[That's a cute answer, at least. Hard not to be charmed a little by that answer. Even if he doesn't get it at all. He's gotten a lot better, but there's still a large part of him that feels like some other category of person, something wretched and ruined that doesn't deserve happiness or love or even to have a rather charming and kind boy want to kiss you on a cold night. He's begun the process of starting to accept that may be how he feels about himself rather than something innate about himself, but it's not easy to get his head around the idea that someone would want someone like him. He loathes himself, so imagining the perspective of a person with a crush on him - days after he told him the story, even - is too alien. Maybe easier with someone like Essek, where he can see the ways they're similar, even the ugly parts. But Mollymauk is just so easy to love.
He sighs, though, because whether he understands it or not, he can't avoid the stupid impulse to give in altogether. He reaches to grip him by the coat, probably nowhere near warm enough for the night air.]
You are very strange, circus man.
[He leans in to kiss him, just softly and briefly.]
[Is he easy to love? Is he? He's frustrating and arrogant and there's easily a world in which those traits are about as ugly as any others through a slightly different lens. Caleb's seen as much.
The coat definitely isn't warm enough for this place. It was already probably too cold for it when he'd died, just starting to snow. He's starting to laugh when he's called strange, still grinning when Caleb leans back in, but he catches on quickly enough that he's pressing back enough to make it not so soft and slightly less brief. All the touching this week has been easy, but he's suddenly a little more hesitant with his hands - just tangling the ends of his fingers against Caleb's coat, but letting him pull back once he's done.]
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He sighs, though, because whether he understands it or not, he can't avoid the stupid impulse to give in altogether. He reaches to grip him by the coat, probably nowhere near warm enough for the night air.]
You are very strange, circus man.
[He leans in to kiss him, just softly and briefly.]
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The coat definitely isn't warm enough for this place. It was already probably too cold for it when he'd died, just starting to snow. He's starting to laugh when he's called strange, still grinning when Caleb leans back in, but he catches on quickly enough that he's pressing back enough to make it not so soft and slightly less brief. All the touching this week has been easy, but he's suddenly a little more hesitant with his hands - just tangling the ends of his fingers against Caleb's coat, but letting him pull back once he's done.]
Been told that before once or twice.
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I don't know. . . I think this may be a bad idea for us. Too messy, maybe.
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Probably.
[Like, definitely. But.]
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[A little chiding, like he's teasing at the obvious 'definitely.' Turning his hand there to squeeze his.]
It's very cold out here, and you aren't dressed for it.
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Why do people keep saying that to me ... ?
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Let's go inside.
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Aye, yeah, sure.
[Just like. Genial agreement! It'll get you through anything.]
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