[ Reynir listens to the excuses Onni makes for his grandmother without commentary. Perhaps it comes down to cultural differences; in his village, there was no skill that was taught to only one person. It had been a long time before Reynir had understood why the adults in the village always insisted on there being three young people who knew each craft, each important building technique, each traditional instrument... it was so there would be back-ups. So that if someone left for the city, if someone died... there would still be at least one person in the village who knew what to do when a sheep started bleeding and wouldn't clot, or who knew the recipe for the spiced cakes they made for a particular holiday.

And he knows that his own bias is, perhaps, clouding his judgment, here. Reynir recognizes that he has some bitter feelings about non-Immune people being pushed aside and shut out of opportunities that Onni might not share. ]

Decent?

[ That startles a soft, breathy laugh from Reynir, and he lifts his head, twisting around so that he can meet Onni's gaze, eyebrows raised. He shakes his head, mouth open in surprise, and curling at the corner into a warm smile, so very fond. Even if his face didn't give him away completely, his opinion on that would be all too obvious from the sudden rush of affection inside him, filling him up. ]

You really don't see it, do you? How incredible you are?

[ Reynir sighs through his nose, and settles his head in against Onni's shoulder once more, cuddling in a bit closer. At this point... he's not really doing it to comfort Onni. He just... wants to be near him. But there's nothing wrong with that, is there? ]

Well, you don't look all that much alike. But you do have lots of the same mannerisms, though. And you're both way too fond of sweets.

[ Reynir's cheerful voice trails off, a little seriousness creeping back into the conversation as he hesitantly asks: ]

That was okay, right? Seeing that, and... remembering?