It felt good to be able to talk about his past, especially to someone who hadn't been there. Rhythm didn't know all the details, all the horrible parts he ignored or attempted to forget. With her, he could paint his past as just the type of picture he liked to look at. It wasn't that he was lying to her, he wouldn't do that, but he could delicately leave out parts that he didn't like to talk about. Parts that hurt him. There was one part he rarely talked about, one that he didn't like to remember but was constantly reminded of every day that he existed. "Maybe," he breathed, hinting that he was now far too lost in his thoughts to really know what she'd said. "Can I tell you another story?" he queried with absolute sincerity, his emerald eyes shifting toward her with a faraway glean. "It's not embarrassing, per say, but I want you to hear it." He'd told only one other - Rhythm, and that had been out of necessity, not out of desire. He had been forced to tell her because of the circumstances he lived in. Rhythm, on the other hand, he simply wanted to tell her. He knew she would understand, wouldn't pity him or look down on him. She wouldn't think him weak, or fragile, or frail. He lay still, gazing at her and wondering if she would oblige him and listen to just one more tale.
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