Angelo felt the presence of Monet's hand on his face, warm and comforting. Very slowly, his hand reached up to cup hers, then take it in his own and lower it down just a little. He swallowed, and it hurt.
"That's what you wouldn't tell me?"
For a few moments he was silent, turning his face away. Then he flipped out his free hand, the motion a second too short to be casual.
"It happens, right?" he said, and for the life of him he couldn't look them in the eyes. "Life, death, all that." He'd always accepted that, of course. His father died, his friends died, his teacher died... Others may see death as an uncommon thing that always took them by surprise, but he'd known for so long that it happpened all the time. His mother had put him to bed as a child to the sound of gunshots.
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Angelo felt the presence of Monet's hand on his face, warm and comforting. Very slowly, his hand reached up to cup hers, then take it in his own and lower it down just a little. He swallowed, and it hurt.
"That's what you wouldn't tell me?"
For a few moments he was silent, turning his face away. Then he flipped out his free hand, the motion a second too short to be casual.
"It happens, right?" he said, and for the life of him he couldn't look them in the eyes. "Life, death, all that." He'd always accepted that, of course. His father died, his friends died, his teacher died... Others may see death as an uncommon thing that always took them by surprise, but he'd known for so long that it happpened all the time. His mother had put him to bed as a child to the sound of gunshots.
"I... I knew I wouldn't..."
He gripped Monet's hand so tight that it hurt.