In the face of such optimism, such a self-assured declaration, Illya falls and stays silent. He is unsure how to operate when the older boy curls his confidence in the vowels and consonants on his tongue, his peculiar accent in the language making the certainty of his words seem all the more alien. To imagine at all of touching the stars...to be able to imagine one's self not just capable of such a thing, but seemingly more certain than stone that it will happen (even tempered by the 'want to be' in place of the 'will be' that seems to resonate within one small, skinny body)...
He is saved from a reply with the opening of a door, and when he follows the other boy in with the same quiet obedience he is expected to show to all those older than himself (however it galls in so many of his hours but this one), he attempts to look everywhere at once. It is worn and plain compared to the apartment he had known until the last year, but after the austerity of the dormitories and the chill that crept like a living, breathing thing into his bones every night within those dim walls, it is a relief.
Or, at least, neutral enough. Only the grumbling of his stomach, as if it needed no more than the sound of the reminder to begin, brought him back from his attempt to memorize everything of his surroundings at once. He holds out the ID he still has in his hand with a jerky nod, cheeks flushing in embarrassment (surely Martin can hear his stomach, it sounds like a bear at the end of winter). "Yes. Thank you."
Despite himself, and with mouth dry, he cannot help but ask "Do you think- Do you think there is a place like this for me here?"
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timeasmymeasure
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Date: 2017-11-01 08:15 am (UTC)He is saved from a reply with the opening of a door, and when he follows the other boy in with the same quiet obedience he is expected to show to all those older than himself (however it galls in so many of his hours but this one), he attempts to look everywhere at once. It is worn and plain compared to the apartment he had known until the last year, but after the austerity of the dormitories and the chill that crept like a living, breathing thing into his bones every night within those dim walls, it is a relief.
Or, at least, neutral enough. Only the grumbling of his stomach, as if it needed no more than the sound of the reminder to begin, brought him back from his attempt to memorize everything of his surroundings at once. He holds out the ID he still has in his hand with a jerky nod, cheeks flushing in embarrassment (surely Martin can hear his stomach, it sounds like a bear at the end of winter). "Yes. Thank you."
Despite himself, and with mouth dry, he cannot help but ask "Do you think- Do you think there is a place like this for me here?"