[He thinks he intended to make some kind of sharp little quip, but the phrase "when you can move out of the attic" rattles his brain until he stops, wholesale. His expression slides suddenly and reflexively neutral, and it's-- odd. After all this time, the Detective Prince still surfaces when who he's learning to allow himself to be can't come to bat.]
[Somewhere in his mind, there's a single thread that keeps him tethered to the functional ability to behave like an eighteen year old. He'd never been very good at it, having gone from eight to seventeen without really living the years between, all until a day in April he paraphrased Hegel with his hand strangely warm through his glove in the palm of a stranger who would change his life in every way imaginable. The thread is made of something impossibly strong, to have not broken after everything he's put up with and lived through, for better or for worse, but it does regularly fray. It hadn't, in some time, so the sensation is almost foreign when it happens again. He should know better, because Akira never means the things he misunderstands the way he takes them, but the way his heart lurches and sinks in his chest is almost nauseating at his suggested idea of being able to move out of the attic, because he'd not realized he was hoping to either never have to, or never have to alone.]
[His smile doesn't reach his eyes, but looks perfectly pleasant, anyway. Akira might not even realize the difference.] They'll add character to any room, I'm sure.
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[Somewhere in his mind, there's a single thread that keeps him tethered to the functional ability to behave like an eighteen year old. He'd never been very good at it, having gone from eight to seventeen without really living the years between, all until a day in April he paraphrased Hegel with his hand strangely warm through his glove in the palm of a stranger who would change his life in every way imaginable. The thread is made of something impossibly strong, to have not broken after everything he's put up with and lived through, for better or for worse, but it does regularly fray. It hadn't, in some time, so the sensation is almost foreign when it happens again. He should know better, because Akira never means the things he misunderstands the way he takes them, but the way his heart lurches and sinks in his chest is almost nauseating at his suggested idea of being able to move out of the attic, because he'd not realized he was hoping to either never have to, or never have to alone.]
[His smile doesn't reach his eyes, but looks perfectly pleasant, anyway. Akira might not even realize the difference.] They'll add character to any room, I'm sure.