[Ah. There's a soft twitch of something on Sakamoto's face, a wrinkling of the nose, lines around the eyes suddenly a lot more visible. Sympathy is easy for a man so gentle to feel, and he tilts his head to the side as he offers the other the comfort of silence.
Keats isn't the kind of man who puts his heart out there, so of course, he's been hurt by rejection.]
How long?
[Almost a whisper, at least, in comparison to his typical volume.]
no subject
Keats isn't the kind of man who puts his heart out there, so of course, he's been hurt by rejection.]
How long?
[Almost a whisper, at least, in comparison to his typical volume.]
How long has it been? Since you talked to her.