Pyrrha just strokes her thumb across Jaune's cheek for a moment, smiling sadly. She knows there's probably nothing she can say to make it better - nothing she can do to take it away. If there was, she'd do it in a heartbeat, but she's glad he's not going to great lengths to hide it - as if she wouldn't be able to recognize the same pain in other people.
"Jaune," Pyrrha's tone has a light note of reproach in it, the kind of tone you'd take with a child who knew they weren't really about to be punished. "You didn't need to do that to yourself. I...know what that's like." Her imagination doesn't have to stretch very far, but it hardly matters when Jaune looks so tormented by it. "...maybe we should decide on a time."
"It's too real to be a dream, but too bizarre to be real life." Pyrrha corrects with a soft snort, pulling him in to another hug. She smoothes her hands down his back, gentle and solid and warm, letting him feel that she was real. That she wasn't about to disintegrate into a million pieces.
Pyrrha doesn't tell him what he already knows - that his sister is suffering, likely his whole family is suffering a heartbreak she can barely fathom. If she felt this way, imagine what people who have had the pleasure of knowing him his entire life are feeling...
"I don't know I...how can this be? And...why? Why now? And how?" The last repetition is said with wonder, gratitude Pyrrha can't aim anywhere in particular except, perhaps, the gods, infused into it.
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"Jaune," Pyrrha's tone has a light note of reproach in it, the kind of tone you'd take with a child who knew they weren't really about to be punished. "You didn't need to do that to yourself. I...know what that's like." Her imagination doesn't have to stretch very far, but it hardly matters when Jaune looks so tormented by it. "...maybe we should decide on a time."
"It's too real to be a dream, but too bizarre to be real life." Pyrrha corrects with a soft snort, pulling him in to another hug. She smoothes her hands down his back, gentle and solid and warm, letting him feel that she was real. That she wasn't about to disintegrate into a million pieces.
Pyrrha doesn't tell him what he already knows - that his sister is suffering, likely his whole family is suffering a heartbreak she can barely fathom. If she felt this way, imagine what people who have had the pleasure of knowing him his entire life are feeling...
"I don't know I...how can this be? And...why? Why now? And how?" The last repetition is said with wonder, gratitude Pyrrha can't aim anywhere in particular except, perhaps, the gods, infused into it.