+ pride is so sincere, though, that it forces theo to look down at his feet, running a hand down the side of his face, feeling beneath his palm the growing heat of his skin.
โah, i can barely do anything,โ he quietly admits in gentle protest.
being observed practicing feels like he's being caught out, witnessed doing something that he shouldn't. caring for his father's gifts, wanting them, even.
he laughs, a touch soft if not for the bitterness that leaks out, formed from the disappointment in himself. the look of +
the sand collapses as soon as dream's appearance is registered, features twisting first in frustration and then in faint embarrassment.
he keeps his back to him.
โlet me guess . . . i'm thinking too much.โ
dark grains of sand hover above his outstretched hand, wide, focused eyes staring as, with each twitch of his fingers, the grains flutter - pull in closer, move apart. repeat.
his eyes fix onto the pouch of sand, gifted to him by his father. it exists as an object of resentment most days, but in times where he feels vulnerable . . . he's grown more endeared to its presence. theo takes the bag, feels the weight of its contents, and spills some.
his +
ah, i didn't mean to bother you.
i've been away for a while, you see, and i'm trying to get my bearings again. from what i can tell, i'm surrounded -- not unpleasantly -- by vampires.