on the low, i get vertigo from body overdose
He waits, unsure of whether or not he’d get an answer. It wasn’t as if it mattered much to Thorn either way, but there had been a part of him that hoped maybe since Casimir had already unleashed a steady barrage of words that there might be something left in the tank for him to offer to decide where they’d eat. He should know better, that perhaps the bartender had used up his quota for the whole season just to tell him he wasn’t good, to wax poetics about how Thorn was good and bright and how, somehow, this should be a mistake.
He doesn’t get an answer. Not from the lovely baritone of the other man’s voice. Instead, he gets the warm weight of Casimir’s wool jacket over his smaller shoulders, injecting heat almost immediately into the leather that’s been trying its best to ward the cold away. And it’s with almost hesitant hands that reach up to clasp it closer, kohl lined eyes rising to scan Cas’ face like he’s trying to decide whether it was a good idea or not that he go without his jacket when it was this cold outside.
Instead, he’s met with a look that seems to suggest whatever Thorn decides would be the answer. But that he wouldn’t be enduring it alone. He blinks in his quiet surprise, a dark flush of heat pours into his cheeks and the tips of his ears, a small smile tugging on his face as he lets the quiet charm infiltrate and fill each crack of Thorn’s exterior to bolster him. “Thanks.” He says softly, clutching the bag of their food in his other hand. He stays like that for a moment, chewing on his bottom lip in contemplation, when he finally decides he’d prefer some place warmer since he was sure Casimir would freeze to death should they stay out here for the rest of the night.
The courtesan seems to straighten, looking down the street toward the sign post they’d taken to get here. “Let’s go back to the House.” He decides, twisting in place so that they can start heading in the right direction, and in the process very intentionally bumps his shoulder against Cas’ arm when he starts to walk. “Grab a room so it’s warm and just us an’ it can be whatever we want it to be.” Because maybe if Cas doesn’t feel up to speaking his thoughts, perhaps showing the courtesan would be easier.
He doesn’t get an answer. Not from the lovely baritone of the other man’s voice. Instead, he gets the warm weight of Casimir’s wool jacket over his smaller shoulders, injecting heat almost immediately into the leather that’s been trying its best to ward the cold away. And it’s with almost hesitant hands that reach up to clasp it closer, kohl lined eyes rising to scan Cas’ face like he’s trying to decide whether it was a good idea or not that he go without his jacket when it was this cold outside.
Instead, he’s met with a look that seems to suggest whatever Thorn decides would be the answer. But that he wouldn’t be enduring it alone. He blinks in his quiet surprise, a dark flush of heat pours into his cheeks and the tips of his ears, a small smile tugging on his face as he lets the quiet charm infiltrate and fill each crack of Thorn’s exterior to bolster him. “Thanks.” He says softly, clutching the bag of their food in his other hand. He stays like that for a moment, chewing on his bottom lip in contemplation, when he finally decides he’d prefer some place warmer since he was sure Casimir would freeze to death should they stay out here for the rest of the night.
The courtesan seems to straighten, looking down the street toward the sign post they’d taken to get here. “Let’s go back to the House.” He decides, twisting in place so that they can start heading in the right direction, and in the process very intentionally bumps his shoulder against Cas’ arm when he starts to walk. “Grab a room so it’s warm and just us an’ it can be whatever we want it to be.” Because maybe if Cas doesn’t feel up to speaking his thoughts, perhaps showing the courtesan would be easier.
Hawthorn
so tell me your name and tell me your problems, i got the same
