( His room....? That seems to surprise him a little, and the boy's looking slowly around again, as though to take in his surroundings once more.
His eyes linger on an item or two — a guitar propped against a wall, a telescope aimed to a window. A green blanket folded up and set on the dresser. His things...?
Something to it all doesn't feel exactly right. The shape of it, the feeling. For a moment, he thinks of the darkest part of the wood, and he doesn't know why, but he shudders quietly. (Is he in someone else's life?) But Peter's looking back up as the girl speaks, draws closer. He doesn't seem to have much recognition for "The Weed" either, just watches her face. There's a soft startle when she touches his knee — not afraid or pulling back, just a movement of his face, eyes dipping downwards to watch. )
Alright. ( It's said very softly, as his eyes move back upwards to the girl's face. He believes her, trusts her — agrees quietly, as his eyes hold onto her, not wanting her to go. (Why is he suddenly afraid to lose her?)
Peter swallows, eyes moving once again to her cheek, catching the iridescent film there, barely perceptible, the ghost of a thing. He stares for a long moment before his own hand lifts a little, hovers in the air. It feels okay to touch her — to reciprocate it, the girl's gentle touch. But he doesn't yet, just lets his fingers stay there between them for a moment.
It's important, that fairy-shimmer. He doesn't quite know why, but he knows it is. )
You have...... ( He doesn't know the word for it, a quiet yearning frustration calling from inside of himself, words he can't quite find. )
no subject
His eyes linger on an item or two — a guitar propped against a wall, a telescope aimed to a window. A green blanket folded up and set on the dresser. His things...?
Something to it all doesn't feel exactly right. The shape of it, the feeling. For a moment, he thinks of the darkest part of the wood, and he doesn't know why, but he shudders quietly. (Is he in someone else's life?) But Peter's looking back up as the girl speaks, draws closer. He doesn't seem to have much recognition for "The Weed" either, just watches her face. There's a soft startle when she touches his knee — not afraid or pulling back, just a movement of his face, eyes dipping downwards to watch. )
Alright. ( It's said very softly, as his eyes move back upwards to the girl's face. He believes her, trusts her — agrees quietly, as his eyes hold onto her, not wanting her to go. (Why is he suddenly afraid to lose her?)
Peter swallows, eyes moving once again to her cheek, catching the iridescent film there, barely perceptible, the ghost of a thing. He stares for a long moment before his own hand lifts a little, hovers in the air. It feels okay to touch her — to reciprocate it, the girl's gentle touch. But he doesn't yet, just lets his fingers stay there between them for a moment.
It's important, that fairy-shimmer. He doesn't quite know why, but he knows it is. )
You have...... ( He doesn't know the word for it, a quiet yearning frustration calling from inside of himself, words he can't quite find. )
....I don't know. But it's there. I see it.