[Sparkling spark.... That's when it hits him that she may be talking about him. Who else but hum has a spark. That single line provided context for him to figure out that....
He is the flower. He is one with a frosty and cold demeanor, yet the cold exterior melts away in Monika's touch to grant her warmth.
Upon realizing that, he turns his eyes back to Monika just to find her already looking at him instead of looking down at her notebook. She has it memorized, too.... Instead of pulling his gaze away, he keeps it trained to hers, listening to the last stanza, listening to the passion in her voice. The passion is ... Unmistakable.
Is she.....? The implication is too strong for it to be anything else.]
This is... About me. No, about... You and me.
[His gaze turns down to the now revealed poem, then flicks back up at Monika.]
I...
[He chokes. He doesn't know what to say. Words, questions and feelings are swarming his head, but none dares to leave his lips, stuck in his throat. He's touched. Curious. Scared. Loved...
His hand trembles, then he seeks to clench a fist on the mattress to stop it from visibly trembling so much. The fingers behind him tapping to the rhythm of a heartbeat he's grown familiar of, thanks to Monika.... The tapping brings comfort. Just enough to bring his voice back, albeit quaking a little.]
Do you... Truly feel that way about... Me? [He leaves it vague enough as to what he meant with feel. A scary, exciting thought comes to mind, as he waits for an answer.]
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He is the flower. He is one with a frosty and cold demeanor, yet the cold exterior melts away in Monika's touch to grant her warmth.
Upon realizing that, he turns his eyes back to Monika just to find her already looking at him instead of looking down at her notebook. She has it memorized, too.... Instead of pulling his gaze away, he keeps it trained to hers, listening to the last stanza, listening to the passion in her voice. The passion is ... Unmistakable.
Is she.....? The implication is too strong for it to be anything else.]
This is... About me. No, about... You and me.
[His gaze turns down to the now revealed poem, then flicks back up at Monika.]
I...
[He chokes. He doesn't know what to say. Words, questions and feelings are swarming his head, but none dares to leave his lips, stuck in his throat. He's touched. Curious. Scared. Loved...
His hand trembles, then he seeks to clench a fist on the mattress to stop it from visibly trembling so much. The fingers behind him tapping to the rhythm of a heartbeat he's grown familiar of, thanks to Monika.... The tapping brings comfort. Just enough to bring his voice back, albeit quaking a little.]
Do you... Truly feel that way about... Me? [He leaves it vague enough as to what he meant with feel. A scary, exciting thought comes to mind, as he waits for an answer.]