(those words sit very gravely within him. so poorly they hit, and his eyes widen in just how indignant he feels at that statement. they're not romantic love, sure, but they're something. unconditionally there for one another, attempting to lift the other and heal wounds that bleed no matter how much they scar, how much they stitch them close.
if that's not at least some sort of love, even if it's too soon and too sudden, he doesn't know what that is.
if there's no one who loves her here, then he should take his leave. apparently, he's just invisible, isn't he? it'll take him standing up, keeping the cigarette steady between his teeth as he takes the leather jacket to stick his arms into.)
If the people who love you aren't here, then I should take my leave.
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if that's not at least some sort of love, even if it's too soon and too sudden, he doesn't know what that is.
if there's no one who loves her here, then he should take his leave. apparently, he's just invisible, isn't he? it'll take him standing up, keeping the cigarette steady between his teeth as he takes the leather jacket to stick his arms into.)
If the people who love you aren't here, then I should take my leave.