*** HARMONIA has joined 710.35.155.17 <HARMONIA> Buongiorno, sorry I missed you. <HARMONIA> I'll happily get back to you as soon as I'm done with whatever business I'm on. <HARMONIA> Please leave a message.
[It's strange to her too, to let these things fall so easily from her lips. It's almost like something in her has been punctured, and every single good and awful thing she's ever felt has come pouring out, unrelenting.
Guilt, fear, admiration, happiness, anger.
And by her definition...it can't apply to her because she's plagued by doubt. How can someone who questions themselves at every turn claim to stand by their righteousness wholeheartedly?
They can't. She can't.
Giorno was plagued by many things, by doubt in people, but doubt in himself? Doubt in what he believes? If he is plagued by such, she can't see it. But she can't comprehend how that could ever be the case.
Giorno and Bucciarati are the same in that regard. Bucciarati never once hesitated to do what his heart dictated. She can't imagine how else he could have stood firm against an entire organization, not as a single man with a small group of foundlings at his side. A shred of doubt would have been catastrophic.
She doesn't miss the shift in Giorno's expression, or how he sits, or how he's looking at her, all tight and wound up and then loose again as he wrings the tension out himself, and unconsciously...she smooths out the slope of her shoulders, breathes deep, wills herself to stop quivering. He can't...he shouldn't need to worry about her. That's not what she wants, that's not what she deserves. Not from him.
This entire conversation is happening because she's being selfish, and he's allowing it. So if he can be vulnerable with her despite that, if he can talk about something he desperately hates to talk about, she can attempt the courtesy of not wilting like a disobedient flower in front of a nymph of all creatures.
Yeah, he's right. She doesn't like being vulnerable either. That's part of it too, although she mysteriously doesn't confirm or deny his statement.
She shakes her head.]
I was being unfair myself. I still am. With that in mind, I don't want to start over, not entirely. This is...it's important. It's being said because it needed to be said. It's shards of the pieces you're talking about, and I want it to be part of whatever comes after today. Even if those bits and pieces stick out awkwardly all over...it'll be ours, won't it?
[Want, want, want.
But she has to be clear. If he can forgive her so easily...it feels weird to hold that forgiveness, tucked close to her chest, but it makes her...happy. A little queasy too, because part of her thinks she could shatter it for good if she's not careful. If she can't be half the person he sees her as.
But it made her happy to see him that day on the beach, when she thought about it. The last time she saw him, that fateful day back in Rome, he sent her away, and she understood why...but he's wanted to know her.
For some godforsaken reason, the don of Passione wants to build something with a girl who doesn't have anything to offer but herself.
What an odd thing they're going to build together. What an odd, silly thing. But being friends with him was always going to be absurd, wasn't it? She's wondered what it would be like, because they both...want to know one another. They've let their walls down in fits and starts, misunderstood each other. Obstinate bastards both.
She doesn't smile, exactly, but her shoulders are shaking again, this time with the barest laughter.]
You know, Giorno. You've told me all this, and yet I still don't know what your favorite color is.
[God.
Unbelievable.]
I'm starting to think we're terrible at this.
Edited (writing at 4am was a mistake I keep finding typos HRGH) 2021-10-13 19:03 (UTC)
[Trish doesn’t smile anywhere in this process, but slowly, Giorno begins to. It’s a fits-and-starts sort of smile, one that takes a long time to fully bloom. There’s a growth spurt when she starts talking about shards, and what they’re talking about in this moment being an important component of where they will go from here.]
[He nods. Yes. He agrees with that. The scars on bones from breaks are significant to their strength in the future. His own concerns about imperfection and invulnerability — and hers, it seems, although precise confirmation isn’t forthcoming and honestly doesn't need to be — are what caused this whole mess. They can both stand to wear the scars they’ve inflicted on the space between them while they heal. Someday, they’ll be so faint as to be unnoticeable.]
[His lips turn down slightly at the corners when he sees her shoulders shaking, then up again when he realizes she’s laughing. When he smiles, his eyes turn up at the corners; sometimes even when he isn’t smiling with his mouth, when he’s trying to pretend he’s not smiling at all, his eyes betray him. They’re doing it right now.]
[They really don’t know the first thing about each other. But it’s like Trish said. I would do anything for him. Absolutely anything.]
[It goes both ways.]
Oh. Without question. We’re very terrible at this.
[Mouth twitching, he gives in and grins at her, huffing out a breath that sounds suspiciously like laughter.]
Would you believe me if I said green? And to be fair, you haven’t told me yours either. My favorite food is chocolate pudding. My favorite musician is Prince. I read biology textbooks for fun, and I’m not very good at math. I’ve read Les Miserables cover to cover five times. My hair is something I saw on a Thierry Mugler model from 1992.
Is that somewhere to start? A few building blocks, at least. I think it’s going to be messy by default, if all of that is part of it.
[Somehow, Giorno finds it in him to smile. Somehow, Giorno found it in him to give her another chance. Somehow, she wanted that. When they go home, they'll be strangers all over again, but until then...
