[ There's no point even trying to stifle her amusement as she tries to recall the poem in question. ]
If I remember correctly it was about someone at the Academy. Or at least that's what it felt like when I asked him if it was because he had such a strong reaction to it.
[ The kind of strong reaction that clearly denoted some sort of crush. She hadn't had another opportunity to ask (read: tease) him more because he had declared that she wouldn't ever be allowed to borrow his notes again. (Except she absolutely had borrowed them again. Numerous times.)
At the mention of her being the subject of the poetry she juts her lower lip out slightly, a hand coming to cup his cheeks, pushing his lips together like a fish – completely unaware about where this is going. As far as she knows her momentary bout of jealousy had gone unnoticed which is exactly how she'd prefer it. ]
As sweet as that offer is, if I had to judge your poetry based on your dramatic readings, I think hearing poetry penned by the both of you is an experience I can probably go without. [ She'd rather avoid the subject of them altogether since it's clear she can't wrangle her own jealousy. But how else is she supposed to learn how to keep it on a leash? If it sounds like there's a little more forced levity than usual, it's likely because there is. ] I was just saying that you both have active imaginations without suggestive poetry.
[ Another way of keeping her jealousy in check is by moving on. Releasing his cheeks, her gaze softens with concern. ]
How are you feeling though? How has Sylvain been? Have you spoken to him?
no subject
If I remember correctly it was about someone at the Academy. Or at least that's what it felt like when I asked him if it was because he had such a strong reaction to it.
[ The kind of strong reaction that clearly denoted some sort of crush. She hadn't had another opportunity to ask (read: tease) him more because he had declared that she wouldn't ever be allowed to borrow his notes again. (Except she absolutely had borrowed them again. Numerous times.)
At the mention of her being the subject of the poetry she juts her lower lip out slightly, a hand coming to cup his cheeks, pushing his lips together like a fish – completely unaware about where this is going. As far as she knows her momentary bout of jealousy had gone unnoticed which is exactly how she'd prefer it. ]
As sweet as that offer is, if I had to judge your poetry based on your dramatic readings, I think hearing poetry penned by the both of you is an experience I can probably go without. [ She'd rather avoid the subject of them altogether since it's clear she can't wrangle her own jealousy. But how else is she supposed to learn how to keep it on a leash? If it sounds like there's a little more forced levity than usual, it's likely because there is. ] I was just saying that you both have active imaginations without suggestive poetry.
[ Another way of keeping her jealousy in check is by moving on. Releasing his cheeks, her gaze softens with concern. ]
How are you feeling though? How has Sylvain been? Have you spoken to him?