( Something registers in Little, not quite alarm, but rather a sort of sinking feeling. It's quiet, perhaps somewhat subdued (he's had so much practice with that, with subduing things), but it's... still noticeably more intense than what he's used to. As though the ground has shifted a little beneath his feet, sunken inwards just enough that his stomach flops unpleasantly.
He doesn't know how to read her relationships with others. He's painfully aware that his perspective's different, that's something he's learned through this past year. The world that comes after his own ended is... so different. It changed, people changed, and then of course, Wynonna's not English to begin with, there are sure to be cultural differences there.... He's no stranger to seeing her being close with others, with men, and while it was originally a shock, it soon enough smoothed out into something that was just a part of her normalcy. Little understands it's different, for her.
But how does he... read this? Perhaps... perhaps he should have read it more clearly, perhaps it's been obvious; Mr. March has, thankfully, always seemed to be there to help her, often in ways and times Little wasn't able to. The man had taken her back to his home after the scuffle, kept her safe. He's safe, he's reliable, trustworthy; Little's immensely grateful for someone watching over one of his most— his most precious people here. But it's clear there's more, some deeper attachment, and perhaps.... could it be that Wynonna and Holland are courting? In their... especial modern way...?
Now he is starting to feel alarmed. Perhaps he's made a mistake with.. tonight, with asking her to dance, with looking at her in ways he shouldn't, saying things he shouldn't. Has he done something unthinkable? Apology gathers in him, towards both her and March, he would never— he hadn't meant to seem as though he would dare to—
To do what? What has he actually done? Why has he done those things?
His eyes sweep to the side, gazing off for a moment at a small group of people in the distance chatting, but it's without really seeing them. He's afraid to look her in the eye now, for too many reasons.
There's been an attraction to Wynonna for... a long time. He knows that, somewhere beneath all of the subduing he's done. One casts such thoughts out, doesn't dare nurture them.
But it's happened anyway. And perhaps for a man like Edward Little, ever led by his heart, it was inevitable that his would lead him to her. As much as he's obstinately kept his... physical feelings towards her under check, reduced them to something quiet and hidden, the emotional bond his heart feels towards her has only grown. He's never quieted that one. Not since the day they vowed not to cut one another out anymore. His heart has stayed open for her, warm and inviting and perhaps all of that.... has formed something that he's just now truly realising, tonight, when the smallest particles of himself felt stirred by her, when being physically close was at once a want that's surprised even himself. It's as though being near her tonight has opened something from the inside out, his heart's affection and fondness bleeding towards.... other forms of affection, and fondness.
And now that he's been allowed physically close... No. God, no. He's being inappropriate. Little looks back to her then, head dipped towards another nod of understanding as he stays polite and a little tense, some quiet dose of safe detachment even if it's only in the form of a subtle tensing of his hand, and his body language no longer so relaxed and easy. For a brief moment he wonders about her own little 'gift', but he won't dare ask. Surely, it was something painful, the way his own was. )
That's a precious thing. I'm deeply glad that you both can find a sort of solace from it. This world is not always... kind, in its choice of gift.
( He winces a little, knowingly, before that apology leaks into his expression, pooling out into his eyes and making his mouth tug down slightly at the corners. It's so hard to look at her. He's rarely known what it is to want anything, it's such a foreign concept for a man whose life has been dedicated to purpose, not want. He's been comfortable that way, and before the expedition went so wrong, he was happy living that way. ....If not happy, then very content, which was very much fine with him, even preferred, much safer, much more sensible.
(She's the first thing he can ever remember wanting. He realises it now, has been realising it tonight, and now it's there, warm and aching deeply. His hand softens at her back but doesn't necessarily loosen, the gesture still affectionate in its way. Even now, he can't fully pull back from her, though he knows he should. Soon he will; this night will be over. Night or morning, time has slipped away, the way it did all those months back on his couch, and for a brief period, he was hers and she was his.) )
I do apologise for inquiring about such a matter, though. It's not my business, Miss Earp.
no subject
He doesn't know how to read her relationships with others. He's painfully aware that his perspective's different, that's something he's learned through this past year. The world that comes after his own ended is... so different. It changed, people changed, and then of course, Wynonna's not English to begin with, there are sure to be cultural differences there.... He's no stranger to seeing her being close with others, with men, and while it was originally a shock, it soon enough smoothed out into something that was just a part of her normalcy. Little understands it's different, for her.
But how does he... read this? Perhaps... perhaps he should have read it more clearly, perhaps it's been obvious; Mr. March has, thankfully, always seemed to be there to help her, often in ways and times Little wasn't able to. The man had taken her back to his home after the scuffle, kept her safe. He's safe, he's reliable, trustworthy; Little's immensely grateful for someone watching over one of his most— his most precious people here. But it's clear there's more, some deeper attachment, and perhaps.... could it be that Wynonna and Holland are courting? In their... especial modern way...?
Now he is starting to feel alarmed. Perhaps he's made a mistake with.. tonight, with asking her to dance, with looking at her in ways he shouldn't, saying things he shouldn't. Has he done something unthinkable? Apology gathers in him, towards both her and March, he would never— he hadn't meant to seem as though he would dare to—
To do what? What has he actually done? Why has he done those things?
His eyes sweep to the side, gazing off for a moment at a small group of people in the distance chatting, but it's without really seeing them. He's afraid to look her in the eye now, for too many reasons.
There's been an attraction to Wynonna for... a long time. He knows that, somewhere beneath all of the subduing he's done. One casts such thoughts out, doesn't dare nurture them.
But it's happened anyway. And perhaps for a man like Edward Little, ever led by his heart, it was inevitable that his would lead him to her. As much as he's obstinately kept his... physical feelings towards her under check, reduced them to something quiet and hidden, the emotional bond his heart feels towards her has only grown. He's never quieted that one. Not since the day they vowed not to cut one another out anymore. His heart has stayed open for her, warm and inviting and perhaps all of that.... has formed something that he's just now truly realising, tonight, when the smallest particles of himself felt stirred by her, when being physically close was at once a want that's surprised even himself. It's as though being near her tonight has opened something from the inside out, his heart's affection and fondness bleeding towards.... other forms of affection, and fondness.
And now that he's been allowed physically close... No. God, no. He's being inappropriate. Little looks back to her then, head dipped towards another nod of understanding as he stays polite and a little tense, some quiet dose of safe detachment even if it's only in the form of a subtle tensing of his hand, and his body language no longer so relaxed and easy. For a brief moment he wonders about her own little 'gift', but he won't dare ask. Surely, it was something painful, the way his own was. )
That's a precious thing. I'm deeply glad that you both can find a sort of solace from it. This world is not always... kind, in its choice of gift.
( He winces a little, knowingly, before that apology leaks into his expression, pooling out into his eyes and making his mouth tug down slightly at the corners. It's so hard to look at her. He's rarely known what it is to want anything, it's such a foreign concept for a man whose life has been dedicated to purpose, not want. He's been comfortable that way, and before the expedition went so wrong, he was happy living that way. ....If not happy, then very content, which was very much fine with him, even preferred, much safer, much more sensible.
(She's the first thing he can ever remember wanting. He realises it now, has been realising it tonight, and now it's there, warm and aching deeply. His hand softens at her back but doesn't necessarily loosen, the gesture still affectionate in its way. Even now, he can't fully pull back from her, though he knows he should. Soon he will; this night will be over. Night or morning, time has slipped away, the way it did all those months back on his couch, and for a brief period, he was hers and she was his.) )
I do apologise for inquiring about such a matter, though. It's not my business, Miss Earp.