Chapter Text
Thinking about how Veritas Ratio will try to cope after your death. The moment he had your limp body under his hands, as cliche as it may sound , he feels like his heart stops beating as well. Every single moment during your funeral felt surreal. This can't be real, right? A little part of him wanted to think that this might be one of your sick jokes gone wrong which always made him roll his eyes, but no . You're not there beside him anymore. Nor will you ever be . Veritas Ratio knows better to not let his grief consume him whole. He took his day off teaching, seeing other idiots is the last thing he wanted to occur .
But who is to blame for this sudden void inside his head? The renowned genius cannot form any single rational thought during the first week after your death. All he could think about is you. The way you try to argue with him about your newfound knowledge, the way you were always there for him every single day . It is getting unbearable . It's like a routine, he will come to visit your grave every morning, bringing new flowers each day. The moment he went back home he stills himself inside his studio with lots of his unfinished sculptures.
As much as he thinks about you, he cannot remember your face . Of course he knows that it was a form of defense mechanism created unconsciously by the back of his mind. But it feels so bad that he wants to rip his hair off. Standing before an unfinished work, his hands tremble before the barely touched clay. He just wanted to make another statue of you . Yet his mind cannot comprehend the visual of your face. Seeing a photo of you would be too much for him, wouldn't it? After all, this is not the first time he had made it. Surely he can rely on his muscle memory, but why can't he do it?
Maybe his loss is beyond his own comprehension
, and it will take him a while to function properly without you by his side.