[ The bittersweet ache echoes back at him from Oz. He has lived this feeling.
He wishes Oscar did not have to. ]
'I understand.'
[ That hangs a moment. ]
'And yet you've encouraged me to pursue a relationship with Stanford, when in many respects my situation is less viable than your own: I should not even have this body. The man known as Ozpin died with the Fall of Beacon, Oscar. I am now simply a part of you.
No relationship we have ever undertaken has been fair to our partners. Our lives are never untouched by tragedy: this is the burden we bear, and it falls upon all those we are close to, despite our every effort to lessen the weight. It is up to you to decide how to handle that responsibility. You may decide to hold yourself at a distance for their sakes, and do rest assured I have done the same many times over. It is a decision I greatly respect.
But, to echo some advice I have been given in recent months... it is important still to let ourselves love. It reminds us what we are fighting for.'
[ It is clear in Ozpin's tone: the grudging warmth of recognizing something is true even as he says it.
It has been a long time since he truly had a partner. The concept feels foreign and criminally unwise, more often than not. It is unquestionably selfish to impose all that he carries upon someone else. And yet he cannot help but think of that night spent arguing the raw truth with Qrow beneath Deerington's unearthly moon. He has, in many ways, felt more alive here since dying than he had in all Ozpin's decades of being alive— facing Qrow in a field of silver grass; speaking quietly with Oscar over two warm mugs of tea; smiling at Stanford under the stars.
It is difficult advice to give and to hear, but it has hard-learned merit. Perhaps there is something to Oscar's matchmaking. ]
[But Oscar cut himself off as the words sank in and his heart rose in his chest from the raw intensity he felt in those words. The truth was undeniable-- and yet...]
'This is a very lonely kind of life to lead, it's it?'
[Somehow, the terrible weight of those burdens felt as severe as a crown. A stolid, regal emblem though it was, by it's nature it held it's wearer apart from the others. The responsibility it carried demanded such measures, and yet...
[ It echoes simple and sad across the space between them. The weight of a hundred lifetimes hangs behind it. This is a fundamental truth of their existence, and about it, Ozpin cannot lie. ]
'But you do not have to be alone.
You can stand beside those you care about, and let them stand beside you. And, whenever you have need of me, I will be here.'
[ He made a promise, after all, and he is still intending to keep it.
[Oscar replied, catching that half formed thought in the green buzz between them. He said it with the confidence that only a young teenager could muster-- for, in many ways, that is what he still was.]
'I'll be here for you, too. Let's both stand beside the people we care about.... and let them stand beside us, too.'
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
He wishes Oscar did not have to. ]
'I understand.'
[ That hangs a moment. ]
'And yet you've encouraged me to pursue a relationship with Stanford, when in many respects my situation is less viable than your own: I should not even have this body. The man known as Ozpin died with the Fall of Beacon, Oscar. I am now simply a part of you.
No relationship we have ever undertaken has been fair to our partners. Our lives are never untouched by tragedy: this is the burden we bear, and it falls upon all those we are close to, despite our every effort to lessen the weight. It is up to you to decide how to handle that responsibility. You may decide to hold yourself at a distance for their sakes, and do rest assured I have done the same many times over. It is a decision I greatly respect.
But, to echo some advice I have been given in recent months... it is important still to let ourselves love. It reminds us what we are fighting for.'
[ It is clear in Ozpin's tone: the grudging warmth of recognizing something is true even as he says it.
It has been a long time since he truly had a partner. The concept feels foreign and criminally unwise, more often than not. It is unquestionably selfish to impose all that he carries upon someone else. And yet he cannot help but think of that night spent arguing the raw truth with Qrow beneath Deerington's unearthly moon. He has, in many ways, felt more alive here since dying than he had in all Ozpin's decades of being alive— facing Qrow in a field of silver grass; speaking quietly with Oscar over two warm mugs of tea; smiling at Stanford under the stars.
It is difficult advice to give and to hear, but it has hard-learned merit. Perhaps there is something to Oscar's matchmaking. ]
no subject
[But Oscar cut himself off as the words sank in and his heart rose in his chest from the raw intensity he felt in those words. The truth was undeniable-- and yet...]
'This is a very lonely kind of life to lead, it's it?'
[Somehow, the terrible weight of those burdens felt as severe as a crown. A stolid, regal emblem though it was, by it's nature it held it's wearer apart from the others. The responsibility it carried demanded such measures, and yet...
They were still only human.]
no subject
[ It echoes simple and sad across the space between them. The weight of a hundred lifetimes hangs behind it. This is a fundamental truth of their existence, and about it, Ozpin cannot lie. ]
'But you do not have to be alone.
You can stand beside those you care about, and let them stand beside you. And, whenever you have need of me, I will be here.'
[ He made a promise, after all, and he is still intending to keep it.
No running away. ]
no subject
[Oscar replied, catching that half formed thought in the green buzz between them. He said it with the confidence that only a young teenager could muster-- for, in many ways, that is what he still was.]
'I'll be here for you, too. Let's both stand beside the people we care about.... and let them stand beside us, too.'