[This ship is their small world of two, where they can sail off as the sailors did in the Arabian Nights. But the real treasure isn't in some mythical, distant land. He's right beside Hans, with a voice that rings his hollowed heart like a bell.
Hans sets down his pencil. Scoots a little closer to his friend, so he may better see his face. To think someone could look at him with such fondness--]
An astronomer shuts himself in his study all night, so he may ponder the heavens in silence. [He can't help himself. Hans gently rests a hand atop Edmond's head, to feel those locks beneath his bare fingertips.] Why should I be an astronomer when I can be a poet? Then I could sing of the stars around me to my heart's content.
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Hans sets down his pencil. Scoots a little closer to his friend, so he may better see his face. To think someone could look at him with such fondness--]
An astronomer shuts himself in his study all night, so he may ponder the heavens in silence. [He can't help himself. Hans gently rests a hand atop Edmond's head, to feel those locks beneath his bare fingertips.] Why should I be an astronomer when I can be a poet? Then I could sing of the stars around me to my heart's content.