Hᴇʀ ᴘᴇʀsɪsᴛᴇɴᴄᴇ ɪs astonishing for someone so seemingly soft, fragile. A reminder to not judge by covers alone, that there was more beneath than a simple facade could contain. Of course it is — that is a huge part of the role she plays, after all. A starring role she needs to execute exorbitantly well.
An act, mayhaps, but not to him. He didn't care much about the Faiths before her; vain little dolls, breaking from the slightest bit of pressure. There was no need to care for them because they wouldn't last long enough for such feelings to be developed, something that had been painfully obvious from the start. They weren't Faith; they were some meager preparation for the sister to come. and didn't he know from the start that she would be the right one? It had been a fight to actually get her into the family; more than she would ever know. He doesn't need a revelation to know how much the Father mistrusts his very judgement, but as time showed, he had been right about the girl with her hands currently in his hands and on his shoulders, forcing him to keep still when his body ached for movement.
(A reminder of other times. Sit, and behave — but her touch is softer, and the memory is vague at best, just deep enough for it ti enstill a certain type of obedience not within himself and to stay under her hands, enduring her endless little touches.)
"I'm merely trying to remind you to remain careful."
Things lately had turned out to be rather stressful, more so than usual. The signs were worsening, the Father said, and oh, didn't they all feel it? Not in the same way as he would, of course, but there is something resonating within the baptist's soul as well, something whispering of the end times. Times to keep an eye out for your family, more so than usual.
Being around her soothes the worries, even if it cannot wash it away. With certainty, it's the bliss taking effect on him as well — less than to some other unfortunate souls (the wrong approach; how could one overcome their sins and truly atone if they hid them away from themselves? They could not hide them forever; not from the Lord, but it's an discussion often gone through — violently, sometimes — and never accomplishing anything) — but it's there, and he will have it sitting on his skin and inside his lungs for days again.
Just like the pollen from the flowers she chose to place onto him will stick to his clothes. A hardship to get them out, but worth her smile — most of the times.
She rambles, and he listens. It's unlike him to stay silent for so long, but there is no need to interrupt her trail of thought — it comes to it's natural conclusion sooner or later regardless, and then, just then, does he raise his voice, although it's the soft, near lecturing tone he likes to use so much.
"I am not questioning you or your strength — all I am is expressing my worry for my own sister. Am I not allowed to do that? Is it not my duty to look out for you even if you do not need me?"
A reminder, it is. They both walk on a thin line of tolerance, but it would be worse for her to fall onto the wrong side of it.
Worries, cast aside momentarily as she fishes out his phone (he can catch a glimpse of the ignored notifications on it, and being the main connection between their home and the outside, it just sits as another string of stress at his heart) and he rolls his eyes as she opens up the camera, but he will humor her for now. If she takes comfort in things like that — and from experience, she does — she shall have it.
It is what a brother is supposed to do, after all.
