[ He smiles — just a little, that shy softening of his mouth that's so familiar to her now and which is similar to his real smile, the brilliant and buoyant one, as a sliver of moon is to the midday sun. She wants to see it again, that smile, the one that blossomed over his face so late that night, in the warm dimness of his cabin. It changed everything about him. It changed everything. Even now, when she lies awake at night with her eyes stubbornly closed, she can see it in perfect detail. Even the memory leaves her with a rush of confused and irritated warmth; how dare he have such a good smile?
But this one is good, too, even softer and smaller. Her glance tracks down to the way his lips curve, very slightly, before lifting again to his eyes. He at least still looks familiarly anxious, which helps, but she wants to kick herself, or take herself out to the nearest snowbank, because great isn't really the word for how he looks right now. He's... handsome, a word she never thought to use outside seeing it in books that are too old and boring for her to want to read anyway. But it fits, here: a little old-fashioned, a lot overwhelming. She's known he's a handsome man this whole time, remembers thinking it months ago, but handsome has never really done anything for her before. It lacks the necessary edge.
None of which explains why, when she rubs the pads of her fingers together just for something to do with her non-drink-holding hand, she can almost feel the strands of his hair against them again. In a moment of weakness over the summer — stupid empathy — she'd run her fingers through his hair and it's been with her ever since, that knowledge. She look at the dark smooth wave of it and knows exactly the texture of it. She wants to sink her fingers in and muss it all up again. She wants to make fun of his gold fringe and neat uniform. She wants, more than anything, to have never come to the realization that she wants him. It goes against everything she stands for. She has a reputation to uphold, and he'll ruin it. He's so... good. It's horrifying.
Also horrifying: whatever's happening right now. Vision sounds good, refinement sounds like a swing and a miss. No part of her is refined, and he knows it. Beneath this sleek gown burns a poorly-aimed firework, liable to go off any moment and take someone's hand with it.
...She's got no fucking idea what to make of what he says next. ]
My what?
[ What the hell is countenance—
It's almost something Doc would say, but she'd been used to Doc spouting pretty words her way, ladled out in his lazy drawl. And Little's pretty far from Doc, but the thought's enough to lend her at least some context. And radiant—
Her own smile starts to tug, slightly disbelieving at first, but soon wide and white and amused... and something else, too, that isn't quite shy but is a little more than uncertain. ]
Is this your way of saying you think I look nice?
[ It clutches in her stomach, makes something behind her ribs slam awkwardly into itself. It's Little, and he's always polite, and this is probably just what he's been taught to say to ladies of his acquaintance at parties, but—
But she can't help it. Her smile tucks into her cheeks, pleased. She's too hardened and jaded to blush, but the warmth of the room is pinking her cheeks with a little color. She'll stand by that excuse to her dying day. ]
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But this one is good, too, even softer and smaller. Her glance tracks down to the way his lips curve, very slightly, before lifting again to his eyes. He at least still looks familiarly anxious, which helps, but she wants to kick herself, or take herself out to the nearest snowbank, because great isn't really the word for how he looks right now. He's... handsome, a word she never thought to use outside seeing it in books that are too old and boring for her to want to read anyway. But it fits, here: a little old-fashioned, a lot overwhelming. She's known he's a handsome man this whole time, remembers thinking it months ago, but handsome has never really done anything for her before. It lacks the necessary edge.
None of which explains why, when she rubs the pads of her fingers together just for something to do with her non-drink-holding hand, she can almost feel the strands of his hair against them again. In a moment of weakness over the summer — stupid empathy — she'd run her fingers through his hair and it's been with her ever since, that knowledge. She look at the dark smooth wave of it and knows exactly the texture of it. She wants to sink her fingers in and muss it all up again. She wants to make fun of his gold fringe and neat uniform. She wants, more than anything, to have never come to the realization that she wants him. It goes against everything she stands for. She has a reputation to uphold, and he'll ruin it. He's so... good. It's horrifying.
Also horrifying: whatever's happening right now. Vision sounds good, refinement sounds like a swing and a miss. No part of her is refined, and he knows it. Beneath this sleek gown burns a poorly-aimed firework, liable to go off any moment and take someone's hand with it.
...She's got no fucking idea what to make of what he says next. ]
My what?
[ What the hell is countenance—
It's almost something Doc would say, but she'd been used to Doc spouting pretty words her way, ladled out in his lazy drawl. And Little's pretty far from Doc, but the thought's enough to lend her at least some context. And radiant—
Her own smile starts to tug, slightly disbelieving at first, but soon wide and white and amused... and something else, too, that isn't quite shy but is a little more than uncertain. ]
Is this your way of saying you think I look nice?
[ It clutches in her stomach, makes something behind her ribs slam awkwardly into itself. It's Little, and he's always polite, and this is probably just what he's been taught to say to ladies of his acquaintance at parties, but—
But she can't help it. Her smile tucks into her cheeks, pleased. She's too hardened and jaded to blush, but the warmth of the room is pinking her cheeks with a little color. She'll stand by that excuse to her dying day. ]