Work Text:
I stood at the top of the acropolis with shaky hands. My mind had gotten used to the numbness, the unrelenting pain that I always felt whenever I swallowed my emotions.
Cicero sat next to me in his chilton and leather sandals. The fabric was slightly wrinkled from the way he was sitting; with his knees held close to his chest. I saw the tremors coursing through his veins. Every breath, every shiver, was a subtle sign of distress. Cicero’s hands clenched the cloth.
The tension in the air was unbearable, even when a gust of wind blew right into Cicero’s face. He murmured under his breath. “FUCKING Dolabella..” For the first time in years, he said what he felt. He didn’t sugarcoat it, he spoke the truth. It was an objective way to talk about his emotions, to converse what he felt was right to say.
People find themselves getting lost in their thoughts and feelings. They begin to treat others differently depending on how they view them, on the actions they make. To love unconditionally, even through times as tough as rock, is unheard of. Yet I sat there, next to a man doing exactly that.
“Sh-she’s gone..”, He whimpered under his breath. A few solemn tears streamed down his face and stained the grass below. Cicero sat next to me under the shade. We were surrounded by oak trees and the gentle rustling of leaves. He didn’t look at me, in favour of staring at the ground.
I knew he needed reassurance, more desperately than he wanted his daughter back alive. I simply didn’t know how to go about it. His body was tense. Mine were as well. It felt uncomfortable, I didn’t know what to do. My hand lingered on his shoulder, contemplating whether or not I should.. talk.
“I’m.. I’m sorry for your loss.” Cicero was momentarily shocked. Did I say something wrong? Was my attempt at condolence inappropriate? It was the way I said it. I think.. My words came out harsher than intended. The man looked saddened. I saw cracks beneath the surface, a moment of vulnerability which he tried hiding.
I tried again, this time making my tone soft. “Sorry..” My words were murmured just like how he murmured before. The man grunted and nodded slightly. He sighed. “I w-write too much..”, he hesitantly told me. It was true. He wrote an abundance of books, even months after his daughter passed.
I mentally began listing all the things that made me happier when I was down. I looked at him when I talked, holding his gaze. It wasn’t something I did often, but Cicero was in a bad state. “You know..” I trailed off. Was this really something I wanted to say to one of Rome’s most famous philosophers? I coughed awkwardly. “You know,” I said, “a hug always makes me feel better..”
He gave me a condescending look. “Oh, really..?” He let out a deep sigh, but eventually relented. I held him in my embrace. He likely would’ve appreciated this sooner. I felt his muscles loosen under my touch. A silent sob breaks out of his mouth. Cicero slowly lowered his head. He stared at me with a softened gaze.
I was.. unable to fully comfort him. I’ve never grasped the concept of a loved one dying, let alone your own child. I gazed at him with a worried look. “Did I do well?” The sun shone on our faces. I slowly pulled away. Cicero held my arms in a firm grip. He weakly smiled. “You did alright.” The pain was still there, just lessened.
We watched the sunset together, how it lowered on the horizon and entered Tartarus. Perhaps this is what he needed; a silent reassurance, a friend by your side. Being allowed to grieve without being given dramatic, overbearing gestures. This way of making others feel better, I still don’t quite understand. But, I think I did alright.