[He doesn't look over at her, or smile. He doesn't acknowledge the brush of her fingertips--but he feels them, gentle over the tender ache of his hand. And he wants to twist away, he wants to go off into the corridors and do something--even if there's nothing to be done, he wants to do something--and it's weak, to give in to this, even for a moment. To let her be something soothing. That's weak, right?
But it's all so heavy. And he sags back, a moment, against the lockers, staring dully at the wall opposite. His anger is right there, it'll be back in a moment's notice, or with no warning at all--but it stays, for now.
There's silence, a moment. Just the two of them, no other people.]
How does it decide, do you think. Who to bring and who to send back, and who to leave. How does it know.
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But it's all so heavy. And he sags back, a moment, against the lockers, staring dully at the wall opposite. His anger is right there, it'll be back in a moment's notice, or with no warning at all--but it stays, for now.
There's silence, a moment. Just the two of them, no other people.]
How does it decide, do you think. Who to bring and who to send back, and who to leave. How does it know.