[ He's listening quietly without looking away. Even when they weren't on the move and could relax just for a moment with another warm body, they've never had this. It's almost tempting to tell him, to tug at the seams stitching them together and holds up everything they've kept locked up tight.
See? This is what I can't say, what I keep hidden deep down because it's the easiest way to keep going.
They won't, though. Not now. Maybe not ever. The urge is there, though, insistent and threatening to burst from them. They tighten those stitches together, so nothing can spill forth. It's easier, safer, because if Tartaglia keeps looking at them in the eyes and they let their guard down even for a moment, they're not sure what will happen.
In the end, they don't say anything in reply. Their eyes say enough, though, wide and filled with something like awe. Everything is still a tangled mess, and the more they try to fix it, the worse it gets.
But this is something that's theirs. Tartaglia's words, his gaze locked on them, his hand around theirs all burn themselves into their fractured, fading memory. They desperately hope this doesn't slip through the cracks.
They follow, hand in his still, because they don't dare to pull away now. ]
Ah... there's not a lot I dislike. [ That's not helpful, though. ] But I'm partial to most fruit and chocolate.
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See? This is what I can't say, what I keep hidden deep down because it's the easiest way to keep going.
They won't, though. Not now. Maybe not ever. The urge is there, though, insistent and threatening to burst from them. They tighten those stitches together, so nothing can spill forth. It's easier, safer, because if Tartaglia keeps looking at them in the eyes and they let their guard down even for a moment, they're not sure what will happen.
In the end, they don't say anything in reply. Their eyes say enough, though, wide and filled with something like awe. Everything is still a tangled mess, and the more they try to fix it, the worse it gets.
But this is something that's theirs. Tartaglia's words, his gaze locked on them, his hand around theirs all burn themselves into their fractured, fading memory. They desperately hope this doesn't slip through the cracks.
They follow, hand in his still, because they don't dare to pull away now. ]
Ah... there's not a lot I dislike. [ That's not helpful, though. ] But I'm partial to most fruit and chocolate.