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2015-11-12 12:33 am (UTC)
Oh. Well, that's not...what Moritz was expecting, in information collected or the fact that it was offered at all. He shifts uncomfortably, glad to be walking. There's a crinkled, rusted fluttering in his chest, of something sick and weak that's trying to see if it can still walk. When was the last time he just went out for drinks with someone and felt like they might actually be interested in what he was saying?
There's a desperation for connection, but it's doused constantly and immediately with shame and dreading expectation, and Moritz feels anxious about what this stranger thinks of him almost as soon as he grows excited at the idea of connection. His head buzzes with alcohol and terror. "--Huh?" He processes the question again and feels it
hard against his heart. It feels like a bruise.
"Yeah, yeah I'd...I'd say so." Tough to talk to people sums up the past few years pretty well, but the last six months spent up here
. This is hard, harder in a lot of ways than anything Moritz has ever done, which is why it's going to be the last--
He clears his throat and looks away, blinking at hysterical tears. Thankfully, they leave almost as soon as they came. "It's not so...easy to talk to people up here, yeah."
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