[ it's almost funny, how casually kaveh cuts heine's throat with his words. it would be funny if it didn't hurt like it does. it's an echo of the pain of badou's words, but there's the same sharp edge to them, the same steel in heine's aorta, and he can't breathe for a second, drowning under the immediate surge of shame that overtakes him.
heine goes still, which is fine, because kaveh's not looking. still and silent for a long moment before he forces his hands into his pockets, forces his shoulders back like he's not bending under the weight of all of his own mistakes. ]
Yeah, tomorrow. [ his voice is even. quiet. ] Probably right when it opens.
[ don quixote's invitation had said 6pm. she's very excitable. ]
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heine goes still, which is fine, because kaveh's not looking. still and silent for a long moment before he forces his hands into his pockets, forces his shoulders back like he's not bending under the weight of all of his own mistakes. ]
Yeah, tomorrow. [ his voice is even. quiet. ] Probably right when it opens.
[ don quixote's invitation had said 6pm. she's very excitable. ]