[Paul leans into the tap against his shoulder with enough eagerness as it is, but how he presses slightly up against the ruffling of his hair with wide eyes and an extraordinary carefulness of composure around his mouth is what's the most telling. He nods too quickly, drawing the blankets up over himself, grateful for the shadows that he thinks help hide the sheen still over his eyes.
(They don't. They only make him look softer, erase a handful of years from his already-young features. The boy who tucks himself into bed is truly, and only, a boy.)]
Yes, sensei. [Quietly, like he's holding something precious on the tip of his tongue, and is afraid to break it.] Good night, sensei.
[His eyes are shut when Johnny leaves. His ears have no such property of closure. He listens to the footsteps stop, the slide down the wall, and the words for how he feels are close at hand, a warm scrawl inside his heart as his breathing slows, and he slips into dreamless sleep.]
no subject
(They don't. They only make him look softer, erase a handful of years from his already-young features. The boy who tucks himself into bed is truly, and only, a boy.)]
Yes, sensei. [Quietly, like he's holding something precious on the tip of his tongue, and is afraid to break it.] Good night, sensei.
[His eyes are shut when Johnny leaves. His ears have no such property of closure. He listens to the footsteps stop, the slide down the wall, and the words for how he feels are close at hand, a warm scrawl inside his heart as his breathing slows, and he slips into dreamless sleep.]