[The feeling, at the very least, is mutual. He can't put his finger on why, but he wants to do his best by her. The idea of not doing so makes him desperately disappointed in himself. After everything, she deserves the best of him. By default, all other factors unconsidered, she deserves the best of him for herself. He'd build the world for her and tear it down again. She's important.]
[Part of him doesn't know why. The rest of him knows it's obvious. They've both been so, so lonely. He saw her loneliness and her facade and wanted to live in between them. That's why it felt so natural when she first arrived, why he didn't even consider what he was doing wrong.]
[And of course she'll always surprise him. His lips quirk up, surprised.]
Orange.
[Really not that far from gold, all things considered. Just a different kind of vibrance. And singing—]
I can't sing at all. I didn't know you . . .
[Could. But of course he wouldn't. She wouldn't just share that with a bunch of kidnappers. That she's telling him now makes his chest feel tight. In an unconscious echo of her movement, he lifts his hand to rub at the space just over his heart. What does she sing? What sort of timbre is her voice when she sings, and is it different from how it sounds now?]
[His expression is just stupidly, achingly fond.]
It's okay if you don't want to share everything. But I don't want to keep anything from you anymore. I'm going to try not to. I think that's . . . that feels right. I trust you. I want you to know me. Sometimes I won't get things right, or I might not even realize something is important, and I'm sorry for that, but I promise you I'll try. And I'll listen. I'll keep getting better at this. It's — I want to be my best, for you. You know?
no subject
[Part of him doesn't know why. The rest of him knows it's obvious. They've both been so, so lonely. He saw her loneliness and her facade and wanted to live in between them. That's why it felt so natural when she first arrived, why he didn't even consider what he was doing wrong.]
[And of course she'll always surprise him. His lips quirk up, surprised.]
Orange.
[Really not that far from gold, all things considered. Just a different kind of vibrance. And singing—]
I can't sing at all. I didn't know you . . .
[Could. But of course he wouldn't. She wouldn't just share that with a bunch of kidnappers. That she's telling him now makes his chest feel tight. In an unconscious echo of her movement, he lifts his hand to rub at the space just over his heart. What does she sing? What sort of timbre is her voice when she sings, and is it different from how it sounds now?]
[His expression is just stupidly, achingly fond.]
It's okay if you don't want to share everything. But I don't want to keep anything from you anymore. I'm going to try not to. I think that's . . . that feels right. I trust you. I want you to know me. Sometimes I won't get things right, or I might not even realize something is important, and I'm sorry for that, but I promise you I'll try. And I'll listen. I'll keep getting better at this. It's — I want to be my best, for you. You know?