Mateo
Mateo grins at that, and for a second the paper on his lap threatens to become a watercolour not of the serene, Torchline horizon, but of a rugged mountainside and the silhouette of a dragon with a boat on its back. "Of course he did," he hums. As for the dragons, "Maybe we could. If I am up at the Cordillera with you, it would be silly not to take advantage of that, right?" As if there was ever any doubt.
Nice is not the term he'd use to describe Metacarpal Island, but he chooses not to go into that more clearly; instead, with an amused smile still curling at his lips, father and son seem to move in unison with their paintbrushes, as if it's some strange and rhythmic dance they're performing, rather than the act of preparing a canvas. If only it could remain that way.
Luckily (or perhaps not) for the Lullaby, Mateo has always worn his heart on his sleeve, and he snorts an initial response to his comments. "I was high," he corrects, unintentionally shattering the image he's been building of himself in the process. "And she seems to have thoughts and feelings about everything, all the time. But no one more than poor, poor, Enzo." He's scowling down at the paper now.
"I know I'll never get it, because I wasn't a twin and Hotaru wasn't my mother and whatever, but after a year of seeing her just existing, I felt like every visit was my apology for not being dead instead."
Nice is not the term he'd use to describe Metacarpal Island, but he chooses not to go into that more clearly; instead, with an amused smile still curling at his lips, father and son seem to move in unison with their paintbrushes, as if it's some strange and rhythmic dance they're performing, rather than the act of preparing a canvas. If only it could remain that way.
Luckily (or perhaps not) for the Lullaby, Mateo has always worn his heart on his sleeve, and he snorts an initial response to his comments. "I was high," he corrects, unintentionally shattering the image he's been building of himself in the process. "And she seems to have thoughts and feelings about everything, all the time. But no one more than poor, poor, Enzo." He's scowling down at the paper now.
"I know I'll never get it, because I wasn't a twin and Hotaru wasn't my mother and whatever, but after a year of seeing her just existing, I felt like every visit was my apology for not being dead instead."
i've told you time and time again
i'm not as think as you drunk i am
i'm not as think as you drunk i am
