[ There's hardly any pain, but Six can tell that Sunday is delicate with his touches, treating him as if he might shatter at any moment. And maybe he will, given how much of a mess his mind is now. He tries not to think about it, tries not to listen to the phantom whispers from those he belongs in the past.
He chooses to focus on Sunday's voice instead. There's something soothing about it, but maybe that's just wishful thinking. (Or the ever-darkening effects of his suit's mark on his back.) ]
... You can keep going.
[ Their eyes meet this time, pale lilac gazing into golden hues. It's like he's searching for something. Why does Sunday want to look after a stranger? ]
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He chooses to focus on Sunday's voice instead. There's something soothing about it, but maybe that's just wishful thinking. (Or the ever-darkening effects of his suit's mark on his back.) ]
... You can keep going.
[ Their eyes meet this time, pale lilac gazing into golden hues. It's like he's searching for something. Why does Sunday want to look after a stranger? ]