Amalia
stop thinking so much
She lets him take one of the baskets, fights the urge to curl up into his other hand, to melt against the comforting sensation of it on her back. Will the sight of his smile ever stop catching her by surprise, the ardor she somehow entices from him ever instigate less than a flip of her stomach, a pleasantly bewildered mirth? Somehow it seems unlikely, for that would mean it is no longer remarkable, and Amalia cannot conceive of a world where he is not remarkable to her.
Luckily the girl is easily distracted, dark eyes dancing to the weapons on the wall, curiosity expansive as she aches to take it all in. How many times has he been in the bakery, yet this is her first time seeing his home? It feels somehow intimate, to be allowed within his sanctum, the hall he had made his own. To be trusted enough, cherished enough.
To matter.
Reaching out to touch a silver blade, Amalia turns back to face the behemoth, a wry smile upon her face. "You could outfit a whole army-" trying to swallow the fact that he may have to, that they are part of an army now. Tonight is not the night for such considerations.
Tonight is for them.
"Will you teach me how to use some of them?"
you're breaking your own heart
