( It sounds lovely, beautiful and fake, like one of those fairytales that good parents tell to their children. The sort of thing he's lived lifetimes without seeing, the sort of aura that Kirma thinks he gives off even when he's dripping with egoism. It's different here, he thinks, but he doesn't know this man at all, doesn't know if his words are just pretty poetry with convincing feeling behind them, like a play, or if he means it.

He finds himself hoping, more and more, in this place, that he could believe it. But then again, if that is true, if it is possible, then what would that mean for all the time up until now? He could have been loved, but he just wasn't?

There's a thin smile at the question, both proud and bothered by the mark. )

The House itself. It seems it doesn't take kindly to someone trying to carve a way home for those who want it.

( The interest in it is nice, almost as nice as the touch itself. Attention. His eyes slide to Leo, fingers curling into the sweater now in his lap. )

Let's make it a challenge then, why don't we? If you end up loving some part of me, then make me believe it. It's not as if I don't want to; it's not something difficult.

And in return, you can consider me someone who will open his arms to your intensity.