He could learn how to love like you. ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

The gray clouds and the silent streets of Fontaine. In the comfort of your room, Neuvillette's hand in yours for warmth.

It was those days were actions spoke louder than words; where mere gazes were enough answers.

“I love you.” Neuvillette would whisper, “I hope you know that I do.”

“Even if I can't seem to love like you.” He brought your hand up to his face, nuzzling unto your palm.

”Je t'aime beaucoup.”