“now stop worrying and get dressed.” || “who am i to judge? i’m the worst of all!” ((past))
“now stop worrying and get dressed.” ((past))
His calm was in direct contrast to the tornado of emotions he had just experienced —he was drained, defeated, simply lacking the motivation to continue FREAKING. Outside, at least. In his head, his brain spun on a dime, thoughts zooming past him so quickly it made him dizzy. He had to lay down. He couldn’t stand up. Public speaking would never be his strong suit, but especially not in front of a class filled with bullies and people who didn’t know he existed. He couldn’t decide which was worse.
“Mona, my darling Mona…”
He could only mumble, and while his debilitating nerves were all too real, he was being DRAMATIC and he knew it. She knew it too, of course.
“——If I go in just my boxers, do you think they’ll remember me?”
“who am i to judge? i’m the worst of all!” ((past))
“No.”
Dimitri’s voice was firm, intentionally so —something easy for him to do only because he was so sure of his words. As he spoke, he rest one of her hands, open-faced, in his own palm, while the fingers of his other hand traced the lines in hers. His eyes drifted from their hands and up to her eyes, where they remained locked, head tilted down to look directly at her.
“You’re not. Mona, you’re not.”
His head shook, slow and steady, calm and solid for her benefit alone. It would have been so easy for him to shed a tear, hearing her speak of herself like that. It was nothing new coming from her, but it only hurt more each time she said it.
He curled his hand around hers, wrapping his delicate, spindly fingers around her strong, hard fist. His other hand moved, balled up in a fist of its own, to press against her chest where her heart would be.
“——Not to me.”