#ah here comes silver praise kink kasai

[rcguish]

a collection of snippets from some of the discord happenings ( silver and grusha threads <3 ) : first date ; day two. pt 1.

silver’s gaze trails back from the wheelchair to his companion, taking in inventory of all that appeared on his visage and in his mannerisms. there’s an ease to it this time, not entirely does grusha really relax, but the battle that surely rages on where silver could not see seems to be won just that bit easier. and so this time, in direct response to the thumb caressing his skin does he turn his hand in their shared grasp and return the motions, the message. and this time, silver decides to verbalize the feeling that had bloomed. “proud of you.” soft and whispered thing, he doesn’t trust his voice or general lack of proper tone not to insinuate the wrong thing. silver deems a whisper worlds more sincere than anything else. [ ... ... ] he holds that now-met gaze and he gives another simple nod, firm and resolute – respectful. “chair it is.” and at that, stops the ministrations they shared with their hands, almost woefully parting from that warmth to bring himself to a stand. retrieves and wheels the chair over, careful not to bump into any playful baby foxes thinking the movement of the wheels would be indicative of a toy or a game. brings it to directly face grusha, the position he’d noted it to sit at when they’d moved themselves to the couch the night before. there’s a small gesture, an upturned hand yet not fully held out, an outing for grusha to deny or accept however he saw fit. it was always going to be his choice. “i’m, uh… i’m not a good cook in the slightest bit, so i don’t think the idea of offering to cook breakfast is on the table for me. i’d rather not have that be the thing that chases you off.”

that wasn’t what silver’d been expecting. was grusha about to… he processes the hand almost unable to close the gap, and gently takes it in his — skin on skin was still really nice — grateful for the balance on his feet he’d always been adept with. whatever had been present on grusha’s face was muted, not entirely gone as they maneuvered and pivoted to sit. but it’s quicker to melt away when silver’s words seem to have processed at that moment. a knee-jerk reaction, he guesses, as the disbelief has him stilling and staring at grusha with a dumbfounded expression lifting eyebrows. “ ’uxie above’ — oh, yeah? you’re teaching me?” instantly does he devolve into snickers erring on the side of barely-contained laughs. dare silver even say that was a ‘veiled roast’ if he’s ever heard one. no offense to be taken, no ; that was the funniest damn thing. “only cooking i’ve ever done is roasting over a campfire.” hand rests on grusha’s shoulder again, a squeeze of acknowledgment to their physical correction.

honestly, if this sort of conversation had gone down with anyone different than grusha, silver would've ended this with a glare and a prompt / pointed exit. either be it from embarrassment or disdain ; he didn't usually like to be met with anything that could be regarded as scrutiny. but this? this was funny, grusha's exasperation was hilarious and silver was genuinely tickled through and through. the snickers / light laughs fall so easily from him, it's like he's laughed his whole life in these moments. "i am going to try my very best to retain maybe twenty percent of it all, so that you'd do this again with me and i'd have to sit through another one of your 'i cannot believe you right now' moments." and it's at that comment, grusha's own laughter mixing with his that he genuinely has to take a moment to recollect himself. "i have no plans on experiencing that again, trust -- though, 'm honored to stress you out that much." another snort, before the doors open mid-contemplation and kurama's bounding in. [... ...] "besides, cooking for pokemon in the wild is a completely different thing than cooking for yourself! y'know, with -- spices. and flavors. flavor profiles?" scoffs, but it does little to quell the amused beam still sitting across his face. "i'm sure you're also worlds better than the guy from kalos, or those brothers from unova. how'd i get this lucky, huh, grusha?"

silver hums to that, a reflectiveness about him as he tries to recall all the times he's had cuisine from separate regions. anything and everything he didn't notice at the time, coming to a point right there because grusha was actually making him think about it. bringing attention to the things he'd otherwise never thought of. and there's a budding thought somewhere in the back of his mind -- how exciting it would be for him and grusha to travel together. all the things he might not otherwise have noticed or thought of, just because he'd have another person with him... and not just any person. [... ...] “that does sound worlds better than what i’ve been doing for twenty five years.” he’s hesitant, a part of him almost hidden behind the softness of this morning and the feelings that he’s bathing in at this very second – reject the help, accept it? silver will accept it -- a shaky resolution despite the distant roar of protest. he hopes it doesn’t come up down the line again, accepting help had always been something so foreign and unwanted to him. but something was different with the way how grusha… wasn’t really offering. [... ...] their eyes meet at that, a raised eyebrow doing little to put the intended incredulity into his expression past all the overflowing amusement. silver pats weavile’s head behind plumage, “hear that, buddy? he’s forcing me to do everything for myself, now. look at how far we’ve come.” it cries out its name in response, sniffing about partner before gladly making his way back to the glaceon. it was almost his way of saying thank johto, good luck! silver rolls his eyes before meeting grusha’s eyes once more, fondness at both his person and the adorable flareon in his lap. “can you believe this? just like that.” brings himself to stand from his previous squat, moving them both into the kitchen before glancing around somewhat sheepishly. “prep? uh… well, i’d think eggs, for one. you said toast, too – so bread. eggs, bread.”

