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    Summary

    Makkari settles her cheek on her knees, her hair falling to curl around her arm, the front held back by a braided circlet. It's so black, so dark that she most likely would've disappeared into the ink of the night without the tender light. He does the same, mirroring her form so that he's still in her level of sight.

    "It got old," he finishes. She doesn't push him, just nods and reaches out to squeeze a bit of his cheek with the tips of her fingers. It's such an odd thing to do to someone she didn't really know.

    He smiles at it, reaches out, and does the same. She resists the urge to cry like a child.

    "I meant it when I said you're beautiful. It wasn't a line, you know."

    — I know.

    Language:
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