[ It's the look into his eyes that's the hardest to deal with. How it feels like Leo peers straight through the cracks in his façade and sees all the things he tries not to concern other people with.
Isn't that what happens with kindred spirits, though? Easier to pick apart and see what they really are?
A bit of light fades from Hector's eyes, and it's the slight way his shoulders heave, the way his hair is just slightly in disarray, the way the wrinkles on his face sit—he looks tired. It's the face of a man who's still grieving, nearly ten years later.
He folds forward, presses his forehead to the crook of Leo's neck, and he holds him tighter.
He doesn't say anything, or do anything in particular. But it's the most he's allowing himself. And Leo. ]
...Thank you.
[ His voice is quiet, more sincere, audible only to the people on this couch. ]
no subject
Isn't that what happens with kindred spirits, though? Easier to pick apart and see what they really are?
A bit of light fades from Hector's eyes, and it's the slight way his shoulders heave, the way his hair is just slightly in disarray, the way the wrinkles on his face sit—he looks tired. It's the face of a man who's still grieving, nearly ten years later.
He folds forward, presses his forehead to the crook of Leo's neck, and he holds him tighter.
He doesn't say anything, or do anything in particular. But it's the most he's allowing himself. And Leo. ]
...Thank you.
[ His voice is quiet, more sincere, audible only to the people on this couch. ]