meanwhile at your local campus starbucks....[open log]

[eternallybored]

[ Ah, Starbucks. Open until about 1AM, it's a great place to work and be fueled on caffeine while working. Maybe you're here for a study group, maybe you just want to be out of the dorm while working, maybe there was a fire alarm and instead of standing out in the cold you decided to go here, maybe you want to annoy your friends while they try to study, or maybe you just want to try the latest holiday blend! Whatever you're here for, this is a nice place to look smart and productive while indulging in your favorite hot drink. ]

[ooc: this is an open log for all characters who would find themselves in Starbucks for one reason or another! feel free to make your own threads. ]

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[croibhristeoir]

[Oftentimes Diarmuid found the two of them didn't need to speak much at all; there was a finer layer below that of verbal communication, a strange sort of empathy that led to comprehension without a word. It was expression in the slight movement of hands, in the redirecting of red or gold eyes. It wasn't easy for anyone to read them properly, but oftentimes they knew the other well enough to understand.]

...Kaworu? What is it?

[ex_apocryphas39]

[ There is the cycling of memories beneath the soft tapping of fingertips. The endless rise and fall of thought, beneath the ball of thumbs as he stilled them - lifted, after a moment, the mug to lips with the quiet movement of arms.

Diarmuid, too, was observant. Diarmuid, too, knew the conversation of bodies. Knew the words of understanding, even as he smiled. Even as he smiled, if silent and self-humored, around the lip. Drank in, even in the wash of pause. Even in the slow flood of sound - of the memory of a face in the darkness, his voice swelling with the shape of their name.

He couldn't. He mustn't.

And there is softness and stillness, with the lowering of it. The faint tilt of his head: ]

It is all right, Diarmuid. [ A reassurance. A beat. You need not worry so. ]

[ His hands held their weight. He could not let it go. ]

[croibhristeoir]

...If I could but say one thing...

[Hesitantly; the voice of someone who didn't want to push an issue but did so merely out of concern. The formal words of one who kept everyone at arm's length even as he wished for them to be closer than that.]

...it would be alright, should you ever wish to confide anything to me. It would be only fair, as you've been kind enough to listen to me more times than I could count.

[ex_apocryphas39]

[ It would be all right.

He hears him faintly over the roll of oceans in his ears. The soft hum of voices, further and further away. He hears him distantly, here, under the warmed glow of lights. The way the tea seems to dry upon his tongue, before it ever reaches him. The way he does not force or fumble the weights he balances upon his shoulders. Does not lift them without asking. But, extends the offer to. Extends more than anyone else has ever. Extends with hesitance and softness - and it sets him to blinking, hard. Hard, against the light of it. Hard, against the sudden loosing of shoulders. The almost clumsy way his mug settles against the table. With uncharacteristic rattling. Amends, vaguely, the sound with the start of words. Finds they all jam, stick fast, within his throat.

There is too much. There is too much set to motion or set to stillness. And he cannot tell whether it is water or warmth that flickers at the corners of his lips as he curves them up, absently. With honesty and automation, both.

He does not know what else to say.

He smiles, instead. ]

[croibhristeoir]

[It was strange to see Kaworu thrown off his game, as the saying went. To see the eternally composed shaken in such a way was entirely foreign. But he said nothing in response, whether to express concern or to wonder aloud why such a simple offer was startling.]

[Diarmuid didn't speak one way or another; he merely waited for Kaworu to do so. And when no verbal response came he smiled as well, serene and calm.]