Honey wherever you go, I know
Some of the playfulness wanes beneath the truth she uncovers, a reminder of lessons learned from hardship and exposure that transcends the pages and theories he's been taught. His dramatics dull to just a smile, fond if anything of all that she has proven to be capable of, even if it means he keeps losing out to her. "So then you should have the best spooky stories," he points out with an expectancy needing proof. "We'll have to swap tales one night. Around a campfire with s'mores and stars. Maybe go camping in the Greatwood or a graveyard." The offer rolls off easily, like it's ordinary to continue to put her into the image of what will be and not just hold onto what has been. For him, it is. It doesn't erase what distance has found its way between them, but he's certain that they will find a way to cross it again, because he doesn't mean to stop trying to.
His repulsion settles into a final nose crinkle. "Now who's fibbing?" His gaze narrows upon her, like the squint might help him find the tiny thread of her lie so he can grab hold and yank it apart. "Frogs are probably only good for curses." He'd not minded them until they stole his gummy worms, but his dislike runs deep for that one act. His forgiveness, normally freely given, can be withheld when certain lines are crossed, evidently.
The boundary he'd just tested by mistake becomes evident as it bends with a rubberband of possibility. It threatens to bounce back with a bite if pushed too far, but also proves willing to give. He'll take it over the breakage of string beneath tension or the erasure of a line in sand to the tide. Still, his breath shortens as the clarity of what he'd done quiets both of them in small ways, his grin dropping away as her laugh dies out.
"I can totally cook better than you," he challenges, rising up a bit taller with it. "I've been feeding myself this whole time in King's End, meanwhile I'm sure you've got royal cooks or something." A pause, something sly creeping in at the edge of where his smile previously sat. "Or do you think putting in an order qualifies as cooking?"
His repulsion settles into a final nose crinkle. "Now who's fibbing?" His gaze narrows upon her, like the squint might help him find the tiny thread of her lie so he can grab hold and yank it apart. "Frogs are probably only good for curses." He'd not minded them until they stole his gummy worms, but his dislike runs deep for that one act. His forgiveness, normally freely given, can be withheld when certain lines are crossed, evidently.
The boundary he'd just tested by mistake becomes evident as it bends with a rubberband of possibility. It threatens to bounce back with a bite if pushed too far, but also proves willing to give. He'll take it over the breakage of string beneath tension or the erasure of a line in sand to the tide. Still, his breath shortens as the clarity of what he'd done quiets both of them in small ways, his grin dropping away as her laugh dies out.
"I can totally cook better than you," he challenges, rising up a bit taller with it. "I've been feeding myself this whole time in King's End, meanwhile I'm sure you've got royal cooks or something." A pause, something sly creeping in at the edge of where his smile previously sat. "Or do you think putting in an order qualifies as cooking?"
Kaisel
I'd give up half of forever, just to be with you
Wearing a watery blue, faded and stretched-out sparkling hair tie on his left wrist
