pale tresses shake with fond attachment to his head; it’s a tedious question. briefly, does the wielder ponder as it doesn’t take too long to acknowledge what seemingly always elicits even the most subtle of smiles from him. frigid breath touch the atmosphere and before it’s lost to the air, he inhales and speak in a definite tone—clear in his conviction.
if it’s any consolation, he’s genuinely glad that he has someone like him to keep his spirits up.
’ it’s beating sora in blitzball, of course ! ‘
