[one might expect an averted gaze; guilt or shame, he's just a kid after all]
[but he's just a kid with a chip on his shoulder the size of a fucking canyon, and he has become the way he is from never, ever ever looking away (even when he should have, even when what he fucking saw plastered itself to the inside of his brain like rot and black ink)]
[that moss-green eye (too singular, maybe too familiar set in colour and gaze) stares back at him]
[no more shields, no more glasses -- his vocal chords have been plucked at with a hacksaw when he grits in response]
Don't ya fuckin' lie ta me again an' say it's gonna be okay. Don't you fuckin' dare say that shit t'me.
Re: action
[but he's just a kid with a chip on his shoulder the size of a fucking canyon, and he has become the way he is from never, ever ever looking away (even when he should have, even when what he fucking saw plastered itself to the inside of his brain like rot and black ink)]
[that moss-green eye (too singular, maybe too familiar set in colour and gaze) stares back at him]
[no more shields, no more glasses -- his vocal chords have been plucked at with a hacksaw when he grits in response]
Don't ya fuckin' lie ta me again an' say it's gonna be okay. Don't you fuckin' dare say that shit t'me.