Feb 17, 2017
“Are we pretending?”
There it is, a question Tseng doesn’t want to answer. Even with his sleeves rolled up and fingers caked in dirt, there’s no escaping the reality of what he is, of who she is, of why he’s here. The problem is, he doesn’t know when he stopped pretending, or if he still is. How is he supposed to tell the difference when everything feels real? From the warmth of the sunlight streaming in through cracks and warming his back, to the fondness in his voice whenever he says her name.
It had started off as a game to him but if they’re one playing now, it’s a new one and nobody’s given him the rules.
“If you want me to stop, Aerith, say so.”
