[ She turns the small book over in her hand to inspect it from cover to cover. Her fingers remain pinched in place as if supporting something fragile and living as she rotates it carefully, unwilling to jostle its fragile innards too much as to cause harm.
Her eyes find his and she can still see the immediate sparkle of the threads there in his face. Placing the book carefully in her lap, she reaches for his hand and squeezes it tightly. ]
I've never seen anything quite so fine. Thank you.
[ He watches her eyes, only her eyes, how they light on the book and trace the gilding on its cover. They change as she says beautiful, as though beholding something precious. When her gaze finds its way to him, that look is somehow still there.
He forgets what he was going to say, recovers a moment later. ] I thought you could keep a journal. Your discoveries, your observations. Questions.
[ For a second he shakes the oppressive feel of this place, this weapon-studded boneyard, and thinks of it as an unknown expanse. With a lopsided smile: ] First time on a new planet.
[ That brings him back to the coelacanth. The tree.
He looks down at their hands. ] I hope you're not miserable.
[ She repeats the word as if the present is new all over again. There's intention behind the gift-- sweet and thoughtful. While it's been wonderful to have him here, there's a small pang of guilt in knowing he's so far from what he knows. She herself has nothing to return to, only something to find.
She'll ensure he returns. ]
Sometimes I admit I am frightened.
[ Her smile spreads from a small pinch at the corner of her lips to an easy parting of her lips. ]
But never miserable. You've been so helpful. To me. To everyone. I'm so proud to know you.
I'm trying. [ His smile feels as though it's going to shatter. Some days it's like fighting gravity, like no matter what he does he's undergoing a slow but sure warp. He sees Aranean children scuffling in the street, playfully drawing blood, and he no longer averts his eyes.
He doesn't know what would be worse, her seeing the effort for what it is—as she surely has—or it going overlooked. ] I wouldn't be able to do it without you. [ True of this, true of so much. ]
You're not trying. [ The same hair seems to have fallen back into its stubborn place. It's not so unlike the person at the root, shifting to adjust constantly and yet never truly happy to fall in line with the rest. It worries her, sometimes. She wonders if that restlessness will win out one day and if the same will become of her.
While she can keep him here with her now she's content. Her hand lingers as she moves the air back into place once more, this time cupping the side of his face to accomodate it completely. ]
You're doing. Don't let anyone tell you otherwise.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
[ She turns the small book over in her hand to inspect it from cover to cover. Her fingers remain pinched in place as if supporting something fragile and living as she rotates it carefully, unwilling to jostle its fragile innards too much as to cause harm.
Her eyes find his and she can still see the immediate sparkle of the threads there in his face. Placing the book carefully in her lap, she reaches for his hand and squeezes it tightly. ]
I've never seen anything quite so fine. Thank you.
no subject
He forgets what he was going to say, recovers a moment later. ] I thought you could keep a journal. Your discoveries, your observations. Questions.
[ For a second he shakes the oppressive feel of this place, this weapon-studded boneyard, and thinks of it as an unknown expanse. With a lopsided smile: ] First time on a new planet.
[ That brings him back to the coelacanth. The tree.
He looks down at their hands. ] I hope you're not miserable.
no subject
[ She repeats the word as if the present is new all over again. There's intention behind the gift-- sweet and thoughtful. While it's been wonderful to have him here, there's a small pang of guilt in knowing he's so far from what he knows. She herself has nothing to return to, only something to find.
She'll ensure he returns. ]
Sometimes I admit I am frightened.
[ Her smile spreads from a small pinch at the corner of her lips to an easy parting of her lips. ]
But never miserable. You've been so helpful. To me. To everyone. I'm so proud to know you.
no subject
He doesn't know what would be worse, her seeing the effort for what it is—as she surely has—or it going overlooked. ] I wouldn't be able to do it without you. [ True of this, true of so much. ]
no subject
While she can keep him here with her now she's content. Her hand lingers as she moves the air back into place once more, this time cupping the side of his face to accomodate it completely. ]
You're doing. Don't let anyone tell you otherwise.