Again, it's.... strange to hear, coming from her, and yet maybe especially meaningful, coming from her. He's earned her trust in such matters, and it's— frightening, terrifying, to think about. Just how terrifying it is, is something he'll reflect on in the time to come, probably. But in this moment? It feels nice, his heart so warmly and achingly grasping onto the concept. She trusts him. Trusts his words, knows he would hold true to them.
It's all becoming very much, and it's so easy for him to become overwhelmed; there's an immediate gratitude when Wynonna continues on with her words, with that habit she's so skilled with in being able to change a flow of conversation, push it onwards past something lingering and difficult to pull one's self out of (not that he dislikes what they've been speaking about, not at all; in fact, it's.. nice— there's that word again).
He nods his agreement with an exhale of almost relieved breath, before watching her stand, unsure at first where she's going, eyes almost orderly with how they snap to her movements, and then catch sight of a lift of clothing and an exposure of skin, and certainly he's no stranger to seeing more of ladies these days than he ever has in his lifetime, but to happen now throws him off-guard in a way he hadn't expected. His eyes widen, chest feeling strange and tight and he's only growing even warmer from the inside out. It's a mercy that Wynonna's attention is occupied by her mission, although it's only so briefly, and he's still not recovered by the time she sits back down.
And she's closer now, and his eyes aren't daring to look at her for a long moment or two, only holding tightly onto his glass as she refills it. Edward stares down at it, very nervous, very unsure, so painfully aware that all of this is beyond anything that would be considered normal or appropriate when and where he's from. He shouldn't... look at her.
But she's really very lovely, he thinks, and it's not necessarily a brand-new thought; he may not have ever sought out such thoughts, for anyone, but no matter what norms exist for him (and especially for him, an officer of the navy), he has noticed lovely people in his life. One simply never acts on it, pursues it, certainly never admits to such things — but one notices. Despite what he thinks of himself, he is only human, and humans notice such things as the softness of hair and the flutter of lashes and the curve of a woman's mouth.
....And Wynonna has always been very lovely to look at, if one is honest with one's self. Edward had grown up with several sisters, but even within his own household, it was so rare to see a girl or woman with her hair down so freely the way Wynonna's always is — wild and thick and wavy. It's a complete contrast to what is considered typical, to him. He's noticed before (how could he not?) but things have been so persistently harrowing and strange and his thoughts have been occupied by so many things; all of them have been fighting to survive. Now he sits quietly beside her and neither of them have anywhere else to be, and from his peripheral he sees her toss her hair over her shoulder again and is afraid to look at her. He can feel her eyes upon him and stares widely down at his glass before taking another swallow, too shy to meet her gaze for the immediate moment. He should not be thinking of these thoughts (what exactly is he even thinking?)
The statement........... doesn't help. Edward finds himself struggling, but he always has a rather nervous edge to him. Perhaps nothing seems too amiss, and whatever it is he's thinking, whatever shape it could be molded into, can remain another shameful ghost locked away inside of him. ]
Ah— I do need to apologise to you for that incident. I didn't mean to overstep my boundaries... But I discovered your name when I was taking count of those staying in the Community Center through the storm. I hadn't intended to use it. But I— needed to reach you as quickly as possible. I was very afraid that if I didn't, you might have been lost.
[ And he's been avoiding looking at her for long enough that it might now tiptoe across the threshold into being rude, so Edward finally draws his eyes back up to meet Wynonna's — and at once finds them fixing on the exposed skin of her neck again, very much without meaning to; it's an almost instinctive thing. He's so far out of his element, he's ogling the space where those pinpricks disturb the skin for a beat too long, he's flushing all over again, his throat makes an odd sound; all of it happens so quickly. Edward just as quickly lifts his glass again to have something to swallow, to mask that feeling with, flustered — and the swallow this time is so thick that it burns the corners of his eyes a little. Still, at least he's not choked up to the point he can't speak, even if his voice does come out a smidgen strained. He is so completely fine right now. ]
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Again, it's.... strange to hear, coming from her, and yet maybe especially meaningful, coming from her. He's earned her trust in such matters, and it's— frightening, terrifying, to think about. Just how terrifying it is, is something he'll reflect on in the time to come, probably. But in this moment? It feels nice, his heart so warmly and achingly grasping onto the concept. She trusts him. Trusts his words, knows he would hold true to them.
