He felt the shift before he saw it. Felt the glare before he met it. Before something like a faint surprise broke through his expression. Before it was quickly replaced. (Something softer. Quieter.) Before he let himself look at her. (The shock was evident. The attempt to quiet the rest of what she wished to say, more-so.)
Before he met the glare with equanimity, voice level. Rounded.
"I mean to say: Not quite like the previous night, Asuka." He paused, weighed and measured the consequences of his next sentence. The words were ashes in mouth. Jumbled and indecipherable. And the harder he tried to grasp at what he wished to say, the further it bled away. The further it tapered off.
"I do not mean to say that I do not think about how you feel." He glanced toward the television. Glanced back again. Expression open. Chancing on a sincere curiosity. "... You wish to know what I think?"
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Before he met the glare with equanimity, voice level. Rounded.
"I mean to say: Not quite like the previous night, Asuka." He paused, weighed and measured the consequences of his next sentence. The words were ashes in mouth. Jumbled and indecipherable. And the harder he tried to grasp at what he wished to say, the further it bled away. The further it tapered off.
"I do not mean to say that I do not think about how you feel." He glanced toward the television. Glanced back again. Expression open. Chancing on a sincere curiosity. "... You wish to know what I think?"