they start listing off things to retrieve, and silver can follow along at first – the point is helpful, and though he’s a little hesitant to just make himself at home in someone else’s house – grusha’s home – he finds his way back to the counter with toaster at the ready. silver furrows eyebrows in contemplation, visualizing the processes in his mind as grusha walks him through the steps and reasoning – wait, huh? [... ...] “you’ve got – your fucking work cut out for you.” finally manages to regain his composure somewhat, though it’s fragile with how his lips tremble at the threat of a laugh bursting force yet again. forces himself to breathe, in and out, before diving back into the fridge. “alright. parmesan.” reaches out, tentatively pulling open a drawer and grabbing the nearest thing that looks like a block of cheese. “butter and half-and-half.” this takes a little longer, and he has to empty hands out onto the counter before trying to peer around for the spinach. finds the eggs instead, once again finding their way to the counter. “where’s the… the rotary thing and the spinach?”

grusha’s quick to respond to his curse with a language, and silver had to physically pause and look at them with a hardly-contained smirk. “‘language’? i don’t even think steven’s reprimanded me with a ’language.’” just barely doesn’t break composure again there, just barely manages to pass off another chuckle in snorts. gauging a reaction… this could very well be something he could give grusha shit for, later. he really is funny. “really proving your point on ‘going on forty,’ here.” [... ...] and it’s there that grusha reaches and grabs the aforementioned knife, pointing out all characteristics that it made it that kind, and silver examines it thoroughly – with interest. knives have always held enjoyment / punishment and curiosity to him, but he never bothered to learn about the differences and the intricacies past the specialities in butterfly or pocket knives – especially those in the kitchen. this might as well have been a whole separate language. there’s a stabbing pain right through the middle of his palm to the knuckle, but the only thing indicative of a predictable sensation is a slight twitch of his eye. not right now. but silver wasn’t one to run away from a challenge, though. and by rainbow phoenix he’s paying attention, soaking in everything grusha says and shows him with diligence, envisioning a slight difference that they’d mentioned. he nods at the comparison, and takes the handle to put it back proper – but not without giving it a closer look, of course. right at the junction of metal to handle (plastic, maybe? metal? this looked like metal…) and curvature of the tip and blade. and when it’s away, he’s turning back to grusha with a brighter shine to his eyes. “i’m glad i’m helping in a way kinda like how you’re helping me. i’m grateful for this, on a more serious note.” sterling gaze flickers to the counter, a very obvious thought of interest breaching his mind and he has little mind to think about consequences. “i know there’s a way how chefs hold knives, and cut with them. there’s this artistry to it that’s… really captivating, actually – can you do that?”

toboe seemingly responding whenever grusha mentioned him directly was an adorable thing silver was quick to appreciate in observation. reminded him of how talkative weavile can be whenever it'd been in direct vicinity, or especially honchkrow. the ways how his corvid mimics and adds its own mischievous taunt, sometimes eerily turning silver's own words back at him was the subject of many hilarious (and kinda terrifying) memories. "i relate to a degree. feraligatr can often take it up under his responsibility to delegate to everyone else what to do when i... can't move out of bed." those days are always rough. but they've navigated it together, as a whole team, and everyone had roles and duties to fulfill when silver just couldn't do it. how he'd make it up to them when he was feeling well enough to get up again. it wasn't dissimilar to how they'd work in tandem to set up camp, watch each others' backs, and survive for however long they needed to out in the wilderness.

