[at least he's more prepared for it this time. he kept his own heart locked up, sealed away in his chest, but it was still beating there. he was still human, still alive. he could still feel things, even some sentimental things, when he allowed himself to do so. and arguably he felt them just as intensely as anyone else, even if he couldn't cry anymore.

the tension in his limbs dies down. he's no good with girls but he holds her anyway. with any luck, she wouldn't notice that lack of experience.]

Of course you do.

[of course she knows. and of course she wants to be happy. he won't wipe her tears; he just lets her cry and cry and cry into his chest. emotionally, he's not a very warm person. physically, though, he may as well be a space heater. and he supposes there are worse things to have in his arms than a pretty girl, beside herself with grief.]

You want to be real, right? Isn't this the real you?

[people are staring. let them, he thinks. only one person matters here. maybe two.]

Being human hurts. That's how you know it's real.