[ Bastien lets out a burst of air that turns into the silent, shoulder-shaking laughter. It makes his head throb, but he doesn’t mind.
And he doesn’t cry, exactly—and that’s not in some macho way where he is actually objectively emotionally crying but wouldn’t admit it. It really is just that one of his eyes leaks a little, in a physiological way, the way it might if he’d been hit in the face with a snowball or, more like what he’s actually feeling, if he’d finally taken off shoes that had been too warm and tight for hours and got to flex his cramped sweaty toes in the open air.
He’s not embarrassed. He doesn’t try to disguise wiping his eye dry with the side of his hand. ]
Hush, [ still laughing, no actual hushing wanted, ] Rutyer.
no subject
And he doesn’t cry, exactly—and that’s not in some macho way where he is actually objectively emotionally crying but wouldn’t admit it. It really is just that one of his eyes leaks a little, in a physiological way, the way it might if he’d been hit in the face with a snowball or, more like what he’s actually feeling, if he’d finally taken off shoes that had been too warm and tight for hours and got to flex his cramped sweaty toes in the open air.
He’s not embarrassed. He doesn’t try to disguise wiping his eye dry with the side of his hand. ]
Hush, [ still laughing, no actual hushing wanted, ] Rutyer.