[ Something keeps aching in the way that Tatara speaks, that keeps reaching deeper. He doesn't quite understand it himself, but seeing those shades of sadness that begin to peer through the mask of happiness makes him want to reach for it, so he can at least share the burden of that sorrow.

It is unwise, because Jing Yuan has consistently experienced it over and over again. The loss of people close to him, the loss of those who never will be, the unbearable, uncontrollable fate that destiny cruelly forces upon people. A helplessness that manifests as a weakness that can only be refuted by placing distance between people. But, he is...far too gentle for that.

He knows this, more keenly than ever, when he hears the other spill those words, and he stops their dance, letting go of the other's hand, and instead moves to encircle his arms boldly around Tatara gently, pulling him, as well as holding him close. The movements are slow and careful all the same, but not half-hearted; warm, open, and welcoming. ]

I can't say I understand why you believe so. But, whatever regrets, whatever sorrows you wish to unleash...

You do not have to face it alone.

[ Jing Yuan's words are spoken gently, rather than with simple rationality. The compassion that is always hidden behind that, spilling through like a river out to meet the sea. ]