Until then...
They're allowed to make mistakes. They're allowed to be awkward, and weird, and a little stupid. She hasn't ever allowed that from herself, but these boys seemed determined to drag it out of her. She should resent this, yet there's not a single part of her that does, and a much larger part that's happy to indulge this.
Her smile is nearly imperceptible, but Giorno seems amused despite himself, and seeing him grin after all this is...she brings a hand to her chest. Suddenly, it feels full. It's an odd feeling, like she might burst at the seams. She huffs hard enough to displace her bangs, then, leaning back as she listens.]
Unfortunately for the both of us, we'll have to settle for messy.
[Absolutely tragic. She doesn't seem bothered by this a bit!]
I do think you underestimate how much you like biology. Of everything, even I could have told you that.
[Your biology nerdery is no secret, Giovanna.
The green of her eyes is obscured by her lashes, briefly, as she looks down at the wood of the tree, absorbing the other tidbits. The things that matter, the things that exist in the little spaces between the grand and intimidating qualities of Passione's new don.]
...But I will commit the rest to memory. To make this fair, by the way, my favorite color is actually orange. I'll admit I'm surprised to hear you're not good at math, but I am. We can cover for each other. After all, I'm horrific at natural sciences.
[And she looks up at him again, rubbing at the fur on the back of one hand. She thinks about Maya at the dollhouse, and how she said Giorno was right about her, without having any way to know...and it's odd, the trust they hold. Potentially a fraught thing, but this...if anything, she wants to prove him right every time she can.]
I'll sing for you one day too. But I won't say when. If I share too much, I'll be all out of surprises.
[It wouldn't do to dump everything and inevitably bore him, now would it?]
[The feeling, at the very least, is mutual. He can't put his finger on why, but he wants to do his best by her. The idea of not doing so makes him desperately disappointed in himself. After everything, she deserves the best of him. By default, all other factors unconsidered, she deserves the best of him for herself. He'd build the world for her and tear it down again. She's important.]
[Part of him doesn't know why. The rest of him knows it's obvious. They've both been so, so lonely. He saw her loneliness and her facade and wanted to live in between them. That's why it felt so natural when she first arrived, why he didn't even consider what he was doing wrong.]
[And of course she'll always surprise him. His lips quirk up, surprised.]
Orange.
[Really not that far from gold, all things considered. Just a different kind of vibrance. And singing—]
I can't sing at all. I didn't know you . . .
[Could. But of course he wouldn't. She wouldn't just share that with a bunch of kidnappers. That she's telling him now makes his chest feel tight. In an unconscious echo of her movement, he lifts his hand to rub at the space just over his heart. What does she sing? What sort of timbre is her voice when she sings, and is it different from how it sounds now?]
[His expression is just stupidly, achingly fond.]
It's okay if you don't want to share everything. But I don't want to keep anything from you anymore. I'm going to try not to. I think that's . . . that feels right. I trust you. I want you to know me. Sometimes I won't get things right, or I might not even realize something is important, and I'm sorry for that, but I promise you I'll try. And I'll listen. I'll keep getting better at this. It's — I want to be my best, for you. You know?
[Part of her desire to do right by him is to...give him a reason to want anything for her at all. It's a part of her that simply can't accept that she alone could be important to anyone. The one person who cared for her unconditionally is dead and gone.
More than that, it's what this is all about, isn't it? Who were they as people outside of that week? Are they capable of being friends without that linchpin? She wants them to be. They never would have met without that week though, so tossing it out entirely is not possible. And she shouldn't. It wasn't the full picture, but it showed them at their lowest and ostensibly highest points. They were all good people when it counted, she thinks. That's why the trust has persisted here.
Orange is...a color always associated with day. Sunrise and sunset. Orange was Donatella Una's favorite color too.
As for what he says, she wonders. Maya told her that Giorno said she could sing, but it's entirely reasonable to assume the dreamworld – a place that could create fake lives and relationships – had shown him something like that. It's admittedly another thing that makes her worry about the degree of separation. That he liked the girl from there so much that the girl in front of him could only disappoint. It wouldn't be the first time she didn't meet expectations.
But she doesn't say any of that, because any words she'd had catch in her throat at his expression. It's weird, isn't it? How someone who holds the microcosm of Italy in the palm of his hand could look at her like that. It's never not going to be weird.
Helplessly, she crosses her arms. It's not done abruptly, nor with hunched shoulders, but still. Listen: if you don't keep up at least one defense, Giorno Giovanna will walk right in, and then it's over for you. The look on her face can only be described as some blend of pleasantly bemused and "really?".]
That's not what I meant, exactly. But if I were to delegate, I'd say...only share what you feel. There's such a thing as too much at once, and that goes for both of us. So do what feels right, and I'll do the same.
[She lifts her chin.]
That's all I can ask for right now. I won't beg for any more than you're willing to give me.
[And...]
You know well enough already I'll nip your heels if you overstep.
[Which...hopefully he understands that he can and should stop her when she gets to be too much. They're both a lot, aren't they?
