Let me paint a picture for you, I'm feeling like Bob Ross
The waiting for the gift to fully register feels like trying to keep a bubble from popping. He's too struck by the potential that this is actually terrible that he doesn't even try to reclaim the hand she's caught, and no laughter bubbles up at the onion-based guess she tosses out. He's on tiptoe without moving an inch. It's nothing to do with the effort put into it, and everything to do with making sure he's properly bundled up everything he feels, everything she deserves, and delivered it in a way that will land. A gift, after all, is just a tangible form of feeling and thought, but sometimes it shapes itself poorly.
Avoiding the play of past visions and sound as best he can, Kaisel shifts and leans back a touch. The contents stored there are for her, though there is one familiar one that rises up, too impossible to forget or ignore. It severs his focus to do everything but focus neatly, but thankfully she offers somewhere for his attention to land as she looks up just then. "It should have been private," he says gently, clearing his throat faintly in order to afford his voice again. "His was my first...experience with this." All things considered, Kaisel is glad that him being there hadn't persuaded Danta's choice. He had asked for their happiest memory of her, and a lesser man than the Maverick might have tempered themselves for Kaisel's sake. If only Kaisel could have been spared the exposure, things would have been better all around.
He yields to the way she bundles him in her arm, a step forward taken to close the space she removes. It's apologetic, the conversation of their skin murmuring about hurt through heat. It's forgiveness, too, the way he submits to it, this scuff already gone over and smoothed out in days long past. "I asked everyone to share their happiest moments with you, or of you," he explains, the need suddenly spilling out now, like he has to justify the predicament he accidentally tangled them all in. "This way you could always remember and feel close to everyone. So, it's really not my place to know what's in there." Little more than a curator, a messenger. If he'd been curious how others see and cherish his wife, Danta well and truly squished that desire immediately, and he's more than happy to keep Pandora's box unopened. Some he did get to see snippets of, either because the giver did not care to step away, and though he did his best then as now to ignore, fragments of it fluttered in and landed. Enough to know that his goal had been well maintained by everyone who clutched this globe.
As his memories come into view though, he recognizes them, and glances down with her. A fond smile at once replaces the quiet hesitation of before, because in this, seeing her, loving her, he is sure. He shifts more into the chair she's in, sinking deeper into the wind of her arm against him. Only when the moments quiet back into the glass orb, dimmed with nothing beyond the reflection of the low-lit space they hide in, does he glance back to her. There's a shine to her eyes that feels almost like the bioluminescence of the tides at night, and it captures him with all that same, breathtaking wonder. "We're already getting married twice," he laughs, the sound thin as it works past the shape of adoration that has filled him. "What's a third time?"
She rises just like a wave, but there's no attempt to drown him as her body swells to his, not beyond affection at least. His humor, brimming on the shape of his lips, in the stuttering exhale of a low chuckle, is all consumed in an instant. They meet with enough force to unbalance him momentarily, and he sways in the rock of her before driving down to chase the kiss in equal fervor. The chair shoves against the floor with the complaint of wood on tile as his leg fumbles to brace them better, his arms already seating themselves at her side, bowing her into him with a greed that does not permit air to settle between them.
"You are loved," he hums, the sound small as he fights to breathe in around the close press of her, unwilling to let her stray too far just yet.
Avoiding the play of past visions and sound as best he can, Kaisel shifts and leans back a touch. The contents stored there are for her, though there is one familiar one that rises up, too impossible to forget or ignore. It severs his focus to do everything but focus neatly, but thankfully she offers somewhere for his attention to land as she looks up just then. "It should have been private," he says gently, clearing his throat faintly in order to afford his voice again. "His was my first...experience with this." All things considered, Kaisel is glad that him being there hadn't persuaded Danta's choice. He had asked for their happiest memory of her, and a lesser man than the Maverick might have tempered themselves for Kaisel's sake. If only Kaisel could have been spared the exposure, things would have been better all around.
He yields to the way she bundles him in her arm, a step forward taken to close the space she removes. It's apologetic, the conversation of their skin murmuring about hurt through heat. It's forgiveness, too, the way he submits to it, this scuff already gone over and smoothed out in days long past. "I asked everyone to share their happiest moments with you, or of you," he explains, the need suddenly spilling out now, like he has to justify the predicament he accidentally tangled them all in. "This way you could always remember and feel close to everyone. So, it's really not my place to know what's in there." Little more than a curator, a messenger. If he'd been curious how others see and cherish his wife, Danta well and truly squished that desire immediately, and he's more than happy to keep Pandora's box unopened. Some he did get to see snippets of, either because the giver did not care to step away, and though he did his best then as now to ignore, fragments of it fluttered in and landed. Enough to know that his goal had been well maintained by everyone who clutched this globe.
As his memories come into view though, he recognizes them, and glances down with her. A fond smile at once replaces the quiet hesitation of before, because in this, seeing her, loving her, he is sure. He shifts more into the chair she's in, sinking deeper into the wind of her arm against him. Only when the moments quiet back into the glass orb, dimmed with nothing beyond the reflection of the low-lit space they hide in, does he glance back to her. There's a shine to her eyes that feels almost like the bioluminescence of the tides at night, and it captures him with all that same, breathtaking wonder. "We're already getting married twice," he laughs, the sound thin as it works past the shape of adoration that has filled him. "What's a third time?"
She rises just like a wave, but there's no attempt to drown him as her body swells to his, not beyond affection at least. His humor, brimming on the shape of his lips, in the stuttering exhale of a low chuckle, is all consumed in an instant. They meet with enough force to unbalance him momentarily, and he sways in the rock of her before driving down to chase the kiss in equal fervor. The chair shoves against the floor with the complaint of wood on tile as his leg fumbles to brace them better, his arms already seating themselves at her side, bowing her into him with a greed that does not permit air to settle between them.
"You are loved," he hums, the sound small as he fights to breathe in around the close press of her, unwilling to let her stray too far just yet.
Kaisel
They don't gotta ask 'cause they know I'm him
Wearing a watery blue, faded and stretched-out sparkling hair tie on his left wrist
