[ it's almost as if he's looking at something else as she speaks ( with such . . . sharp words, to boot ), a little bit deeper, as if he could make out blurry images under all that guard she puts up.
she's afraid.
of what, he can't put his finger on— he wasn't a mind reader, or psychic, or anything like that. he was, by blood, related to primo, the first, and primo had a gift— passed down to each line worthy enough to lead the vongola. tsuna was the current, and his hyper intuition flurried with possibly the most similarity to primo than any of the other dozen generations. why that was, well— it showed sometimes. in about ten years, it'd show more than ever. tsuna would grow up to be quite the man.
while insults are thrown every which way, in the end— tsuna finds himself paying little attention to it. he assimilates her emotion, feels it in his own heart— and then, very softly, his lips seem to curve up at its softest, slightest, with compassion that few would expect as his eyes lay over her, understanding to trade for her cruelty. was she afraid of him failing? or why she protected him? of failing herself somehow? of dying? it could be many things. he has a feeling things will go down a fairly unpleasant road if he asked though, or mentioned it— she'd feel invaded. or would think he's being some smug little shit that wants to play sherlock mufasa all of a sudden.
the big question— should he stay or should he go? he wanted to help, but— would he really be of help or just another motive to up the anger meter? ]
—Is there anything I could-?
[ one last try, he says as he emits a giant fucking wave of invisible shoulder grips that whisper console and help. luckily, it's not out loud or else it'd be terribly corny. or embarrassing. or vriska would probably decapitate him right there. for now, he's probably just being weird(ly nice) for someone who just got stomped on like an unwanted welcome mat. ]
no subject
she's afraid.
of what, he can't put his finger on— he wasn't a mind reader, or psychic, or anything like that. he was, by blood, related to primo, the first, and primo had a gift— passed down to each line worthy enough to lead the vongola. tsuna was the current, and his hyper intuition flurried with possibly the most similarity to primo than any of the other dozen generations. why that was, well— it showed sometimes. in about ten years, it'd show more than ever. tsuna would grow up to be quite the man.
while insults are thrown every which way, in the end— tsuna finds himself paying little attention to it. he assimilates her emotion, feels it in his own heart— and then, very softly, his lips seem to curve up at its softest, slightest, with compassion that few would expect as his eyes lay over her, understanding to trade for her cruelty. was she afraid of him failing? or why she protected him? of failing herself somehow? of dying? it could be many things. he has a feeling things will go down a fairly unpleasant road if he asked though, or mentioned it— she'd feel invaded. or would think he's being some smug little shit that wants to play sherlock mufasa all of a sudden.
the big question— should he stay or should he go? he wanted to help, but— would he really be of help or just another motive to up the anger meter? ]
—Is there anything I could-?
[ one last try, he says as he emits a giant fucking wave of invisible shoulder grips that whisper console and help. luckily, it's not out loud or else it'd be terribly corny. or embarrassing. or vriska would probably decapitate him right there. for now, he's probably just being weird(ly nice) for someone who just got stomped on like an unwanted welcome mat. ]