[ When Ange grabs his hand, it's so deeply startling to him that he momentarily forgets how torn up he was about this entire thing, the jolt of a warm hand in his both welcome and alien at the same time, an anchor to moor him to the here and now instead of spiraling down the familiar alleyways of his brain, always chugging too quickly for the rest of him to catch up to it, always going down the worst case scenario. To be touched to help and not to harm is still a frightfully foreign thing to him; perhaps Hilda would lean on his shoulder or grasp at his arm during his peaceful school days, but aside from her, it had only been brief corrections during training, the odd clasp of the shoulder from his father, a ruffle of his hair from his mother, and that was it.
Perhaps it's Ange's own experience with having siblings, even one that was ripped from her too soon. But it at least shuts him up, as does the butterflies spreading out around them, which he watches in mute amazement. She didn't have to do all that. She doesn't even grasp why it's such a big deal in the first place, had rightly pointed out how little it matters to everyone here, even her own housemates, but...
Maybe it's okay for him to tell her after all. Even if his hand is forced, he can think of few he'd rather tell. A little too late, he finds his voice again, uncharacteristically quiet. ]
...I see. [ Green eyes flit about, following the movements of the butterflies glowing in a beacon around them. He follows her steady footsteps down the streets, towards her own home. ]
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Perhaps it's Ange's own experience with having siblings, even one that was ripped from her too soon. But it at least shuts him up, as does the butterflies spreading out around them, which he watches in mute amazement. She didn't have to do all that. She doesn't even grasp why it's such a big deal in the first place, had rightly pointed out how little it matters to everyone here, even her own housemates, but...
Maybe it's okay for him to tell her after all. Even if his hand is forced, he can think of few he'd rather tell. A little too late, he finds his voice again, uncharacteristically quiet. ]
...I see. [ Green eyes flit about, following the movements of the butterflies glowing in a beacon around them. He follows her steady footsteps down the streets, towards her own home. ]
Thank you, Ange.
[ He means it. ]