[Love was a word not often spoken where Paul was born, the way that proverbs hold fish do not speak of water. Love was held in the hands, bestowed by the eyes, articulated through a thousand tiny gestures and acts that cradled Paul the whole of his life. He took it for granted, until it was gone, and it's shaped him as deeply as its lack has shaped everyone he finds himself caring for here.
He knows how to adore the way he knows how to see. When he lowers Kaworu's hand from his mouth to lace his fingers through it, he does both, meeting Kaworu's eyes with his own shaded to the soft green of a sea under warm rain.]
I know.
[It's a grace he isn't worthy of, but he wants to be, and isn't that the aspiration that things like this should inspire?]
I'm very lucky.
[He breathes in, long and sweet.]
Come on. Before I decide not to share you with anyone else ever again.
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He knows how to adore the way he knows how to see. When he lowers Kaworu's hand from his mouth to lace his fingers through it, he does both, meeting Kaworu's eyes with his own shaded to the soft green of a sea under warm rain.]
I know.
[It's a grace he isn't worthy of, but he wants to be, and isn't that the aspiration that things like this should inspire?]
I'm very lucky.
[He breathes in, long and sweet.]
Come on. Before I decide not to share you with anyone else ever again.