[ "It's only a hand." And yet, there it was. Hong Lu was the first to realize despite how closed-off he'd seemed, Yi Sang's hand was stretched out the entire time, desperate for someone to clasp onto his weakening fingers.
His hand is soft compared to the other palms Yi Sang has run his fingertips across. Those ones were callused with dirt and grease trapped beneath their fingernails. There had been a time when his own looked like that too. The nine of them were happiest then, he thinks, when their hands looked like that.
Even if this is a non-truth, it is enough for Yi Sang. This palm feels different from the ones he'd touched before, but he's quickly grown used to it. ]
Perhaps you shall hear more of them from me, in time.
[ It matters not whether Don and Sinclair are observing. Yi Sang is wholly oblivious, and in any event, his hand simply fits well in his current companion's. ]
no subject
His hand is soft compared to the other palms Yi Sang has run his fingertips across. Those ones were callused with dirt and grease trapped beneath their fingernails. There had been a time when his own looked like that too. The nine of them were happiest then, he thinks, when their hands looked like that.
Even if this is a non-truth, it is enough for Yi Sang. This palm feels different from the ones he'd touched before, but he's quickly grown used to it. ]
Perhaps you shall hear more of them from me, in time.
[ It matters not whether Don and Sinclair are observing. Yi Sang is wholly oblivious, and in any event, his hand simply fits well in his current companion's. ]