[He tilts his head in consternation. It's a reflex, one he would never have done purposely, not if it meant endangering the little braids forming in his hair. Mostly, he's thinking.]
[And it comes to him. With a flash of mild dismay, it settles inside him with perfect clarity. When she says that he makes himself pretty, that he does pretty things, that he's special, the rest of it falls in place, and he realizes exactly why he can never agree with what she says.]
[He just doesn't understand her. It's that simple. He doesn't understand her, someone who grew up truly alone, who doesn't get to eat onigiri often or play baseball. And she doesn't understand him. She doesn't understand that he's just one person among six of exacting failures, who grew up with a perfectly normal life but somehow tripped himself far before the finish line and never bothered getting back up.]
[Something separates them. Something she has that he lacks; something that makes the reverse true, too.]
[And it's better that way.]
[If it's that simple, then he doesn't really have to worry about it. Because it's not going to change. It's not something he's capable of changing, so that means he's free to just accept it. He can accept that Ren is someone he can't fully understand -- so long as it means that she won't ever be able to fully understand him. He wouldn't ever want her to.]
[Even if he doesn't understand the way she sees the world, he understands everything that makes her important to him.]
[So he smiles, nodding placidly, raising the pitch of his voice into one of dramatized wonderment.]
Ahh, so that's how it is. I get it now. Thanks for explaining, Ren-chan. You're great at it.
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[And it comes to him. With a flash of mild dismay, it settles inside him with perfect clarity. When she says that he makes himself pretty, that he does pretty things, that he's special, the rest of it falls in place, and he realizes exactly why he can never agree with what she says.]
[He just doesn't understand her. It's that simple. He doesn't understand her, someone who grew up truly alone, who doesn't get to eat onigiri often or play baseball. And she doesn't understand him. She doesn't understand that he's just one person among six of exacting failures, who grew up with a perfectly normal life but somehow tripped himself far before the finish line and never bothered getting back up.]
[Something separates them. Something she has that he lacks; something that makes the reverse true, too.]
[And it's better that way.]
[If it's that simple, then he doesn't really have to worry about it. Because it's not going to change. It's not something he's capable of changing, so that means he's free to just accept it. He can accept that Ren is someone he can't fully understand -- so long as it means that she won't ever be able to fully understand him. He wouldn't ever want her to.]
[Even if he doesn't understand the way she sees the world, he understands everything that makes her important to him.]
[So he smiles, nodding placidly, raising the pitch of his voice into one of dramatized wonderment.]
Ahh, so that's how it is. I get it now. Thanks for explaining, Ren-chan. You're great at it.