[ As if disbelieving his words, Misato looks up to study his face and see for herself. She isn't sure what it is she's trying to find, not so much a believable reaction or a certain thought betrayed by his eyes, but something. Something. He seems too simple, too good, despite his words back when they had drunk themselves under the table, and she's convinced there must be more to the story. No one who has lived so long could remain so plain. Even children have their own secret tragedies.
She draws back and rests her hand against her knee, fingers brushing his knee, but her eyes don't relent. ]
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She draws back and rests her hand against her knee, fingers brushing his knee, but her eyes don't relent. ]
Do you like it? When it hurts.