[Paul is more than half-asleep, propped up on his elbows with bleary eyes, hopelessly bed-mussed hair, and bright red lines from the folds in his pillowcase printed across his face.
He could interpret a lot into his condition, if not for being in it. He could trace out the intersections between exhaustion and security and trust. But instead, he just smiles, fuzzily, and waves with the knife in his hand.]
Kaworu [which comes out softly slurred, all vowels and hush] it's okay. He's a good teacher.
[And, on that note, he drops his head back against his pillow and falls back asleep, knife still in hand.]
no subject
[Paul is more than half-asleep, propped up on his elbows with bleary eyes, hopelessly bed-mussed hair, and bright red lines from the folds in his pillowcase printed across his face.
He could interpret a lot into his condition, if not for being in it. He could trace out the intersections between exhaustion and security and trust. But instead, he just smiles, fuzzily, and waves with the knife in his hand.]
Kaworu [which comes out softly slurred, all vowels and hush] it's okay. He's a good teacher.
[And, on that note, he drops his head back against his pillow and falls back asleep, knife still in hand.]