[ just like yves thinks of the strange future echo of taair, taair thinks of the reliver, with the bright smile that lacked all heart behind it, and it makes his heart lurch, puts a clear uneasiness and worry on his face. not for himself, but for yves. ]

You shouldn't have to. [ he says, softly, frowning up at him. if he made his choice to die, he should be allowed to die - that other version of him was a facsimile, against his wishes, and it makes his heart ache to imagine him having to step into those shoes because it is so similar to all that he's experienced. talking to the other yves was strange and unfamiliar, and the thought that he could have to suffer long after he was ready to stop makes his empathetic heart ache. ] Yves, you should be able to live however you want to.

[ but for taair himself... it's different, isn't it? it's taair's blood, the fate that hangs over his head as ominous as a guillotine. even coming here made no difference in it. he was always meant to have this kind of life. what happens to birds who grow up docile, who finally escape the cage?

he bites his lip. ]

...If I stay here, as a passive observer, it won't be any different - except I can no longer write to the people who I've caused trouble for by dying. Maybe there's something I could still do, if I went back.

[ there's not. he doesn't believe it, even as the words are coming out of his mouth. ]