[Kylo pauses in his exercises as he feels Ezra's approach, turning to face him in a familiarly fluid motion and coming to a complete stop. He waits there silently for Ezra and the tangled emotions of his loss to close the distance, his expression as difficult to read as it always is.
His head tilts slightly at the summary greeting, but he makes no effort to respond in the space between it and the words that follow, listening instead. His lips tug towards some kind of expression designed to demonstrate mild amusement.]
Normal, for me.
[It's strange, to think that there are people, now, that have enough of an idea of what he is normally like to make such observations. His attempt at a smile evaporates, expression melting back into loose, almost idle bitterness.]
Most people are uncomfortable with loss. They obsess over the right thing to do, or say, as if there is anything to do or say that will give them control over it. It isn't that they think you want comfort. It's that they want to give it.
no subject
His head tilts slightly at the summary greeting, but he makes no effort to respond in the space between it and the words that follow, listening instead. His lips tug towards some kind of expression designed to demonstrate mild amusement.]
Normal, for me.
[It's strange, to think that there are people, now, that have enough of an idea of what he is normally like to make such observations. His attempt at a smile evaporates, expression melting back into loose, almost idle bitterness.]
Most people are uncomfortable with loss. They obsess over the right thing to do, or say, as if there is anything to do or say that will give them control over it. It isn't that they think you want comfort. It's that they want to give it.