[His fingers trace over the surface of the pumpkin. Over the lines and contours he knows so well. The voice that was supposed to be so full of fondness, even while lecturing him, rolls through his audios. It's wrong... to have his medic mocked like this.]
[He can't give up. If the boy isn't giving up, how can he do any less?]
[His voice is hoarse, almost.]
Miss... I miss him.
[An admission he would not give to just anyone. Or maybe one he wouldn't give at all.]
no subject
[He can't give up. If the boy isn't giving up, how can he do any less?]
[His voice is hoarse, almost.]
Miss... I miss him.
[An admission he would not give to just anyone. Or maybe one he wouldn't give at all.]
We have to do something.