It's all becoming very much, and it's so easy for him to become overwhelmed; there's an immediate gratitude when Wynonna continues on with her words, with that habit she's so skilled with in being able to change a flow of conversation, push it onwards past something lingering and difficult to pull one's self out of (not that he dislikes what they've been speaking about, not at all; in fact, it's.. nice— there's that word again).
He nods his agreement with an exhale of almost relieved breath, before watching her stand, unsure at first where she's going, eyes almost orderly with how they snap to her movements, and then catch sight of a lift of clothing and an exposure of skin, and certainly he's no stranger to seeing more of ladies these days than he ever has in his lifetime, but to happen now throws him off-guard in a way he hadn't expected. His eyes widen, chest feeling strange and tight and he's only growing even warmer from the inside out. It's a mercy that Wynonna's attention is occupied by her mission, although it's only so briefly, and he's still not recovered by the time she sits back down.
And she's closer now, and his eyes aren't daring to look at her for a long moment or two, only holding tightly onto his glass as she refills it. Edward stares down at it, very nervous, very unsure, so painfully aware that all of this is beyond anything that would be considered normal or appropriate when and where he's from. He shouldn't... look at her.
But she's really very lovely, he thinks, and it's not necessarily a brand-new thought; he may not have ever sought out such thoughts, for anyone, but no matter what norms exist for him (and especially for him, an officer of the navy), he has noticed lovely people in his life. One simply never acts on it, pursues it, certainly never admits to such things — but one notices. Despite what he thinks of himself, he is only human, and humans notice such things as the softness of hair and the flutter of lashes and the curve of a woman's mouth.
....And Wynonna has always been very lovely to look at, if one is honest with one's self. Edward had grown up with several sisters, but even within his own household, it was so rare to see a girl or woman with her hair down so freely the way Wynonna's always is — wild and thick and wavy. It's a complete contrast to what is considered typical, to him. He's noticed before (how could he not?) but things have been so persistently harrowing and strange and his thoughts have been occupied by so many things; all of them have been fighting to survive. Now he sits quietly beside her and neither of them have anywhere else to be, and from his peripheral he sees her toss her hair over her shoulder again and is afraid to look at her. He can feel her eyes upon him and stares widely down at his glass before taking another swallow, too shy to meet her gaze for the immediate moment. He should not be thinking of these thoughts (what exactly is he even thinking?)
The statement........... doesn't help. Edward finds himself struggling, but he always has a rather nervous edge to him. Perhaps nothing seems too amiss, and whatever it is he's thinking, whatever shape it could be molded into, can remain another shameful ghost locked away inside of him. ]
Ah— I do need to apologise to you for that incident. I didn't mean to overstep my boundaries... But I discovered your name when I was taking count of those staying in the Community Center through the storm. I hadn't intended to use it. But I— needed to reach you as quickly as possible. I was very afraid that if I didn't, you might have been lost.
[ And he's been avoiding looking at her for long enough that it might now tiptoe across the threshold into being rude, so Edward finally draws his eyes back up to meet Wynonna's — and at once finds them fixing on the exposed skin of her neck again, very much without meaning to; it's an almost instinctive thing. He's so far out of his element, he's ogling the space where those pinpricks disturb the skin for a beat too long, he's flushing all over again, his throat makes an odd sound; all of it happens so quickly. Edward just as quickly lifts his glass again to have something to swallow, to mask that feeling with, flustered — and the swallow this time is so thick that it burns the corners of his eyes a little. Still, at least he's not choked up to the point he can't speak, even if his voice does come out a smidgen strained. He is so completely fine right now. ]
I hope I've not offended you.