Usually, he was the master of all his expressions. They were designed to bring to mind the darkness of a man, his flaws, but present them in a favorable lighting. Miranda had taught him that at the beginning of their trysts. Volk had carefully chosen a handful of pretty sets of his mouth, and a distance for the depth in his dark eyes. With the things that he regretted, and the objectionable parts of himself always there to remind him who he was, it wasn't really hard to mix up self-hatred with the drawing details of the well-picked-out shadows of his face. The result, as Miranda had promised, allowed him be a villain, and present as one, while at the same time getting his way with almost any new female acquaintance. It was an unfair advantage. He used it often - it was second nature now.<br/><br/>He had meant to wear something like that for her, like he'd picked out the jacket to not be new, but still very flattering, as though he'd lived an exciting life away, but like he wasn't vain. But all his careful preparations, to tug at all the things that had been her mother's downfall, dissolved in their own malice when the corners of her eyes glistened. He felt a panic spiral between the lining of his heart and the beats. And when she sobbed it the greatest insult. It hurt him, and he wore part of a wolf's wrinkles on one side of his nose. But his eyes widened with subtle fear, and his skin hollowed out with sullen empathy.<br/><br/>In the end maybe his performance was even worse than what he'd planned, because it let Reno see someone who cared. Miranda couldn't him teach him such theatrical skills. This was unfettered honesty in its attempt at hiding. How lovely. No, loving. How devastating. It was this kind of filtered confessions that had started him on the path of slowly disassembling her family, to begin. Jonas had been seduced, as well, by the boy and his big emotions. Volk was suffering too, if it at all pertained to their situation. But he'd not loved her in a while, so it was easier for him to compress the salt in his tears so they'd stay just below the cover of his eyes.<br/><br/>He listened to her cry as his dismay grew. Their private misery, tucked in with fog. Him and her and Jonas. For an instance, they were stones too - lonely obelisks standing as monuments of his failures. Black rocks in Burning Bear. Then his name from her mouth, amid the hot breaths of a good bawl. He was private about certain things, but she got to say it. Maybe it was more hers than his. He'd known her since she couldn't even pronounce it right. Hard syllables are difficult for little mouths, first. And then they become perfect, like her tongue had grown up around it, like a tree around a boulder. She'd said it on their last day too, when he could listen. He meant to listen, today.<br/><br/>But he didn't answer her at first. He moved closer. Long legs without hesitation. He kept her eyes, if she'd give them, while he cut into his leather covered digits with his teeth and pulled back. He took took the ball of his naked palm to the socket of her eye and slid all those tears to the side. They'd refill soon, probably. The back of his fingers to her opposite cheekbone. Volk had no right to touch Reno, but he couldn't have imagined not tending to her when she was like this.<br/><br/>"Shouldn't I be?" he asked back when his tear coated fingers pulled the other glove, as well. He wouldn't let her eyes go, and stepped even closer. She didn't look like she'd retreat. When he gathered her against him, she felt exactly like she had, coming out of the lake after soaking for too long, or when they'd wrestled, and he'd landed on her unfavorably, making her screech and howl. All good fun. "I'm sorry he's gone, Ren." Her head low on his chest. Damn girl hadn't grown any, in his eyes.<br/><br/>He'd bought himself some reprieve. Keeping her to him like this, she wouldn't be able to see him. His lashes spread at a few sentiments - her life, his roles, never having spoken to Jonas again. The darkness of his irises flooded until they were swimming, distorting the sky's reflection. His jaw grew with molar pressure as he held on to her for some selfish comfort. And then tears that weren't allowed to spill calmed. His own fit had missed its tide, and he sighed in relief. "You look good." he said, and the joke was bitter, because she did, even if she shouldn't at a funeral. But she was still his baby sister. "Did you do something to your hair?"