// you can't keep a secret if it never was a secret to start —
He very nearly deflates with playful dramatics as she tells him it isn’t for a picnic, but before he has a chance to lament fully, he notes the way her gaze has shifted – sharpened, honed itself into something that’s almost raw and very real. It’s enough that it has whatever dramatic comment on the tip of his tongue dying as the answer comes.
Thorn straightens, his gaze dropping to the basket as he realizes it’s an apology basket, and as she continues he finds warmth replacing the spaces in his chest that had felt a little too cold and thorny. “Oooh.” He hums, because yeah it had been a while. And a lot of fuckin’ good the Stormbreak construction did for it to fall anyway, but he keeps those thoughts to himself as he begins to unfurl the ties on the basket to reveal the interior, brows lifting curiously.
“Oy,” he starts off, having not delved too far into the basket just yet to take in the woman across from him with a softness that blooms in his face. “I wasn’t expectin’ ya to do a real apology basket.” He shakes his head lightly, his earrings dancing with the movement. “This’s real nice, though.” He hasn’t seen it all, though, so he starts to flit through the items within, warmth settling in his face and clear happiness glinting across his face to spy all of the perfect things she’s added in. The cigarettes, the gummies, the fun glitter and color changing matches, alcohol, plenty of shirts to fit his usual style, the stationary despite how he’s fairly certain he’s only sent like four letters in his entire life. But it’s perfect and thoughtful and it tightens his throat for a moment, enough that he stubbornly stares down at it and plucks up the gummies. “Next time y’piss me off I’ll just chew on this, huh?” The joke falls flat, his voice hoarse as he forces himself to look back up at her.
He crosses the distance to wrap her in a tight hug, pressing himself against her as he hugs her and presses his cheek to her own. “Thank you. You’re a good friend, even if I know ya think ya ain’t.” He whispers to her, just so she can hear it, before he withdraws and flashes her a bright, genuinely happy smile.
Thorn straightens, his gaze dropping to the basket as he realizes it’s an apology basket, and as she continues he finds warmth replacing the spaces in his chest that had felt a little too cold and thorny. “Oooh.” He hums, because yeah it had been a while. And a lot of fuckin’ good the Stormbreak construction did for it to fall anyway, but he keeps those thoughts to himself as he begins to unfurl the ties on the basket to reveal the interior, brows lifting curiously.
“Oy,” he starts off, having not delved too far into the basket just yet to take in the woman across from him with a softness that blooms in his face. “I wasn’t expectin’ ya to do a real apology basket.” He shakes his head lightly, his earrings dancing with the movement. “This’s real nice, though.” He hasn’t seen it all, though, so he starts to flit through the items within, warmth settling in his face and clear happiness glinting across his face to spy all of the perfect things she’s added in. The cigarettes, the gummies, the fun glitter and color changing matches, alcohol, plenty of shirts to fit his usual style, the stationary despite how he’s fairly certain he’s only sent like four letters in his entire life. But it’s perfect and thoughtful and it tightens his throat for a moment, enough that he stubbornly stares down at it and plucks up the gummies. “Next time y’piss me off I’ll just chew on this, huh?” The joke falls flat, his voice hoarse as he forces himself to look back up at her.
He crosses the distance to wrap her in a tight hug, pressing himself against her as he hugs her and presses his cheek to her own. “Thank you. You’re a good friend, even if I know ya think ya ain’t.” He whispers to her, just so she can hear it, before he withdraws and flashes her a bright, genuinely happy smile.
thorn
— at least pretend you didn't wanna get caught,
we're concentrating on falling apart //
we're concentrating on falling apart //
