[ Does he deserve this consideration? Or is it easier for Ganymede than focusing on his own painful memories? Strength in feeling like he's strong enough to help someone else? Michel knows that feeling, if only once.
He looks down at their joined hands as if seeing them for the first time. When is the last time he touched anyone for this long? That anyone wanted to touch him? He brushes his thumb lightly over Ganymede's knuckles; if this were in real life, it would be to convince himself of the presence of the moment, but none of this is real at all. ]
Why... do you want to go to so much trouble for me? Because I know something of your circumstances?
[ It's not enough of a reason. But he can't feel as suspicious as he usually would, either. What conceivable benefit could Ganymede find to all this? If there was one, perhaps he would deserve it for his pains. ]
I don't have a warm personality. It can't be pleasant to be around someone who doesn't have the least idea how to be considerate or tactful. I'm likely to ask all kinds of unwelcome questions. [ And, with the momentum of this outburst of confessions, a little defiantly: ] And what if I want to hear what's on your mind as well?
[ Would it be alright? Would it be enough? He's not hoping for someone who understands him. But to have one person... to have a friend who for some reason enjoys his company -- someone he can be there for in turn -- would that be too much to hope for? Hope is poisonous, and yet. For more than ten years he's still been waiting.
To hear that he can turn to Ganymede if his courage ever falters again... the warmth of that is like a conflagration. Like touching a flame. Like sunlight. ]
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He looks down at their joined hands as if seeing them for the first time. When is the last time he touched anyone for this long? That anyone wanted to touch him? He brushes his thumb lightly over Ganymede's knuckles; if this were in real life, it would be to convince himself of the presence of the moment, but none of this is real at all. ]
Why... do you want to go to so much trouble for me? Because I know something of your circumstances?
[ It's not enough of a reason. But he can't feel as suspicious as he usually would, either. What conceivable benefit could Ganymede find to all this? If there was one, perhaps he would deserve it for his pains. ]
I don't have a warm personality. It can't be pleasant to be around someone who doesn't have the least idea how to be considerate or tactful. I'm likely to ask all kinds of unwelcome questions. [ And, with the momentum of this outburst of confessions, a little defiantly: ] And what if I want to hear what's on your mind as well?
[ Would it be alright? Would it be enough? He's not hoping for someone who understands him. But to have one person... to have a friend who for some reason enjoys his company -- someone he can be there for in turn -- would that be too much to hope for? Hope is poisonous, and yet. For more than ten years he's still been waiting.
To hear that he can turn to Ganymede if his courage ever falters again... the warmth of that is like a conflagration. Like touching a flame. Like sunlight. ]