Kafka hadn't even realized that he was crying at first. His chest was heaving, his hands trembling faintly—but it wasn't until Vanitas stretched out her hand, hesitant, almost guilty, as though she wanted to touch him but no longer believed she had the right, and Evangeline's gaze softened with something like pity, that he lifted his fingers to his cheeks.
They were wet.
It was only then realized he was crying and is fingers lingered there, trembling, as he stared at the glistening tears on his fingertips.
A choked laugh escaped him, half-bitter, half-disbelieving, as the tears kept coming, streaming down his face faster than he could wipe them away.
"I...I honestly thought I wouldn't cry." He said, his voice cracking as he tried to laugh through the tears. "I told myself I'd be strong, you know? After all, I've imagined this moment so many times, standing here, facing you, hearing why you abandoned me."
