As much as his words begin in a flustered hurry, he reins it in quickly, lips drawn tight as his own ears follow Konoe's downward fold.
Instead of finishing that sentence, he squeezes the hand that's taken hold of his own, uncertain of what, exactly, it isn't. It's not Konoe's fault, that much he knows for sure. Nothing he ought to be punished or reprimanded for, even if Asato had it in him to punish or reprimand. And ultimately it's not about him, it's merely what he feels coming from Konoe, what he's seen in him on their way back here and what he senses even now, sitting so close beside him.
"Don't worry about me."
In the end, Konoe's too important for him to refuse to take the bad with the good, but more than anything he wants to know if he can help him somehow, if there's anything he can do to put the Sanga's mind at ease. Konoe would do--has done--the same for him.
"What did you think of?" His question is quiet and a little hesitant, clearly colored with worry but not demanding, simply offering Konoe the chance to share what's been on his mind if he wants to. He wants to hear about everything, even about the could-haves, the doubts and the fears, so that he might know where he must stand guard, what he needs to cradle with gentle hands, close and safe. No matter the answer, he bumps his forehead to Konoe's shoulder, prepared to soothe in silence if he must.
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As much as his words begin in a flustered hurry, he reins it in quickly, lips drawn tight as his own ears follow Konoe's downward fold.
Instead of finishing that sentence, he squeezes the hand that's taken hold of his own, uncertain of what, exactly, it isn't. It's not Konoe's fault, that much he knows for sure. Nothing he ought to be punished or reprimanded for, even if Asato had it in him to punish or reprimand. And ultimately it's not about him, it's merely what he feels coming from Konoe, what he's seen in him on their way back here and what he senses even now, sitting so close beside him.
"Don't worry about me."
In the end, Konoe's too important for him to refuse to take the bad with the good, but more than anything he wants to know if he can help him somehow, if there's anything he can do to put the Sanga's mind at ease. Konoe would do--has done--the same for him.
"What did you think of?" His question is quiet and a little hesitant, clearly colored with worry but not demanding, simply offering Konoe the chance to share what's been on his mind if he wants to. He wants to hear about everything, even about the could-haves, the doubts and the fears, so that he might know where he must stand guard, what he needs to cradle with gentle hands, close and safe. No matter the answer, he bumps his forehead to Konoe's shoulder, prepared to soothe in silence if he must.
"I'll listen, if you want to tell me."