Targets. Plural. Who else might you be aiming for, Alina.
[An annoying sting of something, not soft and never gentle, but it's bites like a small blade in his chest. To be lumped in to a group.
It feels like loss.
But he nods, handing over the books one after the other until the ground is cleared. How did she manage to pack so many books in her arms and still walk around?]
Did you read them all already?
[Without more books to keep his hands busy, to look at to make sure that most of the muck was wiped away, he turns to look at her. It still feels as if he should shield his eyes, or squint, while looking at her directly.
It still feels like staring at the sun; nearly blinding. And he never wants to turns away.]
no subject
[An annoying sting of something, not soft and never gentle, but it's bites like a small blade in his chest. To be lumped in to a group.
It feels like loss.
But he nods, handing over the books one after the other until the ground is cleared. How did she manage to pack so many books in her arms and still walk around?]
Did you read them all already?
[Without more books to keep his hands busy, to look at to make sure that most of the muck was wiped away, he turns to look at her. It still feels as if he should shield his eyes, or squint, while looking at her directly.
It still feels like staring at the sun; nearly blinding. And he never wants to turns away.]