Clemente
If Clemente could read Rexanna's thoughts, he would hasten to comfort her. Tell her that she had already done so much for him just by finding him, for being there and bringing him somewhere safe. He suspects she doesn't know how important a gesture that is for the streetkid. A home was a place of safety, relaxation, and to invite someone in - to invite him in - is a gesture that he will never forget. Nobody else had ever done that. He'd never even been allowed to sleep over with the streetgirls when he'd visit their studio room. He may be slow to trust, to warm up, but she has already done so much to prove that she may be worth it. Hazel eyes follow the glint of metal on her fingers, intrigued and captivated. Part of him whispers their worth in his mind, and he stubbornly shakes it away. No. He would never betray her trust like that. Especially if he didn't have to worry about stealing in order to afford blood to continue living. Which is another strange adjustment that he will have to get used to, but one that he's eager for at least.
Rexanna's words only force his eyes to linger longer on the dark (scar? brand?) on her neck that he had noticed previously. He knows he shouldn't ask, but Clemente hadn't been introduced to many manners before his parents either died or became catatonic. And the curiosity is killing him. "What, uh...what caused that? That mark?" He knows that he should be fair and talk about his own past if she answers, but if she asks he doesn't think he'll withhold it from her. He gets the feeling she won't necessarily judge him for his past circumstances.
i stopped being a kid the day
you sent me down here to die
