it had taken quite a bit of time to get Norton to finally open up, regarding his poetry.

it was something he kept to himself. those words scratched onto endless pages meant so damn much to him. but you had been patient, always had been and always will be.

so when he finally let you take one of the many notebooks from him, it was a moment of liberation. you waste no time in avoiding his gaze, flipping open to the middle of it.

his hands are trembling. due to nerves, no doubt.