Duke Leto has a talent of listening that Midoriya will able to recognize, having seen it so many times from a slighter, more delicate face. It's as if the rest of the world has taken a step back, leaving Midoriya illuminated singularly in a pool of light not unlike that being cast by the fire next to them.
Unlike his son's version of it, Leto's full attention is tempered by the understanding that not everyone appreciates being so attentively focused on. His gaze flits from him to Paul and back again lightly whenever it approaches the boundary of being too much all at once, something so natural it can only be the result of careful thought and practice. There is never a trace of judgment or disapproval in it, even when he raises his eyebrows slightly at the mention of his Lady.
"That's a noble calling," the Duke says, picking up a stick from the forest fire and leaning forward to stir the embers in the fire, sending up a rising shower of sparks, "My son tends to underestimate the amount of help he needs. Independent streak. No idea where he gets it from."
Next to Midoriya, there's a sound he might not expect: the muted sound of someone biting back a laugh. Paul coughs into his fist, his throat and eyes stung by the smoke (only the smoke), and spins his fish on their spit.
"What was that?" Leto asks, and there's a rhythm here, a back and forth, in the shape of how they speak to each other.
"Nothing," Paul says, and despite himself, despite everything, his voice lilts upward, because it's easy, so easy, to find his way back to it, "We must have left Halleck behind on the docks by mistake."
"Another fine example of an independent spirit," Leto says, satisfied, a light twinkle to his eyes despite the faux gravity of his brows briefly coming together, "But we're getting away from ourselves. I have another question. How did you know he needed more help than he asked for?"
no subject
Unlike his son's version of it, Leto's full attention is tempered by the understanding that not everyone appreciates being so attentively focused on. His gaze flits from him to Paul and back again lightly whenever it approaches the boundary of being too much all at once, something so natural it can only be the result of careful thought and practice. There is never a trace of judgment or disapproval in it, even when he raises his eyebrows slightly at the mention of his Lady.
"That's a noble calling," the Duke says, picking up a stick from the forest fire and leaning forward to stir the embers in the fire, sending up a rising shower of sparks, "My son tends to underestimate the amount of help he needs. Independent streak. No idea where he gets it from."
Next to Midoriya, there's a sound he might not expect: the muted sound of someone biting back a laugh. Paul coughs into his fist, his throat and eyes stung by the smoke (only the smoke), and spins his fish on their spit.
"What was that?" Leto asks, and there's a rhythm here, a back and forth, in the shape of how they speak to each other.
"Nothing," Paul says, and despite himself, despite everything, his voice lilts upward, because it's easy, so easy, to find his way back to it, "We must have left Halleck behind on the docks by mistake."
"Another fine example of an independent spirit," Leto says, satisfied, a light twinkle to his eyes despite the faux gravity of his brows briefly coming together, "But we're getting away from ourselves. I have another question. How did you know he needed more help than he asked for?"