[It's such a little thing, she remembers! she listened! but it means a lot to him; he can feel his cheeks flush pleasantly and his heart rate pick up just a little. She'd paid attention. Does that make him easy? Who cares? Everyone likes to be listened to, right?
These topics aren't easy for him to talk about anymore—even though he once spouted off about them at anyone who would listen, or even people who weren't—but she makes it easier. It's always easier with Rise. So despite everything, he's pretty much at ease, and grins over at her with obvious appreciation. Thanks.]
It's just, baseball's what I'm good at, yeah, but . . . it just ain't me! It's not my style! I'm not just some sweaty jock, right? Can you even imagine me standing out there on the pitcher's mound in some boring uniform with my head shaved, throwing balls at other sweaty dudes?
[Ha! Ridiculous! How silly!
And yet he keeps going, and the longer he talks, the more some fondness creeps into his tone:]
Not that they could ever hit them anyway. Not like I could hit theirs! Then they'd make me run the bases anyway even though it was just another homerun, like, what's the point when you send the ball flying out o' the park like that? There is no point! It's totally pointless! And it's always all hot out there in the summer, and your feet send up dust in your eyes, so you can't even see the whole stadium cheering for you . . .
[He's still smiling.]
Heh . . . so uncool.
[Wait, he was supposed to be complaining! That was definitely complaining! Right?! That was all one big complaint!]
no subject
[It's such a little thing, she remembers! she listened! but it means a lot to him; he can feel his cheeks flush pleasantly and his heart rate pick up just a little. She'd paid attention. Does that make him easy? Who cares? Everyone likes to be listened to, right?
These topics aren't easy for him to talk about anymore—even though he once spouted off about them at anyone who would listen, or even people who weren't—but she makes it easier. It's always easier with Rise. So despite everything, he's pretty much at ease, and grins over at her with obvious appreciation. Thanks.]
It's just, baseball's what I'm good at, yeah, but . . . it just ain't me! It's not my style! I'm not just some sweaty jock, right? Can you even imagine me standing out there on the pitcher's mound in some boring uniform with my head shaved, throwing balls at other sweaty dudes?
[Ha! Ridiculous! How silly!
And yet he keeps going, and the longer he talks, the more some fondness creeps into his tone:]
Not that they could ever hit them anyway. Not like I could hit theirs! Then they'd make me run the bases anyway even though it was just another homerun, like, what's the point when you send the ball flying out o' the park like that? There is no point! It's totally pointless! And it's always all hot out there in the summer, and your feet send up dust in your eyes, so you can't even see the whole stadium cheering for you . . .
[He's still smiling.]
Heh . . . so uncool.
[Wait, he was supposed to be complaining! That was definitely complaining! Right?! That was all one big complaint!]