Mm. That's not surprising. [Because he doubts he would have- well no, she would have heard him sing her praises. Somewhere, somehow, he "remembers" (or maybe he just imagines) a younger her with the first tattoo done. He imagines a younger him (perhaps without his hair dyed) telling her how cool it looked, how much it complimented the rest of her features, how... pretty it was.
It's a nice "memory." In fact, as he feels right now - lonely, lost, broken - he wishes that it were a real one. Hell, he wishes it could be a fake one, not just some phantom his imagination.]
...After all, you had them for quite a while. I'm sure I had time to praise them which wasn't that week.
[And if he says it, maybe it'll be true. In spite of himself, in this lull, still looking at her face - watching her lips, a hand of his reaches out to lightly brush at her shoulder, where he vaguely recalls one of them was. He's not even sure why he does it.]
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It's a nice "memory." In fact, as he feels right now - lonely, lost, broken - he wishes that it were a real one. Hell, he wishes it could be a fake one, not just some phantom his imagination.]
...After all, you had them for quite a while. I'm sure I had time to praise them which wasn't that week.
[And if he says it, maybe it'll be true. In spite of himself, in this lull, still looking at her face - watching her lips, a hand of his reaches out to lightly brush at her shoulder, where he vaguely recalls one of them was. He's not even sure why he does it.]