Sometimes I miss it too, honestly. [She nods along. Communication became scary quite quickly but you rarely missed the truth.
Rosamund has the decency to only smile a little bit at the remembrance (their sweet Viktor), and only gives the petals a passing glance. She's begun to read about them, but has by no means memorized the colours and the species by meaning. The ginger ones are an exception, having spat them up herself and later ferreted away a book to cross-examine.
It breaks her heart a little to see. Moreso to hear, that he should be guarding himself this much.]
I understand. [Rosamund smiles and takes his hand. Their usual modus operandi, though her heart is pulling weird starts and stops as she thinks about the party, thinks about the smallness of this pod of a room.] I feel like I'm in a similar place? I really love everyone here. Truly. Even some of the difficult ones, who I'm sure don't care for me back. But figuring out what each kind of love is, that's been...a little messy for me.
[She bites her lip.]
Honestly, I've never been around many people my own age before. And I was expected to just be given to whoever woke me up and broke the curse. [She pats nervously at the briars wound through her hair.] So I don't really know how to act or what to think of anything I've been feeling. Speaking frankly, I think I've been stepping on some toes. Just stumbling around with no idea how to deal with anything, or if there's anything to be dealt with in the first place.
But...if you ever want to talk about something, I'd listen. I don't know how good my advice might be, but I wouldn't tell anyone what you've said. I promise.
[ he coughs again, though this one is just a few cherry blossoms that flutter off, a yellow petal here and again. ]
Likewise! It can be our secret, these struggles.
[ which makes them feel more precious and silly than they are. just two people, bemoaning youth and how complicated it is. though she has every reason to find it a wrought subject. ]
It would be easier to just let fate dictate where your heart goes and who it belongs to. But I'm glad you get to choose for yourself, even if it means sorting through the—ah, mess of it all. Maybe it's part of the process? Like... learning to walk on land or dance. [ stubbing toes and feelings as you bumble about. he's not speaking as some worldly expert here; this is the equivalent of them staying up and talking about boys, except it's early morning and about all their overly-powerful connections made under duress. ] I've sort of—I think I've done the same. Certainly had my share of stumbling, not knowing what I'm even stepping in and out, complicating things. It's confusing, isn't it?
[ he's never quite withdrawn. when there's a pause, it's a sort of thoughtfulness, pulled in by nervous emotion—except he eventually just gives up on that and squeezes her hand, laughing without any flowers in his throat. ]
Goodness, Rosamund—maybe we're just both torturing ourselves.
I really think it is? [Part of the process. Also the pale pink blossoms, she doesn't think she's caught any of those before? At least it's not one she can connect to anything concerning.] Even the people who've been in relationships for a very long time can suddenly find themselves stumbling. Like my friend Gerard, or Nero and Bradley here.
[Imagine literal centuries of being with the same person. She might crave oblivion at that point, too.
That pause gives her some worry, but the laughter thereafter dispels it. She joins him, squeezing back and feeling her stomach unwind from one of its many knots.]
We really are. Goodness! Maybe it's not supposed to be such a big deal at all. I know Dion was saying times of great peril and stress also push people into things they might not otherwise do. And we have been so stressed. Then there's all these parties with kissing and dares and weird truths, and the effects each week are—
[Hold off, she's got to cough herself too. A tri-medley of petals: marigold, periwinkle, agate. She will collect them in a napkin and politely deposit them in the waste.]
...Anyway. We have each other. That's what matters.
[ he tries to politely stifle a grimace and fails. whoever this gerard fellow is, hopefully he's not quite as much of a mess as nero and bradley are.
but he nods—there has been so pressure and so many curses, and it's been a wild time that's bound to mix up their minds and hearts. he wonders if love is simpler than they make it out to be. something you feel rather than agonize in thought over. or maybe it's both. but it can't just be the latter.
he grins, wide enough that his eyes crinkle. ]
We do! We do. That's most important—that we'll never lose each other. If death couldn't separate us, then what hope does anything else have?
