[ He's happy to let Misa take her time, snagging them a small booth by one window and people-watching through the glass before she makes her way over and sits down. The playful request earns her a momentary look of curiosity, but it seems harmless enough so he acquieses, dutifully closing his eyes and not opening them until the majority of the rustling and clinking stops.
When he does.....he definitely doesn't expect to see a tiny version of himself staring up at him from on top the table. He blinks a few times, taken aback both by the sight and the strange tangle of emotions that rise up within him unprompted. Surprise, distress, a brief spark of gratitude that she would even bother to make something like this for someone like him.
An old memory, faded at the edges, flickers into his mind: a little girl - his younger sister - thrusting a few poorly connected bundles of straw into his hands and loudly proclaiming she'd made him a doll. He'd taken it at the time but reluctantly, protesting the whole time about how boys don't play with dolls and how she should have made one for her friends instead.
She's dead now, of course, and the doll burned to ashes and buried under too many years' worth of snow.
One hand lifts up, the point of his index finger reaching out to carefully smooth the little tufts of fur on his tiny ears. ]
You made this?
[ His voice definitely doesn't sound quite the same as usual, the words caught in his throat and tugged out one by one. His expression isn't quite the same either, overly serious as he stares at the little doll on the table. ]
no subject
When he does.....he definitely doesn't expect to see a tiny version of himself staring up at him from on top the table. He blinks a few times, taken aback both by the sight and the strange tangle of emotions that rise up within him unprompted. Surprise, distress, a brief spark of gratitude that she would even bother to make something like this for someone like him.
An old memory, faded at the edges, flickers into his mind: a little girl - his younger sister - thrusting a few poorly connected bundles of straw into his hands and loudly proclaiming she'd made him a doll. He'd taken it at the time but reluctantly, protesting the whole time about how boys don't play with dolls and how she should have made one for her friends instead.
She's dead now, of course, and the doll burned to ashes and buried under too many years' worth of snow.
One hand lifts up, the point of his index finger reaching out to carefully smooth the little tufts of fur on his tiny ears. ]
You made this?
[ His voice definitely doesn't sound quite the same as usual, the words caught in his throat and tugged out one by one. His expression isn't quite the same either, overly serious as he stares at the little doll on the table. ]