--“Don’t– Don’t look at me. I’m a joke so just.. Go.”
Indeed, Henry has grown accustomed to avoid the Tactician after their incident in the library tent. The way the white haired boy would run off in panic, a heavy apology breathed under pressure, and the distant feeling of home leaving Henry’s body.
There was a lot of things Robin could have done, and could not have done- leaving was one of those things he shouldn’t have done, and after Henry could hear the footsteps fading and landing on soft grass, he couldn’t help but shed more tears, more silent groaning and moaning under his rapid and hoarse breath.
Perhaps it was quite obvious that the Dark mage was not feeling particularly close to the Tactician, as Henry was even closer to talk to Olivia- or maybe even the Dancer’s son than Robin. Even at the battlefield, he would so recklessly disobey the rules even the slightest- bend on them to his liking and spending more time kicking a bandit or risen around, just for the pleasure of it.
But the thought was gnawing at him. The tactician did the same. When they all gathered to eat, Robin would avoid looking or sitting close to Henry. He would try to melt into the environment of other people other than Henry, a man that has seen Robin in many states of emotions when they were younger.
And there he was, carrying a few books and scrolls. He was presumably going to head over to his own little tent and begin to pull up more strategies from his sorry stressful mind. Henry swallowed, his eyebrows furrowing and his fists clenching in frustration. The dark mage cracked a smile, a hard smile and advanced further- up to the Tactician.
“Do you need help with that?... Robin.”
Henry asked, his tone flat and tense, as if it seemed that Henry would pounce on the poor male at any moment- or maybe even wrap his piano fingers around the Tacticians neck. The thought was tempting, actually.
