[He doesn't know what he's asking, truthfully, which is why he's not prepared for the question Sizhui poses in turn — innocent, seemingly harmless, except for the fact that it is a gesture of patent familiarity he has crossed only with one person, and in that case only behind closed doors. Perhaps mild, the act of putting a flower in his hair or behind his ear is... too much, too far, an embarrassment that burns up the back of his neck.
I'm not a girl, is what he almost says. You don't even know me. Sentiments of derision meant to wedge distance between them with the ruthless habit of someone who has never made more than one friend in his life.]
No. [— is, eventually, the blunt answer. A testament to Cy's efforts of communication that he hasn't said something more unthinking and cold. Still, there is a chill to it, borne through discomfort.] ... You keep it.
[Then he whips away, turning into the first aisle like the man on a mission to buy some vegetables that he is.]
i'm sorry for him
I'm not a girl, is what he almost says. You don't even know me. Sentiments of derision meant to wedge distance between them with the ruthless habit of someone who has never made more than one friend in his life.]
No. [— is, eventually, the blunt answer. A testament to Cy's efforts of communication that he hasn't said something more unthinking and cold. Still, there is a chill to it, borne through discomfort.] ... You keep it.
[Then he whips away, turning into the first aisle like the man on a mission to buy some vegetables that he is.]