[He sits with her. He listens. He presses against her, hip to knee, and keeps himself deliberately close enough that she can curl into him if she wants or needs to. And he feels her through the Oath, not ready to jump in and fix things, because he can't, he knows, but . . . to open himself up further, if that's what she needs. To be what she needs, if he can.]
[The feelings that are building into a complex, indescribable shape in her chest are still on his mind when she asks him that question; still on his mind when his expression goes from pensive and attentive to purely happy, as he ducks his head and leans over the book.]
Lights. My favorite one is Lights. I like all of 'em, but this one is—
[He flips the page over to it, and realizes he doesn't have to say it. It's all right there in Sayori's own words. His crooked grin is almost too fierce to speak through, but he says it again anyway.] This one's my favorite.
no subject
[The feelings that are building into a complex, indescribable shape in her chest are still on his mind when she asks him that question; still on his mind when his expression goes from pensive and attentive to purely happy, as he ducks his head and leans over the book.]
Lights. My favorite one is Lights. I like all of 'em, but this one is—
[He flips the page over to it, and realizes he doesn't have to say it. It's all right there in Sayori's own words. His crooked grin is almost too fierce to speak through, but he says it again anyway.] This one's my favorite.