The problem with that, you see... is because of the kind of person Allen is, lines like that don't exist to him. Because to Allen, clear, strong, divided lines... can never exist for long. In anything.
People don't work like that.
Because Lux is Lux. Someone who is so very important—who he fights beside, yes—but especially for Allen who doesn't even consider himself a good soldier or even a warrior... It's not about her being however many clear, strong, and divided lines... because she's simply Lux to him. Like everyone is whoever they are, the entirety of their feelings and convictions.
And the entirety of her feelings, that small prismatic burst (ah... tingles?) is reminder enough as well of that. Lux, whose nature of her soul he's become so familiar and comfortable around with over the months. Who feels so strongly and so warmly it's like being caught up in a sunburst.
Trying to push those around to fit into little boxes would be insulting to those feelings. To someone's humanity.
(Light doesn't stay between the lines. It shines through them.)
But if he noticed she squeaked or stammered he is far and away too polite to let on that he did. Which is why he smiles quite warmly, quite politely, instead and sits back a little and releases her hand. Like absolutely nothing is out of the ordinary.
Save, perhaps, for the small brush of fingers together as he lets go of her hand and somewhat glossy quality still of his smile. ]
I think I know what I'd like to write now.
It's like the festival, isn't it? [ When they'd tied wishes to the trees. ]
miss luxanna, really....
The problem with that, you see... is because of the kind of person Allen is, lines like that don't exist to him. Because to Allen, clear, strong, divided lines... can never exist for long. In anything.
People don't work like that.
Because Lux is Lux. Someone who is so very important—who he fights beside, yes—but especially for Allen who doesn't even consider himself a good soldier or even a warrior... It's not about her being however many clear, strong, and divided lines... because she's simply Lux to him. Like everyone is whoever they are, the entirety of their feelings and convictions.
And the entirety of her feelings, that small prismatic burst (ah... tingles?) is reminder enough as well of that. Lux, whose nature of her soul he's become so familiar and comfortable around with over the months. Who feels so strongly and so warmly it's like being caught up in a sunburst.
Trying to push those around to fit into little boxes would be insulting to those feelings. To someone's humanity.
(Light doesn't stay between the lines. It shines through them.)
But if he noticed she squeaked or stammered he is far and away too polite to let on that he did. Which is why he smiles quite warmly, quite politely, instead and sits back a little and releases her hand. Like absolutely nothing is out of the ordinary.
Save, perhaps, for the small brush of fingers together as he lets go of her hand and somewhat glossy quality still of his smile. ]
I think I know what I'd like to write now.
It's like the festival, isn't it? [ When they'd tied wishes to the trees. ]