[he swallows and scoops up a slice of melon, hovering the spoon over the bowl. he doesn't want it; he really doesn't, so he lowers the spoon back into the dish and reaches for the glass instead. the cool water on his lips is refreshing, and he can't drink the water fast enough, some of it seeping from the edge of the glass and dripping down his chin. when it's gone, he sighs heavily and reaches up to dry his mouth on the sleeve of his sweater.]
no subject
...J-Just sick, I guess.
[Roxas has his own reasons for lying.]