Sing to me

Harper

Come out into the sun and stay awhile
Come meet me at the comedown

Harper is unfortunately quite the opposite; physical contact is his touchstone, how he expresses and centers himself, feels connected to the world around him. It's no coincidence that after leaving Torchline he'd fallen down an endless pit of courtesans and brothels so that he might still be touched in the way he needs, even if it could never fill the empty spaces aching for those touches to mean something more than business. But he wants to make this work, to push their boundaries enough to learn and grow without overwhelming either of them. So he doesn't draw attention to it, but doesn't apologize for it either. Not until she makes it clear he needs to.

"That makes sense. If you bring in logs a night or two beforehand, you can line them up on the stones here so the fire can dry them out, and then cycle the dried logs in when you're down to ashes." He doesn't want to mansplain to her given she had lived this way her entire life, but if any of it is helpful advice he'd rather take the risk to ensure her life is a little easier. Especially as an Ancient who relies on heat and fire. And if he eyes the chimney while he's in front of it, considering...well, she's not privy to the Attuned bond and can't skim his schemes off the top of his thoughts.

Grinning sheepishly as he joins her, willing to wait to change until after they'd eaten if it meant they could continue talking a little longer, Harper settles into his chair quickly. "I made it, actually. Except the bread - I always over-knead it when I try, I get too into my head." Harper is admittedly a great cook, had been even before he'd been thrust into the life of a single parent where it would have become a necessity. He'd been happy to cook dinner for Maeve when she was ruling, and it's the first time he's cooked for someone other than himself since he left Torchline. It's a vulnerable thing, but if he just keeps his mouth shut she won't know that it is. Even if he's over-eager in the way he reaches for the paella dish so he can serve them both, neatly scooping it onto her plate and tearing a piece of bread off to place beside it. Perhaps a shade too attentive in hopes of catching her reactions all while never reaching for his own utensils. "We can cook the steaks over the flames once they're a little larger, if you'd like them cooked at all." He'll cook his own, though he prefers his rare anyway, even before his gore crow shift made him far more inclined to blood and viscera.

When no one's talkin' about you at all
When there's no more little job you gotta do