[ it's a reason to be optimistic. that said, he recognizes some of those colors, because—he's had them himself? go figure. their paths coincide even in this. it's strange, that in shared weakness, he feels stronger.
they'll get through this. ]
Maybe we don't have all the answers right now, but... that's okay, isn't it? Maybe we can figure it out together!
There's that smile. All tooth and the whole truth, just the way she likes to see him. Rosamund laughs.]
We absolutely will. Don't doubt it for a minute!
[She holds a moment. Then decides to hell with it? It's not so dangerous, they've done it before.
Rosamund leans up and cups the side of his face, pressing her lips to the other cheek. He's warmer than you'd expect. Softer too, though the scales are strange against her defenceless skin. She has the odd thought to press her nose in, giving her pause.
Long enough that it lingers, more time than the gesture needs. Rosamund pulls back, still close, hand still on him. The smile has faded some and her throat feels thick with something other than petals.]
Anyone would be lucky to have you, Sidon. I hope you know that much, at least.
[ this is starting to get familiar, actually—holding hands or her shoulder against his arm, kisses in greeting or comfort. it's a far cry from her discomfort the first week, where she seemed to have to rally all her courage for a dare. she's already grown. what's he been doing, meanwhile? only growing more timid.
maybe things have changed for him a little, though. because the extra second she spends at his cheek feels—different. warm and fluttery. kisses don't mean anything to him, except maybe when they suddenly do. ]
Likewise, dear Rosamund.
[ he cups a hand over hers, turning his cheek against her palm, along the grain of his scales. ]
I told you when you got here, didn't I? That you're beloved. We may only be stumbling along, but I hope you never doubt that. I've scarcely met anyone as fearsome and compassionate as you. [ more like the dragon protecting a tower than the princess sleeping inside of it. ]
Stop, stop, stop. [She laughs in a faltering stutter, waving her free hand. He's just so ready to prop her back on her feet, without question, without one hesitation. It almost knocks her over in the opposite direction sometimes.
Her thumb rubs over his cheek once. Her insides churn.
And she pulls away with a thin inhale and a settling of her shoulders.]
Thank you, for, um. Hashing that out with me. [She beams.] I'll see you later? I'm sure we'll be meeting soon. Finish your breakfast though.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
Sometimes I miss it too, honestly. [She nods along. Communication became scary quite quickly but you rarely missed the truth.
Rosamund has the decency to only smile a little bit at the remembrance (their sweet Viktor), and only gives the petals a passing glance. She's begun to read about them, but has by no means memorized the colours and the species by meaning. The ginger ones are an exception, having spat them up herself and later ferreted away a book to cross-examine.
It breaks her heart a little to see. Moreso to hear, that he should be guarding himself this much.]
I understand. [Rosamund smiles and takes his hand. Their usual modus operandi, though her heart is pulling weird starts and stops as she thinks about the party, thinks about the smallness of this pod of a room.] I feel like I'm in a similar place? I really love everyone here. Truly. Even some of the difficult ones, who I'm sure don't care for me back. But figuring out what each kind of love is, that's been...a little messy for me.
[She bites her lip.]
Honestly, I've never been around many people my own age before. And I was expected to just be given to whoever woke me up and broke the curse. [She pats nervously at the briars wound through her hair.] So I don't really know how to act or what to think of anything I've been feeling. Speaking frankly, I think I've been stepping on some toes. Just stumbling around with no idea how to deal with anything, or if there's anything to be dealt with in the first place.
But...if you ever want to talk about something, I'd listen. I don't know how good my advice might be, but I wouldn't tell anyone what you've said. I promise.
no subject
Likewise! It can be our secret, these struggles.
