[Something about the way he does that, like he's trying to hug her — it feels good, but it hurts, too. She wishes she could hug him the normal way. She wishes she could hold him. He's okay with this, she doesn't know why, but he is, but is she? She wants to be able to make him forget. She wants to hold his face in her hands and kiss him like a real girl.]
[She wants to be real. But he's really holding her. He really loves her.]
[I love you too, Lila.]
[That's what makes her start crying, messy quiet fat tears that fall from Komaeda's eyes and splat on the counter, the noise they make too loud in the silence of her barren kitchen. When she reaches up to rub them away, they just knock more tears out from behind his eyelids. Sniffling, she shakes her head.]
Ugh. [Out loud; and then in the privacy of their head, shrinking down close, trying to get a feel for it, trying to tuck herself into him, to make the metaphysical shape of herself as close as she knows how. She's needy, even if she doesn't recognize it. This is the safest space in the world that there is.]
Sorry. I don't cry about this kind of— [All current evidence to the contrary, of course. She blinks out another couple of tears.] I love you. I already said that. I love you. I'm . . .
[Scared. Sad. Desperately grateful to see him again.]
no subject
[She wants to be real. But he's really holding her. He really loves her.]
[I love you too, Lila.]
[That's what makes her start crying, messy quiet fat tears that fall from Komaeda's eyes and splat on the counter, the noise they make too loud in the silence of her barren kitchen. When she reaches up to rub them away, they just knock more tears out from behind his eyelids. Sniffling, she shakes her head.]
Ugh. [Out loud; and then in the privacy of their head, shrinking down close, trying to get a feel for it, trying to tuck herself into him, to make the metaphysical shape of herself as close as she knows how. She's needy, even if she doesn't recognize it. This is the safest space in the world that there is.]
Sorry. I don't cry about this kind of— [All current evidence to the contrary, of course. She blinks out another couple of tears.] I love you. I already said that. I love you. I'm . . .
[Scared. Sad. Desperately grateful to see him again.]
Bath?