good job, even. silver slows to a quick stop. there's a widened way about his eyes at he looks at grusha, right when those words had been paired with a touch of humor -- 'till he's quick to match soft smile to theirs. the way how his heart fluttered and soared and set his cheeks three degrees warmer was something he'd... once again have to pick apart later. the next few days (weeks, probably) were about to be full of introspection and breaking apart of his feelings, silver was sure. he was... looking forward to it, actually. back to the task at hand. grusha points and he follows, surveying the differences in sizes before settling on what he deemed 'medium-sized.' turns to discover they'd pulled out the board, nodding in a gesture of gratitude. "color coded? does... does the color signify anything, does it mean what kind of material it is?" eyebrows knit somewhat, "can you cut wrong?" based on cutting board alone? and silver's too busy contemplating the cutting board in his head and the semantics of it all, trying to logic his way out of all the possible differences that could lead to maybe duller blades or a not-so-clean cut. maybe red was a thicker plastic... maybe wood was only used for vegetables? his vision's snapped to the somewhat unexpected sound, though he's curious ; grusha's words catch up to him with the visual and he gives an nod in agreement. [ ... ... ] so instead, silver takes a deep breath before taking an egg and giving a (what he would think) to be a good enough impact -- and surprisingly it's a clean cut. it slips easily into the bowl, and the success sparks a tiny glimmer of alright, this is easy in him. a tiny bit. he picks up the second egg, and while this cut is a little less clean, silver's able to pry it apart without getting shells into the mixture and without breaking the yolk. alright. alright. it's when he goes for the third egg, though, that perhaps he'd gotten slightly too hasty. he goes to crack the egg with a much harder grip, much too hard, and as shell meets bowl it practically exploded in his hand in one fell swoop. half of whites and egg shell make it onto the counter, the other half cupped in a hand held up in the air. silver turns his head to look at grusha with a bewildered and shocked raise of eyebrows / parting of his lips / wideness of his eyes. "this sucks as a tactile feeling. i hate this. i hate this a lot."

silver's quick in his disgusted shake of the head of the idea of weavile licking all of this slop off of his fingers, sandpaper tongue and all -- he just barely staved off a dry heave at the combination of it all across senses. he locates the sink and quickly makes his way over to it, careful not to let the whites drip down his forearm onto the floor (and rolled up sleeve). and immediately does he turn the faucet on, desperately trying to rinse and be free of the disgusting feeling of raw eggs on his skin. leans over the counter at that second and breathes out the air he'd been holding in since the little explosion, a shaky chuckle at the ridiculousness of it all. and yet somehow, silver doesn't feel like... he should be all that ashamed. or rather, that smothering, all-consuming fire of self-hatred he found himself being enveloped in whenever he so much as made one tiny mistake in front of someone -- never comes. there are shades of it, some feeling around the fringes of his mind of wastage, inconvenience, but it doesn't swallow him whole. no, in fact when he's turning around after the question's asked, and he sees that grusha had already taken care of the mess, silver's filled with a softer sense of gratitude. a tug at the corners of his mouth, right as he's grabbing all the wipes / evidence and throwing it in the trash to bring the can over. smart. "sorry about that… i can get you some more eggs tomorrow." it's a little sheepish, but it's a start. "and thanks -- for cleaning that up, i should've been a little faster." tiny dip of his head, right before taking a deliberately longer breath ( barely counted, maybe rushed, who cares ). "let's give this another shot." and yes, he'll grab another egg to make up for the loss, but first -- easy enough. a little shaky, silver had been a bit more unsure of himself, but no shells made it into the mixture. tries for the last egg, concentrating, and it's as good as the last one. task failed… successfully? he scoops up the shells and throws them all into the trash, turning to grusha with a grimace of a smile. "alright, then. now what?"

and there is it again — good. silver honest to phoenix could not believe how one word could affect him so intensely, especially when it hardly ever made him blink in the past. be it praise from the professors or his seniors, it hardly mattered to him in the end. praise from blue was nice, but the feeling tapered quickly. praise from steven was hard-fought and hard to come by, and nice as well, but it too would often fade after the moment it’d been spoken. he’d always find a way to let approval float to the wayside, no matter what was said or if the manner in which was impactful – he’d just find another way to hone in on strength and objectives. in a way, silver found himself falling into that similar pattern, wanting to keep up the (small) success and steamroll onto the next task. and the next. complete the mission, no matter the hardship. …but this was cooking. this was cooking in a kitchen, and grusha had praised him good for something so mundane and fuck there’s that warmth he feels on the nape of his neck again. yeah. when they said it, it was worlds different from everyone else. silver… wanted to keep hearing it. ( he puts that away for now. onwards. ) [ ... ... ] he’s aware enough to keep fingers closer inside / away from the blade, although movements are clunky and unsure at best. meticulously lines up the spinach on a vertical line, cutting stems away in two big sweeps of the knife. ( follow the curve of the blade and apply pressure? seems to be the way to go… ) easy enough. swipes the excess away to the edges, and pauses in mental mapping of how best to go about horizontal / vertical chops. decides to scoop them all in a relatively close pile, takes fingers to the blunt edge on top, and uses them as leverage to chop right and left; picks the knife up and repeats on a vertical angle. maybe a little small, and some of the leaves are a little mushy… but, they’re thoroughly chopped squares still. before silver can even help himself, he’s looking at grusha with a glint to his eyes – how’d i do?

