𝒇𝒐𝒓 𝒕𝒉𝒐𝒔𝒆 𝒘𝒉𝒐 𝒄𝒐𝒎𝒆 𝒂𝒇𝒕𝒆𝒓

[ He reaches up to bat her ponytail out of her face, nose crinkling as the fine hairs cling to him with static electricity. ]

I have small handwriting. Tiny.

[ He illustrates with a hand held up and a finger and thumb pressed so close together they might as well be touching. ]

And there's a lot of pages. They were pretty optimistic that I'd have a lot to say. Well—

[ A moue as he tips his head and glances up at her. ]

And that I wouldn't die right away to some Nevron or other. So really it's a vote of confidence, this journal.