i'm a thinker, not a talker
Casimir listens intently at Thorn’s story in that quiet, intense way he has, neither judging nor condemning, just absorbing. It’s a new aspect to the man he’s never heard before, not from Thorn’s constant chatter at the bar or from any of the gossiping courtesans, so it must stay quiet and hidden in a little crevice of Thorn only few can reach. He nods even as Thorn looks away and he doesn’t chase the man’s gaze. He doesn’t reassure him that he won’t be jealous, or reaffirm the utter injustice of the previous partner’s behavior — Thorn doesn’t need that. He just meets Thorn’s eyes when he looks back up and keeps his hand in Thorn’s, steady and solid and present.
There’s question burning at Casimir’s throat, and he knows Thorn is telling him this to place them in the same unsteady boat, two lost people not knowing what they want and how to get there, but the desert looms here now, and Casimir remembers with a start that that question of Thorn going is what started this whole trip-and-fall into each other’s embrace. His jaw works up the words, deliberating carefully.
”What would you do?” He asks, rubbing a thumb over Thorn’s knuckle. ”In the desert. If you could do anything. Architecture?” It seems more important than Casimir, than conversations about loving and wanting. There is something in Thorn that burns too bright for this place, for all of King’s End, for Casimir, and the burn of his potential almost hurts Casimir’s eyes.
There’s question burning at Casimir’s throat, and he knows Thorn is telling him this to place them in the same unsteady boat, two lost people not knowing what they want and how to get there, but the desert looms here now, and Casimir remembers with a start that that question of Thorn going is what started this whole trip-and-fall into each other’s embrace. His jaw works up the words, deliberating carefully.
”What would you do?” He asks, rubbing a thumb over Thorn’s knuckle. ”In the desert. If you could do anything. Architecture?” It seems more important than Casimir, than conversations about loving and wanting. There is something in Thorn that burns too bright for this place, for all of King’s End, for Casimir, and the burn of his potential almost hurts Casimir’s eyes.
Casimir
i've no one to talk to, anyway
