyond him--)
And Inigo can't talk back to that. He just can't. It's why he's quiet, only staring at Roland with those same empty eyes, letting the other take his hands, just listening.
It's only when the tone switches back to what he's more used to coming from Roland that Inigo finds the strength to move his lips again, the words tumbling out without much thought.
"I've stood," he says. But the words are too tiny to be a protest. "I've stood back up so many times."
He always kept going. In so many ways. The more obvious physical way-- the many, many times where he can remember fighting for days, skipping a night's worth of sleep, his entire body aching. The times he got so injured that it hurt to move, yet he knew he couldn't just keep lying around, that he somehow scrambled back up to his feet and dragged himself away. The times he kept fighting, even though he felt like he was bleeding out from a wound. Because there was no other choice. There never was. All those experiences that go entirely unspoken, only reflected in the scars that litter his body, the ones Roland saw back in the water of the hot springs.
But also in different ways. After his father died, and he was so young and scared. After his mother died, and it felt like all hope and joy died with her. After the world seemed lost, after having to give up his own future, his world, his existence-- after watching Yuki reject him and walk away from him at the party.
He could have given up so many times. He could have chosen to not get up. He could have bled out, let the earth reclaim him, join the mindless horde of Risen. Away from the fears, and worries, and constant stream of tears. And he didn't.
But--
"But.. what good is it..?" Though his eyes are dry as he still looks straight into Roland's eyes, his voice hitches, his hands twitching in Roland's grip. "It never made me stronger. Nothing ever changed. I'm still the same as that little kid."
The crybaby, clinging to his mother. Except now, with his mother gone, he's just clinging to the nearest parental figure instead, which happens to be Roland in this case.
"So how is there any way that would change now..?"
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But despite Roland's tone, the words themselves aren't harsh. They're not hurtful. There's no real scolding in it - if anything, it's more like tough encouragement. Roland being steadfast. (Yet another piece of proof that Roland is so much better than him, so much stronger than Inigo could ever be. Because Inigo can't see through, can't see beyond, is much too used to idealising even his own biological father already as someone far beyond him--)
And Inigo can't talk back to that. He just can't. It's why he's quiet, only staring at Roland with those same empty eyes, letting the other take his hands, just listening.
It's only when the tone switches back to what he's more used to coming from Roland that Inigo finds the strength to move his lips again, the words tumbling out without much thought.
"I've stood," he says. But the words are too tiny to be a protest. "I've stood back up so many times."
He always kept going. In so many ways. The more obvious physical way-- the many, many times where he can remember fighting for days, skipping a night's worth of sleep, his entire body aching. The times he got so injured that it hurt to move, yet he knew he couldn't just keep lying around, that he somehow scrambled back up to his feet and dragged himself away. The times he kept fighting, even though he felt like he was bleeding out from a wound. Because there was no other choice. There never was. All those experiences that go entirely unspoken, only reflected in the scars that litter his body, the ones Roland saw back in the water of the hot springs.
But also in different ways. After his father died, and he was so young and scared. After his mother died, and it felt like all hope and joy died with her. After the world seemed lost, after having to give up his own future, his world, his existence-- after watching Yuki reject him and walk away from him at the party.
He could have given up so many times. He could have chosen to not get up. He could have bled out, let the earth reclaim him, join the mindless horde of Risen. Away from the fears, and worries, and constant stream of tears. And he didn't.
But--
"But.. what good is it..?" Though his eyes are dry as he still looks straight into Roland's eyes, his voice hitches, his hands twitching in Roland's grip. "It never made me stronger. Nothing ever changed. I'm still the same as that little kid."
The crybaby, clinging to his mother. Except now, with his mother gone, he's just clinging to the nearest parental figure instead, which happens to be Roland in this case.
"So how is there any way that would change now..?"