grusha smiles, and chuckles, and silver felt like he’d been robbed of the air right from out of his lungs. perfect… he didn’t need to look back at the spinach to know he’d been far off from perfect, but even still. that word hits silver in tandem with the rush of emotion ( adoration, affection, really ) from before, and the flush that overtakes nose / cheeks / ears practically burns. how the fuck was he supposed to finish breakfast at this pace? every time they uttered even just a single word somewhere alongside ( incorrect, these had been direct ) a compliment or praise, silver felt like he could’ve walked outside that door and jogged an entire lap around the house in that very moment. it was astounding, really -- somewhat like whiplash, in the way how he seemed to bask in it. “i may be an artist, but maybe not that kind of artist… still, thank you.” he wants to say something more, wants to do something more, but he’s rooted to the spot and grusha’s turning to continue the mission ( cooking breakfast ). so he closes his mouth and decides for later. [ ... ... ] the very same eyes that have been soft and warm-hearted this entire morning, instantly revert back to their intense / analytical nature. he assesses grusha’s posture and condition with tense and bunched-up muscles, ready to move at the slightest sign of something a little more serious. but, grusha seems to walk themselves through with a breathing exercise not unlike silver’s own, and their commentary alone is enough for him to stay put. there’s two miniscule, unnoticeably slow bounces of silver's head, recognition from his own experiences and trust all in one. when grusha turns, though, handing him the bowl like everything was fine, silver was inclined to believe it. peered a little deeper into his face, his eyes, and wasn’t met with anything that immediately concerned him or pinged any radar. so he smiles, a tiny thing in the face of his previous flush. “nothing beats a good back crack. you alright, though?” he knows the answer judging by how they’re moving about and retrieving the bread (in between the teeth? i'd do the same), but it’s a question he tosses over their way regardless. better for verbal confirmation than a visual assessment – if grusha were anyone like silver (and they very much are), the possibility of them masking / covering up a greater issue is likely.

silver considers his partner’s words, following their gaze as it travels pointedly to the mentioned cheese. he’d had parmesan before, and can rightfully attest to the fact of saltiness; and while he does briefly consider retrieving the pepper, something tells him the way how grusha enunciated sprinkled that tells him they have two completely different palates on pepper alone. he raises an eyebrow at you’re the chef, a somewhat incredulous look playing alongside a smirk on one end of his mouth. he decides to forgo the pepper on that alone. like trust the process, but translating it to cooking – there were sciences and flavors at play that he’d only just begun delving into, an entire artistry. grusha had years of experience on silver, and he’d know better than anyone than to question offered guidance / suggestions. blue has tried teaching silver how to cook once before, and it’s ended up in disaster all the same; the hilarity of that alone had been enough for silver to decide cooking was simply not it for him. this time had, admittedly, been going so more smoothly than he’d ever anticipated.

he almost, almost missed the good thinking, too lost in his own mind with the queue of steps laid out in front of him before traitorous / angelic words distract him once again. silver meets their wondrous gaze with a smile, soft yet wide enough to crease his eyes. maybe it conveys all the thoughts and emotions he’s been chewing on since this entire situation had started, maybe it doesn’t – but there’s warmth in his face enough that he thinks grusha would understand. silver takes the bowl without missing a beat after instruction, grateful for the normal grip strength he possessed still in his left hand today – taking spatula mid-handle and scooping the mixture into the pan. the sizzle that follows instantly is quite satisfactory, he thinks, a symphony of sorts. feeling like it dances over multiple senses, earthy browns like an embrace’s squeeze around his shoulders. silver pauses as he relishes such a new, cozy feeling. and he scoops the sides of the bowl before setting it down, tossing a glance over his shoulder to grusha, observing them load the cheese with interest. he does move the spatula alongside the edges to keep from sticking, and ultimately it brings eyesight back to the pan in front of him in order to keep slight movements gentle in the folds (and not like with his strength before). [ ... ... ] lifts the spatula and sets it down beside the stove, taking the few steps forward to meet grusha and take the loaded grater. there’s a moment where he locks sight with him again, and his heart skips a beat. pure, unabashed adoration keeps him rooted in place – silver couldn’t drop that hold for a few moments. so before he’s walking back to check on the pan, he’s bending down to kiss their cheek with a breath of air akin to a soft laugh.

