A/N: ;^). Kit.
DISCLAIMER: Still own nothing.
II.
"I was just going to tousle your hair . . . . Sometimes it makes you laugh."
And he really only wants her laugh, or smile. At this point, he would gladly take a mere twitch of her lips as a drastically positive change. He would take anything, anything at all, so long as it wasn't this dull melancholy that has settled in her heart, this pensive silence that holds her captive in her own mind. Being locked in one's headspace was dangerous, he knew this too well, had seen it too many times. Unsafe headspace leads to two things, a slow burnout or a catastrophic explosion and he would rather her snap out of it now, follow his coaxing voice back to the land of the living. Leave the dead buried and step into the light. Or smile, at the very least. (Or release him from the ninja grip.) Because that would be better than the shroud of apathy she had immersed herself in. Yes, he would take anything. Hell, he'd take the burden if he could, if she'd let him. Not that she ever would.
And, eventually, the sound of her laughter will fill the air and he'll be right there beside her, the cause of it all. . . . .
III.
"You talk. I'll listen."
It's a promise, a no strings attached guarantee. She could talk until words were no longer sufficient. And he would listen, silently, entirely, attention fully devoted to her. He would even pay for drinks. And she didn't even have to discuss what had transpired, so long as she just spoke. So long as she showed some sign of life beside this hollow shell. He would listen to a weather synopsis, childhood heartbreak, a book she read. Anything. But, alas, she refuses this offer, this escape, and he relents, giving her the wide berth of space she so desperately needs.
And eventually she will talk. And he will never stop listening.
