[ A moment passes where the possibility of her telling him to fuck off is real. Frankly, he'd accept it if she did. She doesn't. She looks almost unsettled or uncertain—he can't decide which—and when he stands, he hands her back the flower.
He isn't here out of obligation, no. Perhaps he just senses, same as before, that she's lonely. Or alone. And maybe he can understand what that means. ]
No promises. [ His lips quirk. It isn't a no. They walk along the path. He studies the flowers that continue to stretch along the grass. ] Is this your home back on your sphere?
[ The cabin and the flowers, he means. Feels like it. How it's overgrown and a little rundown—it seems a place that existed somewhere at some point, even if it may not anymore. ]
no subject
He isn't here out of obligation, no. Perhaps he just senses, same as before, that she's lonely. Or alone. And maybe he can understand what that means. ]
No promises. [ His lips quirk. It isn't a no. They walk along the path. He studies the flowers that continue to stretch along the grass. ] Is this your home back on your sphere?
[ The cabin and the flowers, he means. Feels like it. How it's overgrown and a little rundown—it seems a place that existed somewhere at some point, even if it may not anymore. ]