@briganteeclipse
arms folded, back arched against wall residing behind; eyes roundabout, dancing to & fro, grimacing with his (undeniably undesirable) presence split-second, (swift) shifting from him (hoping to be noticed; dreading initiation), scrutinizing that (what seemed like) macrocosmos spanning the outer reaches of the mess hall’s viewing deck. of course, it’s uncertain whether the other notices him or not, a silence precedes them as per usual; how drool, typical beyond a doubt. he loathes this, this suffocating atmosphere that always seems to envelope them when they come within ten meters of each other. honestly, whether he’d admit it or not, longed were the days where they could share some banter (fleeting & fickle as it might’ve been); prized above the heart smothering dread that was left in it’s place. stated before, but it bares repeating, he hates this between them (for lieze, & for himself).
he minces with the pleasantries, that being the opportunity to allow the latter to speak to him from afar. he moves forward, fleeing from his perched position against the wall to join the other along the railing, propping folded branches atop it, edging slightly (fearlessly) to gaze deeper into the cosmos rather than meet eyes with his company. for a second, it looks as though he has something to say, but of course, “ . . . ” nothing escapes those pale thin lips; words evading him when he wanted something to say most. oft do they when talking to or of him. even if it was for lieze, he doesn’t think this inability to initiate conversation with the latter will ever leave him.