[ It's that intensity in her eyes, the subtle shift in her expression that he only gets a glimpse of, in pretending nonchalance, finding other little glimmers of focal points in the distance that don't really interest him but in his profound disinterest for all of them. It's that look, and that maybe he doesn't expect it (or half expects something else, less accommodating), that almost makes him flinch when she lays a hand over his - almost but not quite - and nothing more.
His free hand grips the railing (where he doesn't remember leaving it) when he lifts a shoulder, lets it drop, a muscle highlit briefly in his jaw as he clenches it. The same gesture goes for so much, is inexplicably his fallback, a habit (bad or good) that he must've picked up in the military - though he can't remember why or where or what significance gives it such weight.
Unimportant.
He nods slowly, the feeling of being underwater rather than above, as she pulls back her hand. The touch lingers after, like the ghost of her hair brushing over the edge of bandaging bound up along his forearm does, too, and he doesn't realize some of the pretty red of the day has sunk into his skin, breaking through the stoic seal that keeps all of his other as tight-lipped as that repetitive shrug. ]
All right.
[ It's a small request, inconsequential, really. A girl thing, maybe, yet another he is doomed never to understand. So he does it without thinking - though he's careful enough not to be careless in fitting the fine-edged weapon over her outstretched hand.
A tiny, meaningless concession that's more apology than six thousand gil probably would've bought either of them. ]
no subject
His free hand grips the railing (where he doesn't remember leaving it) when he lifts a shoulder, lets it drop, a muscle highlit briefly in his jaw as he clenches it. The same gesture goes for so much, is inexplicably his fallback, a habit (bad or good) that he must've picked up in the military - though he can't remember why or where or what significance gives it such weight.
Unimportant.
He nods slowly, the feeling of being underwater rather than above, as she pulls back her hand. The touch lingers after, like the ghost of her hair brushing over the edge of bandaging bound up along his forearm does, too, and he doesn't realize some of the pretty red of the day has sunk into his skin, breaking through the stoic seal that keeps all of his other as tight-lipped as that repetitive shrug. ]
All right.
[ It's a small request, inconsequential, really. A girl thing, maybe, yet another he is doomed never to understand. So he does it without thinking - though he's careful enough not to be careless in fitting the fine-edged weapon over her outstretched hand.
A tiny, meaningless concession that's more apology than six thousand gil probably would've bought either of them. ]