[ He cheerfully denies, even as he takes his hand. ]
Not a chance. There's not gonna be a next time.
[ Still, the familiar electrifying warmth of moonlacing has his eyes closing at first, some degree of tension in his shoulders easing. Shino's more often on edge here than he is back home, worried about the people not here, trying to ignore the loneliness that nips, everpresent, at his heels. It also means he goes from simple hand holding to trying to lace their fingers together, more comfortable in the long run, and less like other scattered memories from his youth. A taller young man, the warmth of a larger hand, a song, a sunset.
Feeling cared for, and loved, and those are not memories that belong to this world. The person behind them... he can't even recall their face. Golden and white? It's all a blur. ]
What're we eating?
[ He asks when his eyes open, unaware that he's held on a little tighter than he should, given how he's been complaining. Of the many things he finds bothersome about this place, it's the loneliness that eats at him most. He's so thankful for his friends here, because without them, it's very likely he would waver between the kind of despair that would leave him crystalising, and the kind of anger that'd keep him camped out on Iris or hounding the Lunar Scientia for answers on what in the world can send them back home. ]
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[ He cheerfully denies, even as he takes his hand. ]
Not a chance. There's not gonna be a next time.
[ Still, the familiar electrifying warmth of moonlacing has his eyes closing at first, some degree of tension in his shoulders easing. Shino's more often on edge here than he is back home, worried about the people not here, trying to ignore the loneliness that nips, everpresent, at his heels. It also means he goes from simple hand holding to trying to lace their fingers together, more comfortable in the long run, and less like other scattered memories from his youth. A taller young man, the warmth of a larger hand, a song, a sunset.
Feeling cared for, and loved, and those are not memories that belong to this world. The person behind them... he can't even recall their face. Golden and white? It's all a blur. ]
What're we eating?
[ He asks when his eyes open, unaware that he's held on a little tighter than he should, given how he's been complaining. Of the many things he finds bothersome about this place, it's the loneliness that eats at him most. He's so thankful for his friends here, because without them, it's very likely he would waver between the kind of despair that would leave him crystalising, and the kind of anger that'd keep him camped out on Iris or hounding the Lunar Scientia for answers on what in the world can send them back home. ]