He's grown quite a bit. Even his impassive childhood self can't help but follow his movements on his way closer, continuing to stare. Gaelio dwarfs him like this, but it's his deadened lack of energy that remains most intriguing and most puzzling. It's the scars splayed clear across his face that cause questions to leap up in his mind.
It might be a dream, and he might be an ignorant child in this dream, but buried deep in his subconscious are the answers -- even this small version of himself, knowing himself, finds the answer.
It's you.
It's McGillis's fault, though the details are a fuzzy mystery. He sets his book to the side and rests his hands on his knees. ]
Does it hurt?
[ In his smaller voice, the pitch of a child, he feels frustration begin to gather. He's only known happiness through a few sources. At this stage of his life, he can't begin to wrap his mind around the fact of Gaelio's appearance. It must be, but why --
That little light, snatched away by the carelessness of an adult. Again.
His fingers clamp, knuckles whitening. Would that he could keep from growing up and entering that world, but he doesn't want to remain a child, either -- powerless, pushed, used.
He hastens to add his thoughts, before Gaelio can answer. A miserable addition, so that he can confirm them. ]
It's my fault. You know I don't belong. It must be my fault.
no subject
He's grown quite a bit. Even his impassive childhood self can't help but follow his movements on his way closer, continuing to stare. Gaelio dwarfs him like this, but it's his deadened lack of energy that remains most intriguing and most puzzling. It's the scars splayed clear across his face that cause questions to leap up in his mind.
It might be a dream, and he might be an ignorant child in this dream, but buried deep in his subconscious are the answers -- even this small version of himself, knowing himself, finds the answer.
It's you.
It's McGillis's fault, though the details are a fuzzy mystery. He sets his book to the side and rests his hands on his knees. ]
Does it hurt?
[ In his smaller voice, the pitch of a child, he feels frustration begin to gather. He's only known happiness through a few sources. At this stage of his life, he can't begin to wrap his mind around the fact of Gaelio's appearance. It must be, but why --
That little light, snatched away by the carelessness of an adult. Again.
His fingers clamp, knuckles whitening. Would that he could keep from growing up and entering that world, but he doesn't want to remain a child, either -- powerless, pushed, used.
He hastens to add his thoughts, before Gaelio can answer. A miserable addition, so that he can confirm them. ]
It's my fault. You know I don't belong. It must be my fault.