[ which makes them feel more precious and silly than they are. just two people, bemoaning youth and how complicated it is. though she has every reason to find it a wrought subject. ]
It would be easier to just let fate dictate where your heart goes and who it belongs to. But I'm glad you get to choose for yourself, even if it means sorting through the—ah, mess of it all. Maybe it's part of the process? Like... learning to walk on land or dance. [ stubbing toes and feelings as you bumble about. he's not speaking as some worldly expert here; this is the equivalent of them staying up and talking about boys, except it's early morning and about all their overly-powerful connections made under duress. ] I've sort of—I think I've done the same. Certainly had my share of stumbling, not knowing what I'm even stepping in and out, complicating things. It's confusing, isn't it?
[ he's never quite withdrawn. when there's a pause, it's a sort of thoughtfulness, pulled in by nervous emotion—except he eventually just gives up on that and squeezes her hand, laughing without any flowers in his throat. ]
Goodness, Rosamund—maybe we're just both torturing ourselves.
no subject
[Imagine literal centuries of being with the same person. She might crave oblivion at that point, too.
That pause gives her some worry, but the laughter thereafter dispels it. She joins him, squeezing back and feeling her stomach unwind from one of its many knots.]
We really are. Goodness! Maybe it's not supposed to be such a big deal at all. I know Dion was saying times of great peril and stress also push people into things they might not otherwise do. And we have been so stressed. Then there's all these parties with kissing and dares and weird truths, and the effects each week are—
[Hold off, she's got to cough herself too. A tri-medley of petals: marigold, periwinkle, agate. She will collect them in a napkin and politely deposit them in the waste.]
...Anyway. We have each other. That's what matters.
no subject
but he nods—there has been so pressure and so many curses, and it's been a wild time that's bound to mix up their minds and hearts. he wonders if love is simpler than they make it out to be. something you feel rather than agonize in thought over. or maybe it's both. but it can't just be the latter.
he grins, wide enough that his eyes crinkle. ]
We do! We do. That's most important—that we'll never lose each other. If death couldn't separate us, then what hope does anything else have?
[ it's a reason to be optimistic. that said, he recognizes some of those colors, because—he's had them himself? go figure. their paths coincide even in this. it's strange, that in shared weakness, he feels stronger.
they'll get through this. ]
Maybe we don't have all the answers right now, but... that's okay, isn't it? Maybe we can figure it out together!
no subject
There's that smile. All tooth and the whole truth, just the way she likes to see him. Rosamund laughs.]
We absolutely will. Don't doubt it for a minute!
[She holds a moment. Then decides to hell with it? It's not so dangerous, they've done it before.
Rosamund leans up and cups the side of his face, pressing her lips to the other cheek. He's warmer than you'd expect. Softer too, though the scales are strange against her defenceless skin. She has the odd thought to press her nose in, giving her pause.
Long enough that it lingers, more time than the gesture needs. Rosamund pulls back, still close, hand still on him. The smile has faded some and her throat feels thick with something other than petals.]
Anyone would be lucky to have you, Sidon. I hope you know that much, at least.
no subject
maybe things have changed for him a little, though. because the extra second she spends at his cheek feels—different. warm and fluttery. kisses don't mean anything to him, except maybe when they suddenly do. ]
Likewise, dear Rosamund.
[ he cups a hand over hers, turning his cheek against her palm, along the grain of his scales. ]
I told you when you got here, didn't I? That you're beloved. We may only be stumbling along, but I hope you never doubt that. I've scarcely met anyone as fearsome and compassionate as you. [ more like the dragon protecting a tower than the princess sleeping inside of it. ]
no subject
Stop, stop, stop. [She laughs in a faltering stutter, waving her free hand. He's just so ready to prop her back on her feet, without question, without one hesitation. It almost knocks her over in the opposite direction sometimes.
Her thumb rubs over his cheek once. Her insides churn.
And she pulls away with a thin inhale and a settling of her shoulders.]
Thank you, for, um. Hashing that out with me. [She beams.] I'll see you later? I'm sure we'll be meeting soon. Finish your breakfast though.
no subject
but he laughs too, more easily. the documents he was looking over pop up again so he can get back to working. ]
We will, I'm sure—plenty for us to discuss. Thank you for thinking of me! [ bringing him hangover food... she's a real one. ]