[ He should be annoyed — and he is, a little, the current of it pricking at his skin like an itch — but the thing is that she's so fucking weird, weird in a way that differs from the crunchy hipsters or woo-woo hippies or wannabe edgelords he's come across before. The fact that her strangeness is genuine is what makes it difficult to deal with. Or maybe it's a kind of jealousy. He's arguably unabashedly himself, but he's plagued by an insecurity that she doesn't seem to feel at all.
So as she looks at him, he just looks back, his brow pinching as he attempts to divine anything from her expression. It's tempting to look away, but stubbornness wins out, at least until Alia speaks again.
(It's unsettling, to be looked at like he's truly known. It's one thing to bare himself willingly, but another entirely to be looked through the way she manages it. He still remembers their first text conversation, remembers the thought that they might be kindred in some way. Could she read his mind, if she tried?) ]
You could have gotten it, yourself, [ he says, a little halting. ]
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So as she looks at him, he just looks back, his brow pinching as he attempts to divine anything from her expression. It's tempting to look away, but stubbornness wins out, at least until Alia speaks again.
(It's unsettling, to be looked at like he's truly known. It's one thing to bare himself willingly, but another entirely to be looked through the way she manages it. He still remembers their first text conversation, remembers the thought that they might be kindred in some way. Could she read his mind, if she tried?) ]
You could have gotten it, yourself, [ he says, a little halting. ]
Why'd you want me?