[ settling comfortably into the pillow and bearing his weight upon his ankles, falco listens. his expression contorts around the eyebrows the most, a hurting kink over the bridge of his nose. how could— how could he abandon him? it didn't matter the number of friends he had. jun was jun, and therefore irreplaceable, therefore important, missed. falco can't interject, cannot interrupt him— so his hand on the boy's arm squeezes. it's not true.
the dream is a nightmare. there may have been a thing or two, about dreams in their classes, but falco does not have the mind to retrieve them. something about occult meanings and having keys to one's heart and soul. the deepest dives and the most intimate of fears slept there. being afraid of abandonment was palpably understandable, but falco's anxiety toward loss at this point expands to a level of rivalry. watching him from where he sits, diligently and raw, feeling the inside of his nose burn from the afterthought of shedding more tears when noticing pained twinges in his features and sweat causing black locks to stick. by the time he has folder the towel he'd gotten into a small square to pad at his friend's temple—
his cold, clammy cheeks feel warm, a flurrying greenish tint by a hand that cards at short little damp strands of his own hair. the shells of his ears have dawned the same color all the way down to his neck. this was affection. this was a tad more than a hug. he remembers each and every written word on the screen of his omni, and the combination makes his heart leap. ]
I'd, [ falco shakes his head, presses his lips together in a straight line to keep from losing composure already so fragile. ] never hurt you. I'd never run from you, you're—
[ when he inhales, it's shivery, even as he holds, makes sure to settle his hand at the top of the other boy's head with a gentle dust of his forehead with the towel. ]
You're my best friend— You make it bright, [ compared to such darkness, ] You're one of the only good things I have left.
[ his remaining hand finds the top of jun's, where it lingers close to his head, to clap it close. ]
no subject
the dream is a nightmare. there may have been a thing or two, about dreams in their classes, but falco does not have the mind to retrieve them. something about occult meanings and having keys to one's heart and soul. the deepest dives and the most intimate of fears slept there. being afraid of abandonment was palpably understandable, but falco's anxiety toward loss at this point expands to a level of rivalry. watching him from where he sits, diligently and raw, feeling the inside of his nose burn from the afterthought of shedding more tears when noticing pained twinges in his features and sweat causing black locks to stick. by the time he has folder the towel he'd gotten into a small square to pad at his friend's temple—
his cold, clammy cheeks feel warm, a flurrying greenish tint by a hand that cards at short little damp strands of his own hair. the shells of his ears have dawned the same color all the way down to his neck. this was affection. this was a tad more than a hug. he remembers each and every written word on the screen of his omni, and the combination makes his heart leap. ]
I'd, [ falco shakes his head, presses his lips together in a straight line to keep from losing composure already so fragile. ] never hurt you. I'd never run from you, you're—
[ when he inhales, it's shivery, even as he holds, makes sure to settle his hand at the top of the other boy's head with a gentle dust of his forehead with the towel. ]
You're my best friend— You make it bright, [ compared to such darkness, ] You're one of the only good things I have left.
[ his remaining hand finds the top of jun's, where it lingers close to his head, to clap it close. ]
None of what you said . . . Was stupid.