[Rosamund blinks up at him from her miserable crouch, already blinking back tears. She will take that hand, thank you, gripping tight with a barely stifled sniffle. It's much larger than hers, but all the more comforting for it. She misses being held. She misses her parents. Thin fraction of her tale that they were, but they were kind, and they loved her fiercely, and she never learned what happened to them after she fell asleep.]
Very rarely. [She agrees with a laugh, choked though it may be.
Whatever he's feeling now is fathomless, like the waters he belongs to. Deeper than she's allowed to be. Who is he thinking of right now?]
Of course. It'll get better. It always does. [There's no pretending she's unaffected now. Her free hand presses under her eyes, catches the wetness there, then taps lightly under her nose.] That's one good thing about growing older. The privilege of perspective.
[One more sniff. She's got it under control now, mostly. She's just so very, very tired.
She curls her knees up against her chest and takes a pillow from behind her.]
Do you mind if I close my eyes for a minute? You can keep reading. I don't mind.
...he watches her work through her own feelings, without really any help from him or anyone else, and he thinks—there's something so resilient about her. emotive, positive, energized—traits that people so often wrongly associate with something weaker, a flame that's bright but easily snuffed, when that is so commonly far from the truth.
it takes strength to let your eyes water—strength after that to still think life will go on. it will get better, and easier, and that's because people make it so.
he offers her a little smile, then before he picks up his book, he leans her onto his side, pillow and all. ]
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Very rarely. [She agrees with a laugh, choked though it may be.
Whatever he's feeling now is fathomless, like the waters he belongs to. Deeper than she's allowed to be. Who is he thinking of right now?]
Of course. It'll get better. It always does. [There's no pretending she's unaffected now. Her free hand presses under her eyes, catches the wetness there, then taps lightly under her nose.] That's one good thing about growing older. The privilege of perspective.
[One more sniff. She's got it under control now, mostly. She's just so very, very tired.
She curls her knees up against her chest and takes a pillow from behind her.]
Do you mind if I close my eyes for a minute? You can keep reading. I don't mind.
oops i meant to tag this back one more time
...he watches her work through her own feelings, without really any help from him or anyone else, and he thinks—there's something so resilient about her. emotive, positive, energized—traits that people so often wrongly associate with something weaker, a flame that's bright but easily snuffed, when that is so commonly far from the truth.
it takes strength to let your eyes water—strength after that to still think life will go on. it will get better, and easier, and that's because people make it so.
he offers her a little smile, then before he picks up his book, he leans her onto his side, pillow and all. ]
I'll never mind. Get some rest, Rosamund.