He's used to loss - they all are - but somehow this stings worse. After everything they've been through, Adrian one day stops coming home.
He'd never fault Sypha for crying. At least she can cry. All he can do is hold her close, staring angrily up at the ceiling in the dark, too-quiet room.
Her crying is quiet, near-silent shudders of her shoulders as she holds hard onto him. She'll be reassured that Adrian's only gone home, not been lost, but not yet. Not when she's just been someone else and come home to find... part of themselves torn away.
Soon enough, though, she lifts her head, wiping her face on her sleeve, and her body relaxes a little.
Trevor's hands are large on Sypha's small shoulders, but he's wrapped them around her anyway, holding her on top of his chest as he breathes in and out. He's angry, and he's sad, and he's confused and upset, but it's muted; overshadowed by the old feelings of loss and hopelessness. The itch to go to the pub is ridiculously strong, but that shadow is battled against the need to be sober and present for Sypha right now.
He relaxes his grip when she moves up a little, blinking tiredly up at her. A hand reaches up to pet at her hair, her temple, mesmerized by her face.
She cups a hand over his, turning her face into it, pressing her lips to the ball of his thumb, its familiar scars. It's not a kiss so much as it is a tracing, red lashes sweeping down over her eyes as she memorizes that hand once again.
He lets her turn his hand how she likes, the old scars from when he battled Death still raised prominent and red from the tips of the fingers to the cuff of his shoulder. Trevor curls his free hand around Sypha's back, resting it there.
"No. But I was in a pub most of the time. I don't think...I think it was just shit timing. Nothing to do with the place itself."
He holds her hand, looking at them intertwined, exhaling a little.
"I don't think he will be for very long. We'll go back. Tease him about the times he missed out on here. It'll be like no time at all's passed, where he is."
He nods, but Trevor is already working under the assumption that if he has a choice, he'll be the one to stay the longest. Too many assholes leaving on their own and asking him to look out for those who are left behind.
"All right. Yeah. And you should probably start keeping notes or a journal or something about all the things he's going to miss out on here, because he's probably going to have questions and I don't have the head to remember facts and dates."
"And someone has to leave a journal behind for the next Belmont to wind up here." Her hand squeezes slightly on his, but she's relaxing further, her free arm folded under her head as she looks at him.
"We'll find one you don't hate in the next port, then," she says reasonably, smiling at him. "But would you have believed that journal came from your family, if it had not come with the whip?"
"I might've." He argues, with a grin. "It had my crest, it needed your magic to open. Whatever future descendants - or hell, future ancestors - show up here, they're not getting my whip. That goes to Simon and whatever other brats come after him."
He tilts his head, giving Sypha a curious look back.
"Now why would you want to know how to sling around a whip when you've got magic? Yours has more range, more power, you don't need to remember to take it with you on pee breaks.."
"Holy terror." He repeats under his breath, imagining it with a grin as he pushes Sypha's hair back away from her face.
"Come to think of it, there's probably some texts in the Hold about lighting the whip on fire. It's blessed, so it can't catch it, because it tends to explode on contact with demons. Wonder if we can try that together.."
"Adrian's gonna be living forever. We can't wrestle his sword away from him. Plus the fucking thing's like six feet long. No grown human's capable of swinging it with any accuracy."
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After Bang!
But their bed is suddenly much too large, too empty even with the two of them, and she holds tight to Trevor and buries her face against his throat.
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He'd never fault Sypha for crying. At least she can cry. All he can do is hold her close, staring angrily up at the ceiling in the dark, too-quiet room.
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Soon enough, though, she lifts her head, wiping her face on her sleeve, and her body relaxes a little.
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He relaxes his grip when she moves up a little, blinking tiredly up at her. A hand reaches up to pet at her hair, her temple, mesmerized by her face.
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"Did you see him, anywhere in the other place?"
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"No. But I was in a pub most of the time. I don't think...I think it was just shit timing. Nothing to do with the place itself."
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"I'm worried about him being alone again."
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"I don't think he will be for very long. We'll go back. Tease him about the times he missed out on here. It'll be like no time at all's passed, where he is."
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"If- if you're sent back before me- stay with him. Please. Over anything else."
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"All right. Yeah. And you should probably start keeping notes or a journal or something about all the things he's going to miss out on here, because he's probably going to have questions and I don't have the head to remember facts and dates."
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"It might not stick around in a cabin. We'll have to plant it in the library. And enough beer to kill a wild boar."
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"Now why would you want to know how to sling around a whip when you've got magic? Yours has more range, more power, you don't need to remember to take it with you on pee breaks.."
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"Fuck, he's going to be a brilliant kid. All right - later on, we'll start practicing. Figure out how to mix both in without running into each other."
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"Come to think of it, there's probably some texts in the Hold about lighting the whip on fire. It's blessed, so it can't catch it, because it tends to explode on contact with demons. Wonder if we can try that together.."
God, he's grinning at the idea.
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