[He doesn't hold on for too much longer than is appropriate. Just a few lingering moments, maybe, to convince himself, to allow his own heartbeat to sync with Bruno's, to let this become a reality he can believe in. Once he's quite sure, he lets go, and his hands fall to his sides in a loose, casual posture that makes it seem as though he's never been tense in his life. His fingers tap on his leg, thump-thump, thump-thump, and part of him wants nothing more than to tell Mista, right now this minute, that Bruno's back, that everything is going to be all right.]
[Instead, he pulls his chair out and sits again, elbows on the table. There is the urge in him to bring life to everything he touches, to pull out Gold Experience here in this cafe, a symbolic celebration of something he had resigned himself to being impossible.]
[All he does, though, is lift his cup to his lips again and take a slow sip. It's still good, if cooler now - unlike Bruno's skin, which is warm again, full of life.]
You're not the first dead person I've met here.
[He is blunter with Bruno than with most people - than with anyone else. Because Bruno can handle it. Bruno can handle anything.]
I don't think we're playing by the usual rules anymore.
no subject
[Instead, he pulls his chair out and sits again, elbows on the table. There is the urge in him to bring life to everything he touches, to pull out Gold Experience here in this cafe, a symbolic celebration of something he had resigned himself to being impossible.]
[All he does, though, is lift his cup to his lips again and take a slow sip. It's still good, if cooler now - unlike Bruno's skin, which is warm again, full of life.]
You're not the first dead person I've met here.
[He is blunter with Bruno than with most people - than with anyone else. Because Bruno can handle it. Bruno can handle anything.]
I don't think we're playing by the usual rules anymore.