Re: the empty and the console
No. He didn't think the man was someone else. He thought he was himself, exactly, down to the shifting pixel. Though, yes, he did mourn. He mourned and he drew close to his friend, holding him and pressing his nose to the nook beneath chin, and it was intimate without implication or insinuation. It was honest. Because he could only be honest. His heart was exposed like a nerve and he didn't try to hide it. It was desperate and maybe it was pitiable. But, he didn't care about that. He'd earned pity his whole life. Pity and mingled disgust, for whoever wore their heart on their sleeve - figuratively -, they were not always well-received. Honesty was not always appreciated.
But, that had never stopped the man on his knees. He was honest always. The nature of love was loss, as the nature of life too was loss. It wasn't malice. It wasn't tragedy. The removal of heart from jagged teeth of protective cage - the man had given it freely, and he'd do it again. And again, and again. It was a small price to pay for friendship. It was a trade he thought well worth it, though it ached. And it wasn't clinging or even fear of change that had him on his knees now. A person could be broken. He knew that. He'd seen it, up close. Friendships could even be grown out of. But, a friendship couldn't break. To hold onto someone who couldn't hold on back, someone you cared for, who cared for you, that was a part of it. It came with the territory, as did removal of the heart - or, if not removal, transplantation, attachment outside, beneath rake and screech of elements and rot, with ligatures and ligaments bleeding out and some retching, unable to stand the sight of so much blood.
"I didn't go back for you," whispered the man, tapping fingers to his friend's chest, above the cavity his own heart occupied. He couldn't hear it, but he knew it was there. Maybe it came with a prompt screen - Is it BEATING? y/n - yyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy, black and green and so outdated, but functional.