[Lavi's not wrong - the tirade is already forming on his lips, the moment the door opens because this?
How does Lavi manage to make it to the door, without tripping over at least twenty things? It's brightness and chaos, disorder of the most annoying kind - but the words die on his tongue before they have a chance to fly.
His mouth opens, and then closes, throat suddenly dry all over again.
Because the grinning fool is gone, and only his partner - that enigmatic person caught somewhere between the Bookman and the name - is the one left standing beside him, his arm close enough for Kanda to feel the fabric of it brush against his chest.
Some part of him has to wonder why, it seems, those lines and barriers they try to draw always seems to shatter in close proximity, why pretense fades when voices turn to whispered words.
(It's just not a part he can... or wants... to hear just yet.)
Because for now...
What bravado he'd tried to establish fades, and the tension returns to his frame. He's the one, this time, that focuses on the arm before him rather than the face beside his, can't seem to bring himself to see what truth is lurking in a verdant gaze brought the shift about now. Slow, careful breaths as dark brows furrow and the empty fist clenches into a white-knuckled fist.
He tries again, lips parting to silence, his voice no closer to use than the last attempt, before he finally shakes his head, clears his throat.]
...No, I-- [A whispered admission that feels forced from his lips. Another breath, this one more shaky than the last as Kanda half turns his head towards Lavi.
This time, he manages to stare at his partner's shoulder, before he tries again. Voice just as low, more tired than angry or irritated, now, he doesn't have the energy to hide the marrow-deep weariness he's feeling just then.]
I feel brittle, Lavi. Something's gotta bend, before I break, and... I haven't found a better option.
[Admitting a weakness, even one so blatantly obvious for someone that lives and works with another person is never easy, but for Kanda... who barely has it in him to accept that he's human?
It's a concession and truth offered for no reason that he's too tired, to worn down and exhausted to measure the weight of trusts given and received. This could be a weapon for Lavi, true, but in this moment Kanda is too worn down to care. His body shifts, sways the smallest measure closer before he catches himself, holds himself rigidly still, the warm arm barring him now firmly pressed across his chest.]
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How does Lavi manage to make it to the door, without tripping over at least twenty things? It's brightness and chaos, disorder of the most annoying kind - but the words die on his tongue before they have a chance to fly.
His mouth opens, and then closes, throat suddenly dry all over again.
Because the grinning fool is gone, and only his partner - that enigmatic person caught somewhere between the Bookman and the name - is the one left standing beside him, his arm close enough for Kanda to feel the fabric of it brush against his chest.
Some part of him has to wonder why, it seems, those lines and barriers they try to draw always seems to shatter in close proximity, why pretense fades when voices turn to whispered words.
(It's just not a part he can... or wants... to hear just yet.)
Because for now...
What bravado he'd tried to establish fades, and the tension returns to his frame. He's the one, this time, that focuses on the arm before him rather than the face beside his, can't seem to bring himself to see what truth is lurking in a verdant gaze brought the shift about now. Slow, careful breaths as dark brows furrow and the empty fist clenches into a white-knuckled fist.
He tries again, lips parting to silence, his voice no closer to use than the last attempt, before he finally shakes his head, clears his throat.]
...No, I-- [A whispered admission that feels forced from his lips. Another breath, this one more shaky than the last as Kanda half turns his head towards Lavi.
This time, he manages to stare at his partner's shoulder, before he tries again. Voice just as low, more tired than angry or irritated, now, he doesn't have the energy to hide the marrow-deep weariness he's feeling just then.]
I feel brittle, Lavi. Something's gotta bend, before I break, and... I haven't found a better option.
[Admitting a weakness, even one so blatantly obvious for someone that lives and works with another person is never easy, but for Kanda... who barely has it in him to accept that he's human?
It's a concession and truth offered for no reason that he's too tired, to worn down and exhausted to measure the weight of trusts given and received. This could be a weapon for Lavi, true, but in this moment Kanda is too worn down to care. His body shifts, sways the smallest measure closer before he catches himself, holds himself rigidly still, the warm arm barring him now firmly pressed across his chest.]
If you've got one, I'll listen. I...