[Although he's sure she doesn't mean it that way, it's starting to feel like hollow praise. He scrubs his hair with his fingers, a habitual gesture that probably explains in part why his hair--his glorious dandelion yellow hair--never seems smoothed down.
It's still the hair, isn't it?]
Why's that?
[He poses the question more to the view of the lake than her, glancing her way a moment after. Surely if she knew he'd been one of the Phantom Thieves, she would've said so by now--the argument can be made that'll be the most interesting chapter in his biography some day.]
no subject
It's still the hair, isn't it?]
Why's that?
[He poses the question more to the view of the lake than her, glancing her way a moment after. Surely if she knew he'd been one of the Phantom Thieves, she would've said so by now--the argument can be made that'll be the most interesting chapter in his biography some day.]