[ Her widening smile draws one out of him in return. He is teasing when he says, ] You? Blush? Are you even capable?
[ She is. He's seen it, in rare moments, and though he knows it isn't true, sometimes he likes to think he's the only one who ever has. He likes to think that there are parts of her only he's been granted a glimpse of.
He's patient while she searches for her answer. That she takes her time at all tells him everything, tells him she wants to be sincere, that she's not pretending there isn't more here than there really is. His hand covers hers as it curls around his medallion, the pendant. He'd accept any reply from her, in truth. It's only the honesty that he's searching for—and it's what he receives when she says yes. Is this the first time since the mountain? That she's been so openly raw with him? It must be, and it gently pulls loose something inside him that he's been holding back, too. ]
I'm glad, too. [ He doesn't regret meeting her as she was without her memories, he doesn't want it to not have happened. Not anymore. It had hurt both of them, still does, but he thinks—he thinks it showed them something, too. Something important. Didn't it? (They've always come together for a reason.)
He pushes up on one hand, leans over her to meet the kiss. His eyes close. He breathes in her scent, sinks into the taste of her. Yours. It feels that way. The sentiment of it, that sense of belonging. He wants to make that space for her, he wants to believe she has made that space for him, and so he does: tentative, but more solid than it's been in a long time. ]
no subject
[ She is. He's seen it, in rare moments, and though he knows it isn't true, sometimes he likes to think he's the only one who ever has. He likes to think that there are parts of her only he's been granted a glimpse of.
He's patient while she searches for her answer. That she takes her time at all tells him everything, tells him she wants to be sincere, that she's not pretending there isn't more here than there really is. His hand covers hers as it curls around his medallion, the pendant. He'd accept any reply from her, in truth. It's only the honesty that he's searching for—and it's what he receives when she says yes. Is this the first time since the mountain? That she's been so openly raw with him? It must be, and it gently pulls loose something inside him that he's been holding back, too. ]
I'm glad, too. [ He doesn't regret meeting her as she was without her memories, he doesn't want it to not have happened. Not anymore. It had hurt both of them, still does, but he thinks—he thinks it showed them something, too. Something important. Didn't it? (They've always come together for a reason.)
He pushes up on one hand, leans over her to meet the kiss. His eyes close. He breathes in her scent, sinks into the taste of her. Yours. It feels that way. The sentiment of it, that sense of belonging. He wants to make that space for her, he wants to believe she has made that space for him, and so he does: tentative, but more solid than it's been in a long time. ]