though this entire sequence had been entirely new, and slightly uncomfortable on account of the god awful feeling from before, it’s been going really well. the instruction from his partner paired with his diligence in following along proved success when he’d noticed the cheese properly cooking into the eggs. when the heat’s turned off, and the end result sat looking rather delicious in the pan. silver can’t help but marvel at it all somewhat. bright pastel yellows with bits of greens, paired with the savory smell brought about whole new pairings of emotions. things he hasn’t felt in years since he’d stayed with blue, or things he hadn’t felt in twenty five years as a whole. this felt… and it’s then that grusha brings his attention up to the mention of plates, gaze flitting from them, their arm, and the cabinet they gestured to. silver makes quick work of retrieving them, a surer step about him than when they had started this entire endeavor. he follows them, eyes catching such fluidity about their movements with a keenness. he’d seen people move and wheel around in a wheelchair before, but… he was fascinated. it was still an entirely new way of movement, and silver wanted to mentally study every single bit of muscle movement / hand placement / technique / action that went into it. perhaps as a greater understanding. perhaps out of his old childlike interest in the unknown / new. perhaps because he’d been completely and utterly entranced by all of grusha. task. task… [ ... ... ] grusha places both sets of toast onto the plates, moving to retrieve the butter – and silver can’t help but find curious gaze once again caught up in the movement. like he’d been committing it all to memory. “all things considered, that… wasn’t bad. and i’m talking ‘bad’ being the face of burnt rice, or a poor mixture of children’s cereal. it all smells delicious.”

savory dishes have a habit of being more filling, huh… that was an interesting thing to note. silver thought about that for a second, trying to recall the last full meal he’s eaten besides their dinner last night, though the feeling eludes him. something to keep in mind for the future, perhaps a little experiment he could set up himself to prove grusha’s point. they were definitely knowledgeable on nutrition, and silver does suppose it comes from being an athlete. being so involved with it would certainly cause all facets of life to shift towards the major goal or hobby or job. he distantly wonders if this was something that grusha had also stuffed away deep into his psyche, or if this might one of the few strings his still holds onto from the life he used to lead. wonders if… him teaching silver how to cook, maybe brought back some happier times. a taste of something sweet in the middle of a mess. wonders if it’s really just as simple as the duties of the ward of the mountain. he knows for a fact that this one meal held a lot more weight to him alone than just a simple breakfast might normally serve to someone else. it was something they both did together, something they both worked towards to finish and it worked out. they worked good together. silver’s never ‘worked good’ with someone else. [ ... ... ] they’re grabbing his hand, kissing his knuckles, practically showering him with praise and silver halts again. platinum never left multicolored, but three heartbeats pass of shock in his stare before there’s a fogginess to his vision. distanced somewhere in his mind and yet so very present, rooted to this moment and the way how he soared – and then silver’s barely holding back the laughter that follows. not barely, he’s simply unsuccessful. bends down / leans into grusha’s space a little at the ridiculousness of one stupid joke in the middle of that, and it wasn’t even meant to be a joke. “eggs – eggs of your labor?” and despite himself, despite the softer laughs now shaking shoulders, his free hand cups the side of grusha’s face and tenderness / fondness wells in like it’d meant to exist in his face from the get-go. “you are funny, i hope you know that.” gives a gentle sweep over their cheek, smile settling into something softer. “thank you. really. you, uh… you were very patient with me. i’m sorry i lost that egg.”

