[ the idea that he might be putting her in an awkward position doesn't occur to him. He's too focused on the boots; he accepts them with hands that tremble, somewhere between fear and reverence and a whole bunch of other feelings he doesn't know how to name. Maybe they're an illusion conjured up by the stupid fairies; maybe they're real. How should he know? Does it matter? They look and feel exactly like the real thing. They even smell familiar. Johnny clutches them to his chest because he doesn't know what else to do.
Despite his wishes, his eyes burn with tears. Happy, sad, angry, scared - he doesn't know anymore. He doesn't want these - not anymore, not like this - but he can't throw them away. He can't leave them with Hayame. The past can't stop chasing him down. ]
What the f-fuck, [ he repeats, voice choked. He can't even say thank you because he doesn't know if he is grateful. ]
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Despite his wishes, his eyes burn with tears. Happy, sad, angry, scared - he doesn't know anymore. He doesn't want these - not anymore, not like this - but he can't throw them away. He can't leave them with Hayame. The past can't stop chasing him down. ]
What the f-fuck, [ he repeats, voice choked. He can't even say thank you because he doesn't know if he is grateful. ]