[ It's a pretty obvious miscalculation, on her part -- the hand brushing back his hair sends his stomach into a near violent lurch, no help for the nausea he's already wallowing in. As his throat tightens further, he only shakes his head once more. She seems to understand, at any rate, and maybe isn't really expecting him to say anything, anyway.
With his boots in hand, he drops into a crouch to pull them on, about as graceful as can be expected. It's a marginal improvement on his mood.
He's clearly surprised when he stands back up and she takes his hand; he's falling down ill and why isn't she making some convenient excuse just to lose him in the crowd, already? Who wants to waste their time hanging out with a guy who can barely hold onto his lunch, on their birthday, of all days? ]
It's fine. [ He's mumbling, sullen again in the face of obvious pity. ] I'll go on my own.
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With his boots in hand, he drops into a crouch to pull them on, about as graceful as can be expected. It's a marginal improvement on his mood.
He's clearly surprised when he stands back up and she takes his hand; he's falling down ill and why isn't she making some convenient excuse just to lose him in the crowd, already? Who wants to waste their time hanging out with a guy who can barely hold onto his lunch, on their birthday, of all days? ]
It's fine. [ He's mumbling, sullen again in the face of obvious pity. ] I'll go on my own.