Quatre still has the uncomfortable feeling that Trowa is not telling him everything, or that he knows more than he wants to say.
Then things click, and his eyes widen very slightly -- the travelling, the knowledge that exceeds what he's willing to share. A spy.
For and on who isn't clear, but -- as the universe assures him, deep in his bones, that Trowa is trustworthy (but he doubts Trowa has any way of knowing Quatre is trustworthy -- and yes, Quatre believes himself capable of knowing what to do with state secrets at age 10) it's probably best to just leave that line of questioning alone.
He smiles instead, sincerely interested but perhaps a shade too late. "What sort of things?"
no subject
Then things click, and his eyes widen very slightly -- the travelling, the knowledge that exceeds what he's willing to share. A spy.
For and on who isn't clear, but -- as the universe assures him, deep in his bones, that Trowa is trustworthy (but he doubts Trowa has any way of knowing Quatre is trustworthy -- and yes, Quatre believes himself capable of knowing what to do with state secrets at age 10) it's probably best to just leave that line of questioning alone.
He smiles instead, sincerely interested but perhaps a shade too late. "What sort of things?"