n. the state of not knowing how you really feel about something, which forces you to sift through clues hidden in your behavior, as if you were some other person—noticing a twist of acid in your voice, an obscene amount of effort put into something trifling, or an inexplicable weight on your shoulders that makes it difficult to get out of bed.
Danny doesn’t think his eyes have ever been so wide, half cradled as he was against the ghost of time, who was… much larger than he was when he had met him. Not as big as the ghost king, at least in height or bulk, but, he didn’t know, longer? Give him a break, he was exhausted and injured!
“Clockwork,” the ghost rasped, standing to their full height as an unreadable expression crossed over corpse-pale skin. “You look… well…”
“Don’t you ‘look well’ me, Pariah Dark!” Clockwork spat, his cloak mostly covering Danny and look, he couldn’t help but to curl closer, it was nice and he was tired! It was soft, and warm, like what he thinks silk might maybe feel like, and comforting like a blanket straight out of the dryer.
He blinked away dizziness, pausing in his idly petting of the bit of cloak in his hand when he realized he had missed a bit of the… argument? Conversation? It wasn’t a fight yet, but he wasn’t going to throw it out as a possibility. Ugh, his everything ached.
“I saw all that you could become, all that you would become,” the time ghost’s claws- didn’t he have gloves before- gripped at his hair, crimson eyes practically smoldering.
Danny looked between the two like he was watching a football game, eyes wide beneath his bangs and mouth parted in a small o of verging realization over what he was hearing.
“And somehow-” Clockwork threw his hands up, cloak flaring from the motion. “I still fell in love with you like an idiot!”