"Kinda wish I could just put that responsibility down, sometimes," Noctis sighs. "But I can't. Even if it wasn't my life, per se."
He shrugs. "Not fragile, exactly," he says, and wryly adds, "Caleb would be the first person to laugh and tell you I'm not that fragile. But." He breathes out, and in the fading winter air, his breath can be seen as a puff of white vapor, before it dissipates into the wind. "Call it pride, I guess. Or call it—not wanting the people I love to grieve me while I'm alive."
He looks down at his half-eaten hot dog. "Did her friends ever look at her, maybe not that way, but something similar? Like they were already processing losing you to one thing or another."
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He shrugs. "Not fragile, exactly," he says, and wryly adds, "Caleb would be the first person to laugh and tell you I'm not that fragile. But." He breathes out, and in the fading winter air, his breath can be seen as a puff of white vapor, before it dissipates into the wind. "Call it pride, I guess. Or call it—not wanting the people I love to grieve me while I'm alive."
He looks down at his half-eaten hot dog. "Did her friends ever look at her, maybe not that way, but something similar? Like they were already processing losing you to one thing or another."