silver ponders grusha's 'repayment proposition' for a second, though, pursing his lips in an over-showing of inward deliberation. “hmm.. “ and though it's an acted joke, surprise actually does hit him somewhat – evident in the flutter of eyelids and a somewhat puzzled look creeping into his eyes. like he'd been caught off guard. “i – wasn’t the only one who made this, though. atleast not without your help.” but there’s a pointed pause to that, a moment where they hold sight and silver… relents with a nod. and a small smile returns with bashfulness. grusha meant what he said. [ ... ... ] though, silver’s once again caught off guard by their insistence, eyebrows raising as a prelude to the half-smile that follows. he gives a single nod, another conscious reminder to breathe, before he’s taking the pepper shaker and dusting it over the eggs ( little first, adjust as needed ). there’s a pause, just as fork lifts before something seems to solidify in his mind. maybe it was the accumulation of this entire morning, the eggs of his labor and the attention on him -- the expectancy for what it'd taste and feel like. he takes the bite. and silver’s reaction is almost instantaneous, eyes beholden to the textures of the table before they close behind eyelids and his head’s bobbing in an almost unconscious nod for seconds of time. “...alright. yeah. nothing beats home-cooked meals.” home-cooked. there's something about the way how that sounded. "i almost loathe to admit how much i feel like i've been missing out over the last few years." a finger rises to curl slightly over his mouth, a slight way of covering a much too unabashed smile in that moment. "my sister used to cook for me, back when i used to sometimes crash at her place... this reminds me of those days. but in a way... well, maybe not better, because they're two separate feelings -- but this is good. this is different and, uh, really good."

like now, when he snorts and levels them with the best half-serious look silver could muster, “oh, she has. that’s where the burnt rice is from.” and he laughs at his own ‘joke,’ the sheer irony of the scene and the places he and blue hailed from as context resulting in immediate peak comedy. “needless to say, i wasn’t keen on trying again after that.” he points to upstairs, and somewhere up there where he (assumes he) left his phone. “she’s the one on my lock screen if you’ve ever seen her — probably haven’t though, i don’t think i’ve just… flashed my phone at you before.” fondness warms his face almost as brightly as grusha, but it’s a different sort this time. “her name’s blue. she was someone i found after all the bullshit, and then… i just clung to her. she extended a hand out to me when i ran away, saw me in a world where no one else did — for better or for worse.” though the topic may be shadowed by his looming demon of history, none of it touches the love he feels for her at all simple conversation. the warmheartedness from recalling a beloved person while in the presence of his person… he chuckles. “she kickstarted me into learning how to read, ‘cause i didn’t know how to back then. and, by extension, her aunt introduced me into art.” he mirrors grusha in picking up a piece of toast, cutting a part of egg off with the side of his fork before scooping it / placing it on the bread. ponders for a moment. “blue… saved my life. and by no measure of exaggeration.”

wait, he knows blue? silver stops mid-chew, one eyebrow quirked up with another knitted in a quizzical look. it’s when he resumes as grusha continues on with their story that his face softens back into a smile, barely staving off another round of snorts. trainer finishes his bite, the swallow allowing amusement to finally blossom and take up hold on silver’s face. “that sounds like her.” and all he could see at the forefront of his mind was her bright smile, and the shit she’d give him for all the dumb things he found himself doing. he missed her. seeing blue more often after graduating has always been something silver’s looked forward to. that was a thought for later. “she’s saved the day multiple times with the things she’d pull from that bag. in a way, when i was a kid, i think i really started to equate her to a mother-like sort of figure – the magic she pulled with that thing only helped prove my point.” huffs out a breath of air in a chuckle, ”and it only did more when she handed me two items one day, told me to let sneasel and murkrow hold them, and then they’re evolving later on that same night.”

the surprise / revelation that is a story to watch as it fully lights grusha’s face is nothing short of adorable, and it’s then that he connects their expressions before and what whirlwind they might be feeling internally as well. there was a gravity there that silver didn’t notice at first, too caught up in the tenderness to recall and talk about blue – someone that had come into grusha’s life when they needed it the most, too. maybe she helped them in a way that she helped him? and with that is silver turning his phone around to look at the face of someone so dear / precious / loved, a thread that connected him and grusha even more. “the one and only. she means everything to me.” he smiles, almost back at blue on the screen, making a mental note to give her a call when he let his pokemon out and about later. it’s been a while since he has, and silver was all too aware ( and guilty ) that he really had to make more of a habit on checking up on her.. ( he’d have to thank her for dragging grusha to that festival, too, by the sound of it. ) [ ... ... ] it threatens to bubble over and instead, silver shakes his head and dives back in for some more eggs and toast. takes a few seconds to chew, swallow, breathe (really, heave a sigh), and grusha’s processing all the while. perhaps he’d also been stewing in disbelief, or at the very least processing a dozen links coming together – perhaps just ruminating over the sheer irony of it all. small world. small world, indeed. with a hand over his mouth as he chews, silver pauses at spirited away, disbelieving stare leveling with grusha’s. has to take a few seconds of contemplation before he’s swallowing and tilting his head somewhat at him. “how do you mean?”