VARUS
It’s a bandaid for him as much as everything else is. It’s a way to ignore the rest of it and push it off for later, for scowling and brooding when he’s alone or when he’s people watching, or when he’s not surrounded by someone that had only been kind to him in helping him. So he helps her up with his one hand, following her gaze toward the bookshelves. He moves to follow her but she seems to have it under control, and so he sinks back down into the couch, leaning forward with his elbow braced on his leg toward the paper strewn on the coffee table now.
Gripping the pencil lightly, he flashes her a grin of thanks, before he’s moving to mark the underlines of the word. “Alright.” He hums, drawing six blank underscores, before he’s leaning back and regarding her with an almost childish bout of energy. “What’s your first guess?” He asks, pencil ready to either write a letter or start drawing the hangman’s post.
Gripping the pencil lightly, he flashes her a grin of thanks, before he’s moving to mark the underlines of the word. “Alright.” He hums, drawing six blank underscores, before he’s leaning back and regarding her with an almost childish bout of energy. “What’s your first guess?” He asks, pencil ready to either write a letter or start drawing the hangman’s post.
and i find sorrow in idle minds
and solace in being heard
and solace in being heard
