[ the quiet is allowed to settle for a moment while she gathers her thoughts, arranges herself into something more helpful than a living confessional to a person who says less than she does for all his mouth talks.
she's not sure sure what he's gone through tonight. the blood (and that's something she'll deal with later if he's not planning on going back to base camp any time soon, though she's not so good at dealing with real wounds that stay open) she associates with Sakamoto's jumbled texts, but the trigger? the actual happenings? she doesn't know. what she does know is that it doesn't feel right to know nothing and let the issue lie, let old wounds fester further, wouldn't that be unhealthy? but then again, maybe he's done enough of his own purging for one night.
she doesn't know. she just doesn't know.
badou needs you, he'd said. what good had she done so far?
there's a certain hesitance in motion as her head lowers to look at him, a vague melancholy in her face. she knows the man this boy becomes almost less than she knows the boy himself - but these wounds, today's wounds become tomorrow's distance just as much as today's distance becomes tomorrow's bravado, and more than anything she just wants to know—
a hand reaches out, fingers brushing feather-light at a knee, and her face is all question and a dash of concern (she can't keep it hidden forever, it isn't in her nature to lie.)
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Re: action
she's not sure sure what he's gone through tonight. the blood (and that's something she'll deal with later if he's not planning on going back to base camp any time soon, though she's not so good at dealing with real wounds that stay open) she associates with Sakamoto's jumbled texts, but the trigger? the actual happenings? she doesn't know. what she does know is that it doesn't feel right to know nothing and let the issue lie, let old wounds fester further, wouldn't that be unhealthy? but then again, maybe he's done enough of his own purging for one night.
she doesn't know. she just doesn't know.
badou needs you, he'd said. what good had she done so far?
there's a certain hesitance in motion as her head lowers to look at him, a vague melancholy in her face. she knows the man this boy becomes almost less than she knows the boy himself - but these wounds, today's wounds become tomorrow's distance just as much as today's distance becomes tomorrow's bravado, and more than anything she just wants to know—
a hand reaches out, fingers brushing feather-light at a knee, and her face is all question and a dash of concern (she can't keep it hidden forever, it isn't in her nature to lie.)
—are you alright? ]