[ He's alarmed when she stops, but as she makes her way to him, it becomes clear that she hasn't been struck by an unseen assailant. Something in the way she looks at him now makes his heart skip a beat, and he has to assure himself that he's not just imagining the yellow tint in her hair. He pushes his hood back, the better to see and hear her, and automatically raises a hand to her face, to her tears, even if the rain is doing a good enough job of wiping them away already.
Is it wishful thinking? The rain can't cover her words now; he feels them as if they were his own. ]
Noire...
[ Even the name feels different on his tongue now. More familiar, with more meaning come from a time when he didn't have to hold back. He doesn't have to hold back now... isn't that right? But still he's careful, only half aware, afraid that when he touches her, she'll slip through his fingers like a dream. ]
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Is it wishful thinking? The rain can't cover her words now; he feels them as if they were his own. ]
Noire...
[ Even the name feels different on his tongue now. More familiar, with more meaning come from a time when he didn't have to hold back. He doesn't have to hold back now... isn't that right? But still he's careful, only half aware, afraid that when he touches her, she'll slip through his fingers like a dream. ]