[He's noticed from the beginning how quiet Kaspar's voice can go. He never commented on it. His work partner at home could barely be understood at times with how he mumbled, and he never minded. He'd never call it out. But here, it feels a little different - in the quiet night, with both of them here in this vulnerable embrace, and no one to witness or watch, its as if they're the last two people in the world and they're saying things that may never be heard by another person again.]
[He listens as Kaspar talks about the glow worms - he idly wonders if the glow worms, perhaps, have something to do with the nature of the man's skin - and his gaze becomes a little more distant. So no matter who you are, poor or ugly, none of it matters..]
[It really...shouldn't matter. And yet, in a world like his, where money is power, where people tell others to do horrific things such as murder, or torture, where people are born into circumstances they can't control, can a sentiment like that truly exist?]
[Kaspar falls into silence, and Steinbeck lets it hang for a moment. A shift of his arm, and he's moved it from the man's knees to surrounding his torso, lightly, to complete the embrace. His head still rests against the other's shoulder, holding him, like a drowning man momentarily finding hold onto an anchor. His blue eyes are bright and yet somewhere lost all the same.]
I still pray to God. [He murmurs, finally.] But I think I've given up a long time ago that He would hear me out.
[A small admission, but its piercing all the same. He's grown up with faith. That faith feels like an albatross around his shoulders, now.]
I think its nice, though. To want someone to look after you. Stars. Glow worms, too. [He sighs, heavy, fingers stretching, gripping again.] Someone's out there, listening.
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ninetydegrees
no subject
2023-01-22 17:40 (UTC)[He listens as Kaspar talks about the glow worms - he idly wonders if the glow worms, perhaps, have something to do with the nature of the man's skin - and his gaze becomes a little more distant. So no matter who you are, poor or ugly, none of it matters..]
[It really...shouldn't matter. And yet, in a world like his, where money is power, where people tell others to do horrific things such as murder, or torture, where people are born into circumstances they can't control, can a sentiment like that truly exist?]
[Kaspar falls into silence, and Steinbeck lets it hang for a moment. A shift of his arm, and he's moved it from the man's knees to surrounding his torso, lightly, to complete the embrace. His head still rests against the other's shoulder, holding him, like a drowning man momentarily finding hold onto an anchor. His blue eyes are bright and yet somewhere lost all the same.]
I still pray to God. [He murmurs, finally.] But I think I've given up a long time ago that He would hear me out.
[A small admission, but its piercing all the same. He's grown up with faith. That faith feels like an albatross around his shoulders, now.]
I think its nice, though. To want someone to look after you. Stars. Glow worms, too. [He sighs, heavy, fingers stretching, gripping again.] Someone's out there, listening.