He finds it difficult not to smile. As much as he doesn’t want to hear the praise - running from it instead of seeking it will forever not be strange - coming from the man he loves, knowing it’s wholly sincere, makes a kind of satisfied warmth bloom in his chest. He admires Rama too, his unwavering loyalty and bravery, his self-sacrifice and the way he loves so truly and with all of himself. It’s a good compliment, one he might even be able to accept.
He takes that step forward, towards Rama and his hands stuffed into his pockets to keep that physical tic still, stopping when he’s close enough to touch. He doesn’t think he’s able to speak; he tries, opening his mouth to say something, anything, but he quickly falters.
What could he possibly say to that? How could he even begin to express how grateful he is to him, the depths of his own admiration and love for the kind of patience and understanding Rama gives to him daily? He can’t, but he can pull him back into his arms for a tight embrace.
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He finds it difficult not to smile. As much as he doesn’t want to hear the praise - running from it instead of seeking it will forever not be strange - coming from the man he loves, knowing it’s wholly sincere, makes a kind of satisfied warmth bloom in his chest. He admires Rama too, his unwavering loyalty and bravery, his self-sacrifice and the way he loves so truly and with all of himself. It’s a good compliment, one he might even be able to accept.
He takes that step forward, towards Rama and his hands stuffed into his pockets to keep that physical tic still, stopping when he’s close enough to touch. He doesn’t think he’s able to speak; he tries, opening his mouth to say something, anything, but he quickly falters.
What could he possibly say to that? How could he even begin to express how grateful he is to him, the depths of his own admiration and love for the kind of patience and understanding Rama gives to him daily? He can’t, but he can pull him back into his arms for a tight embrace.