[She told him to shut up but his head flops back down and he attempts to send her a look over it anyway, only to abort the entire thing halfway through, about the time she scowls against his shoulder. Oh. That's no good and even though she sounds fine with her next sentence one half-hiccup is enough to kickstart a panicked need to fix it.
Which. Kind of also kills his ability to translate thoughts into words, regardless of language. He sighs and he's not sure which one of them it's directed to, decides fuck it and pulls her closer, starts stroking his fingers through her hair.]
Like this. Is it - okay?
[No, he has no idea what "it" refers to. The gift or her not-crying or the hug or herself or them or, hell, maybe all of it. Whatever one she wants to answer.]
no subject
Which. Kind of also kills his ability to translate thoughts into words, regardless of language. He sighs and he's not sure which one of them it's directed to, decides fuck it and pulls her closer, starts stroking his fingers through her hair.]
Like this. Is it - okay?
[No, he has no idea what "it" refers to. The gift or her not-crying or the hug or herself or them or, hell, maybe all of it. Whatever one she wants to answer.]