( On his end of things, Edward's initial thought is that she's teasing him. This, too, is something that should make him more uncomfortable than it actually does, but this, too, is something familiar. The tiny hollows that form in her cheeks as she smiles, the sparkling crackle of her eyes. She tells him to be bold, that she likes it, and he takes all of it at face-value, but his face-value for it mostly says that Wynonna is playing with him, the way she so often does.
He likes it, too. It may have taken months and months for some of his exterior to soften enough to be able to handle such a familiar quip, such unfiltered playfulness, but somewhere along the way he began to remember that once upon a time, he liked being someone that others felt comfortable around. It was never really fully; given his no-nonsense loyalty to his duties, he wasn't really a friend to the men, but— they liked him well enough, he thinks. Thought. He was softer than the other officers, not as jovial as some or severe as others, but he was someone the men could come to, and maybe relax a bit around.
If she's comfortable enough around him to tease, like she so often does, then he's happy about it (never mind that five seconds later he's stricken for a moment again when she reaches for his arm, when physical contact is made, and he's suddenly aware of the sensation of being able to perceive her close by — the solidness of her body, the warmth of it, cherry-red fabric mere inches from him.)
He tenses, but not away from Wynonna; he stays right where he is, with her, and his stomach is tingling but he doesn't hate it. She's affectionate to him and he's affectionate right back, even in his nervous way — heart fluttering, Little lifts his arm a bit up, and shifts his body slowly back; the movement opens up a clear space between his elbow and side, as though to ask her to properly take his arm (there's a hitch as he realises it's the wrong arm, that etiquette dictates she take his left arm, but— there are so many little ways he's broken etiquette at all, and maybe it's okay if Wynonna takes his right arm tonight).
Assuming, of course, that she wants to. (It is still rather forward of him....)
Perhaps he should actually ask— )
Would you care to properly accompany me?
( Where were they going, again? Ah, a drink — he wasn't planning to partake, but he thinks he'd do anything Wynonna asked or wanted or needed, his mind a strange, dizzied buzz. How is it that being so close to someone can make him feel so nervous, and yet he can't even fathom the concept of parting with her? He might even come across as greedy for her attention — which is shameful and immoral and so many other terrible words.
....He likes being with her, is the thing. And somehow, maybe because she's exactly the way she is and she gives him permission to be bold, he truly can be. A little bit. This is pretty bold for him. )
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He likes it, too. It may have taken months and months for some of his exterior to soften enough to be able to handle such a familiar quip, such unfiltered playfulness, but somewhere along the way he began to remember that once upon a time, he liked being someone that others felt comfortable around. It was never really fully; given his no-nonsense loyalty to his duties, he wasn't really a friend to the men, but— they liked him well enough, he thinks. Thought. He was softer than the other officers, not as jovial as some or severe as others, but he was someone the men could come to, and maybe relax a bit around.
If she's comfortable enough around him to tease, like she so often does, then he's happy about it (never mind that five seconds later he's stricken for a moment again when she reaches for his arm, when physical contact is made, and he's suddenly aware of the sensation of being able to perceive her close by — the solidness of her body, the warmth of it, cherry-red fabric mere inches from him.)
He tenses, but not away from Wynonna; he stays right where he is, with her, and his stomach is tingling but he doesn't hate it. She's affectionate to him and he's affectionate right back, even in his nervous way — heart fluttering, Little lifts his arm a bit up, and shifts his body slowly back; the movement opens up a clear space between his elbow and side, as though to ask her to properly take his arm (there's a hitch as he realises it's the wrong arm, that etiquette dictates she take his left arm, but— there are so many little ways he's broken etiquette at all, and maybe it's okay if Wynonna takes his right arm tonight).
Assuming, of course, that she wants to. (It is still rather forward of him....)
Perhaps he should actually ask— )
Would you care to properly accompany me?
( Where were they going, again? Ah, a drink — he wasn't planning to partake, but he thinks he'd do anything Wynonna asked or wanted or needed, his mind a strange, dizzied buzz. How is it that being so close to someone can make him feel so nervous, and yet he can't even fathom the concept of parting with her? He might even come across as greedy for her attention — which is shameful and immoral and so many other terrible words.
....He likes being with her, is the thing. And somehow, maybe because she's exactly the way she is and she gives him permission to be bold, he truly can be. A little bit. This is pretty bold for him. )