He has given too much thought to the idea of friends. To the notion that someone might want to spend time with him and unearth what lives beneath the surface. That someone would be interested in finding that beneath the somber eyes and the quiet glances there was a boy who lived in daydreams as vivid as his father’s creations. It is difficult to think that there is such a rich dreamworld buried in Aureus’ eyes, that he lives trapped in his own head as his father, but is it, and he does.
Still, his young chest aches at the idea that she thinks the same. That she would ever fear that someone would not want to be her friend, and he frowns. His face folds, crumbles, and his amethyst eyes darken a little, but it is not for long. Soon enough, he washes his features clean and straightens until his face is void of any of that emotion—blank except for the seriousness of his eyes as he turns it forward them.
“Anyone would want to be your friend,” he says firmly, trying to press the truth of it into her. “Everyone.” He feels certain of it. Certain that had he not walked toward her that others would have gravitated. The fact that it was just the two of them now was a fault of his own—not a reflection of her.
He doesn’t elaborate though. Doesn’t delve into his own insecurities. Instead he just smiles back and turns his attention to the world that folds around them. “Over there,” he says, after a minute. There is no real reason for it. He has no idea what lies beyond the horizon where the land dips away from them, but he knows that they can’t just stand here and she is looking to him for some kind of direction.
He couldn’t disappoint her on the very first request.
