Tentatvely, her arms slid around Blythe in return and though she bit her lip hard, a choked, painful sound tore itself from Yako's throat. Her eyes burned, and for the first time in months--in what felt like years--Yako let go of her carefully maintained facade completely.
It started slowly, and silently, a few lone tears slipping down her cheeks, followed by a strangled sound, and soon enough the dam burst and every drop of pain and loneliness and fear and worry she had felt since coming here was pouring out in violent, shoulder-wracking sobs.
It wasn't fair. It wasn't fair that crazy, detrimental, heart-shattering things kept happening to Yako, who, despite the wisdom and maturity she occasionally exuded, was still only a seventeen year old girl. And it certainly wasn't fair that it had to happen to Blythe, who was...
Who was strong and kind and understanding and welcoming and, to Yako, the very definition of a good person. It just wasn't fair.