Team Free Will

. . .


Seemed the two of them were in the same boat. Or rather, each in their own boat, but drifting on the same trackless ocean. It wasn't that Cross would ever take pleasure out of another's pain, but the musings of the grey girl did peak his curiosity - not about what had caused her pain, per say, but how deep it went and what sort of soul she was to have dealt with it so far. Was she like him? Or was it just another breed of fate-induced heartbreak cursed to be on a shelf of it's own? With one black tipped ear cocked over so slightly, he gazed her direction, eventually gathering his hind legs to be seated for the moment.

There was no point in apologizing for what had befallen her. He knew nothing of it, and he had had no hand in the causing of it. Nor was there any point in making some sort of understanding remark. Not yet anyway. They were still strangers and they were wounded enough to react to eachother as such. Cross merely kept his seat among the misty ruins and let slow, steady breathings swell his rib cage.

In her own way the girl had been open, more so than Cross would've been inclined to be. For a time, words failed him. He was not the talkative sort by nature, and already he had linked more words together in a minute than he usually did in an hour or even a day. It was a respectful silence. He acknowledged the pain of the other, and that of himself; he would not cheapen it through petty condolences.




. . .