[Don’t look at him like that, Konoha. All he can see, all he can hope to interpret, are signs of him disappointing her. He can barely steel himself to look at the strain and despondency sketched across her face. Can barely force himself to look anywhere else but her features, but manages by way of some small, unfortunate miracle, made only easier because she won’t meet his own gaze.]
Promise me you won’t tell anyone else.
[That glimpse into what ails him. He’ll barely admit to it himself.]
What I just said… if you’d please keep it to yourself.
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Promise me you won’t tell anyone else.
[That glimpse into what ails him. He’ll barely admit to it himself.]
What I just said… if you’d please keep it to yourself.