[ Timmy's gentle when he reaches out to pet the ears, going against the course of fur at first before smoothing them back out. It's a simple, repetitive motion, soothing in its own way. Something soft and willing attached to someone who has promised to help him, who isn't going to do anything to him — because if Gen was, he would have by now.
He keeps it up as Gen talks to him, smile slowly blooming across his face, a soft mm of agreement. ]
I'll try. I like you. [ The petting slows down before Timmy removes his hand entirely, bringing it back to himself as he sits down. Shifts to lie down on the ground, tired from the aftermath of the moment he came from, from the crying, from dispelling his state of terror. Directly in front of Gen he starts to curl up into a ball, eyes slipping shut, safe enough to be vulnerable, to sleep. ] Thank you...
[ The last words are mumbled as he drifts off. As the body shrivels into dead roots, vaguely in the shape of a kid curled up.
And Amos abruptly gets up and turns around, refusing to look at the scene. At what was supposed to be his younger self, at Gen, at all of it. Without a word he heads back to the bench, back to his toolbox, feeling nothing—
Except for the part where Gen is a fellow Exalt, and underneath the layers and layers of nothing is a concentrated grief, faint and pulsing like an unsteady heartbeat — because even if Amos isn't letting himself feel it that doesn't mean it isn't still there. ]
no subject
He keeps it up as Gen talks to him, smile slowly blooming across his face, a soft mm of agreement. ]
I'll try. I like you. [ The petting slows down before Timmy removes his hand entirely, bringing it back to himself as he sits down. Shifts to lie down on the ground, tired from the aftermath of the moment he came from, from the crying, from dispelling his state of terror. Directly in front of Gen he starts to curl up into a ball, eyes slipping shut, safe enough to be vulnerable, to sleep. ] Thank you...
[ The last words are mumbled as he drifts off. As the body shrivels into dead roots, vaguely in the shape of a kid curled up.
And Amos abruptly gets up and turns around, refusing to look at the scene. At what was supposed to be his younger self, at Gen, at all of it. Without a word he heads back to the bench, back to his toolbox, feeling nothing—
Except for the part where Gen is a fellow Exalt, and underneath the layers and layers of nothing is a concentrated grief, faint and pulsing like an unsteady heartbeat — because even if Amos isn't letting himself feel it that doesn't mean it isn't still there. ]