“ it wasn’t me , honest ! ”
𝐫𝐮𝐥𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐫𝐨𝐬𝐞 . / accepting.
Lazy eyes and the slouch of his shoulders tell his disinterest more than words ever could. Bag held over his shoulder , bags heaved beneath his eyes , breath heaved out his chest ——— followed by a short to the point tsk. He has no purpose to argue and defy the panic that squeaked out such a generous heart , to needlessly prod more protests to no avail. It was… taxing ; and as tiresome as it were to ask , tiresome it was even more that the culprit still ran amok.
Whatever alert that beamed atop his head with a loud exclamation point dwindled with the lax of his muscles. Instead , he was terse, heart’s hands grabbing with its antsy claws every which way , every direction , sliding fingers against his jaw to force his head to look around. Noctis fights the urge with blatant resistance as every nerve pounced from his skin. Vibrations were visible in his aura rather than his physical presence.
` It’s gotta be somewhere… ’ Dolor paints him in monochrome and he wonder where his hope had went ——— the anxieties that spew from the crock-pot of his brain have snapped and popped searing hot pin needles of words that spoke nothing but worry and fears. ` Thanks . . anyways, though. ’ Manners spoke with force (and perhaps some sadness, too). His notebook to Luna mustn’t be too far , he thinks ——— but simply thought reassurance does little to ail his worries.