i fell in love with a war
A slight air of amusement floats into Casimir's eyes as Thorn offers to let him talk about it, and he shakes his head slightly, but not with any defensiveness or offense. It's just like the courtesan to offer to let him talk through it, despite the bartender's clipped sentences and reticence to open his mouth for anything but a short sarcastic comment or a growl. It's so earnestly charming that he feels a spark of amusement flicker in his chest, warm and comforting.
The realization that if he could, perhaps Casimir would take him up on that offer, was a terrifying slam to his senses and he blinked away the shock like he would shake off a brutal hit to the gut.
At least Thorn has relaxed some, no longer looking like he's an actor trying to remember his next line in front of a curious audience. The gentle concern is still written plainly in his face, but it's a look he recognizes as real, matching closely to the one he wore when Casimir had his body pinned up against the bar. In the face of danger, a charging bear, Thorn doesn't look scared for himself, but once again, for Casimir. He waits for that to stir up some anger in him, to trigger the defensive armor that protected him against prying eyes for so many years, but it rises in a slow start. With Thorn's heart bared in front of him, he cannot quite bring himself to cover his own again.
Casimir sighs, scrubbing a hand through his hair, curls springing back into their tidy formation as his hand passes through. "It's not you," He repeats firmly with an edge of finality to the phrase. There aren't many more words in his reserves, and nothing smooth or sweet prepared. He cannot use a honey-tongue the same way Thorn would to reassure the other man, so he pushes what strength he has into his tone, trying for conviction and hoping it doesn't read as defense. The statement is accompanied with a decisive nod, as if that settles the matter unequivocally and covers any follow-up question.
It's at that particular moment that the waiter, perhaps previous too scared to cross Casimir again by interrupting their conversation, brings their food.
The realization that if he could, perhaps Casimir would take him up on that offer, was a terrifying slam to his senses and he blinked away the shock like he would shake off a brutal hit to the gut.
At least Thorn has relaxed some, no longer looking like he's an actor trying to remember his next line in front of a curious audience. The gentle concern is still written plainly in his face, but it's a look he recognizes as real, matching closely to the one he wore when Casimir had his body pinned up against the bar. In the face of danger, a charging bear, Thorn doesn't look scared for himself, but once again, for Casimir. He waits for that to stir up some anger in him, to trigger the defensive armor that protected him against prying eyes for so many years, but it rises in a slow start. With Thorn's heart bared in front of him, he cannot quite bring himself to cover his own again.
Casimir sighs, scrubbing a hand through his hair, curls springing back into their tidy formation as his hand passes through. "It's not you," He repeats firmly with an edge of finality to the phrase. There aren't many more words in his reserves, and nothing smooth or sweet prepared. He cannot use a honey-tongue the same way Thorn would to reassure the other man, so he pushes what strength he has into his tone, trying for conviction and hoping it doesn't read as defense. The statement is accompanied with a decisive nod, as if that settles the matter unequivocally and covers any follow-up question.
It's at that particular moment that the waiter, perhaps previous too scared to cross Casimir again by interrupting their conversation, brings their food.
Casimir
and nobody told me it ended
