[despite his luckiness comparatively, despite his non-stop mouth, Badou knows how hard communication can be. he knows what it's like to struggle with being understood, and to have just too much in your headheart. he knows what it's like to want to just give up, when his teeth and tongue inevitably shred every word up, distorting them as they try to escape]
[and he knows she only has that gentle touch, just as only he has those rough words and bone-bruising hands]
[so even though he's unused to it (now more than ever), even though it makes his skin prickle uncomfortably at first, he lets her light weight settle on him, like it's nothing (like they're nothing, just like the City had always told them)]
[the Undergrounder thinks of that afternoon at the beach, where Sakamoto had taken him under his arm and just let him fall apart and put himself back together, and how safe he'd finallyfinallyfinally felt -- but his cast is too bulky between them, resting on his knee, and he's too young to follow that kind of intuition (he's not a creature of comfort, but he can try to be a creature of not-hurt, maybe)]
[her hair smells nice, he thinks stupidly, and squeezes his fucked up palm, forcing the nerves to spark; where were her other scars? it wasn't just her throat, he knows that much (today proves that much)]
Re: action;
[and he knows she only has that gentle touch, just as only he has those rough words and bone-bruising hands]
[so even though he's unused to it (now more than ever), even though it makes his skin prickle uncomfortably at first, he lets her light weight settle on him, like it's nothing (like they're nothing, just like the City had always told them)]
[the Undergrounder thinks of that afternoon at the beach, where Sakamoto had taken him under his arm and just let him fall apart and put himself back together, and how safe he'd finallyfinallyfinally felt -- but his cast is too bulky between them, resting on his knee, and he's too young to follow that kind of intuition (he's not a creature of comfort, but he can try to be a creature of not-hurt, maybe)]
[her hair smells nice, he thinks stupidly, and squeezes his fucked up palm, forcing the nerves to spark; where were her other scars? it wasn't just her throat, he knows that much (today proves that much)]
...Who is he t'you?