This is hard. Words are hard. She drums her fingers in the crook of one arm.]
What I'm really trying to say is...well, let's not worry about it anymore. Not today. Tomorrow we can start over like we promised, and I won't be running on two hours of sleep.
[Such a thing as too much at once. Do what feels right.]
[Hm. A smile twitches at the corner of his mouth as he watches her fold her arms over her chest. Protect herself. But not too much. She's still here. She's still looking at him, still listening, still talking. She hasn't left, or pushed him away.]
[They're okay. They really are.]
. . . Thank you. For being willing to pull me back.
[It means a lot. More than he thinks he can articulate. Maybe someday, if she helps, if she stays around long enough, he'll learn how. Although the thought flees his head almost immediately, expression shifting to one of distress.]
You didn't sleep?
[Shocked Pikachu. But that's not what he wanted!!!]
Do you want to go home? I didn't mean to drag this out when you were tired. Why didn't you tell me? [HE THOUGHT YOU WERE JUST CRANKY WHEN YOU SHOWED UP WOMAN]
[She'd be a damn fool not to protect herself in some small way. Even if Pericolo saw right through her, she kept up her charade of impenetrable disdain all the way to San Giorgio Maggiore. She can keep up a little bluster to tinge her elbows with in the presence of Don Giovanna. He'll need the reminder, although so far he's doing well with respecting her space.
Once again, though, it's distressing to be thanked when all she wants is a chance to start at zero and go from there. She thinks of Fugo, and how blessedly uncomplicated interacting with him is. Though, maybe it's because he seems disinterested more than half the time, which she can handle just fine. It's expected. It's normal. That, and he's easy to read. Giorno is much harder. Much, much harder.
Trish doesn't think on that too deeply, though, not when Giorno is radiating distress in her direction. She blinks, slow, like she'd forgotten she even mentioned it. It sort of just...slipped out.
But she remembers not to say "sleep wasn't as important as making sure we understood one another", because she knows that will go over about as well as anything. So her mouth opens in a little 'o', and she has to contend with three questions at once. Whoof.
Okay. Okay.]
...I wanted to make sure you were okay before I went home. It's not like I have any obligations after this.
[A true statement! She is your pink freeloader, Giovanna. She could sleep all day and who would stop her? Anyways, she continues:]
I would be poor company if all I did when I showed up was let you know how soon I wanted to leave.
[Not to mention shitty praxis when she came here to apologize? What do you want from her, sir!!]
[To be fair, he's Reira's pink freeloader. Well, he does work, but still — he's sort of a freeloader. They're all freeloaders in Reira's hobbit hole.]
[He's clearly uncomfortable with what she's saying, and he equally clearly understands it. She's right, he knows it, but . . . it seems wrong somehow, being the cause of her physical discomfort along with everything else. This really shouldn't happen again. That is, it shouldn't escalate to this point again. This is just more proof of that. They can't be losing sleep over each other.]
. . . You're right. I'm sorry, then. For making you that upset.
[He holds up a hand.]
I won't say anything else about it! But you can't stop me from apologizing.
[Tucking the bag of pastries under his arm and clutching the thermos to his chest, he scoots to the edge of the little bowl that the tree's branches make and holds out his hand to her.]
Come on. Let's go home. You can rest, and the next time we talk it can be about something more pleasant. [A beat.] So, literally anything else.
[She wishes she could banish his discomfort. She doesn't realize it could be easier if she let him do what he wanted in regards to her, but her pride dictates she can't lean on him so hard.
Being a good and reliable friend, to her, means standing on her own two feet more often than not. And really, being sorely tired from lack of sleep is nothing compared to what he's been through. She can weather it easily, if it's for him.
So he's correct to assume she's about to argue, her mouth opening and closing when he raises his hand, air escaping her nostrils in a huff.
Fine, fine. He really doesn't need to apologize, but he's determined to do it and at this point, she's tired of arguing.]
You're awfully stubborn.
[Pot, meet kettle, etc.
Still, she seems the least tense she's been so far as she climbs to meet him, considers his hand, and whether or not she should take it. But she gets the feeling...it's what he wants. And she's listened, and let him indulge her, so for once, doesn't he deserve the same?
She'll take his hand, then, and it's the first time she's felt the texture of another monster's skin under her palm. Decidedly not human, and her own hand is adorned in soft white fur on the back. Less human every day.
She can't help but snort at his comment either, adding:]
Yes, anything else would be more pleasant. But this was...good. You know? It was good to listen to you again.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
Guilt, fear, admiration, happiness, anger.
And by her definition...it can't apply to her because she's plagued by doubt. How can someone who questions themselves at every turn claim to stand by their righteousness wholeheartedly?
They can't. She can't.
Giorno was plagued by many things, by doubt in people, but doubt in himself? Doubt in what he believes? If he is plagued by such, she can't see it. But she can't comprehend how that could ever be the case.
Giorno and Bucciarati are the same in that regard. Bucciarati never once hesitated to do what his heart dictated. She can't imagine how else he could have stood firm against an entire organization, not as a single man with a small group of foundlings at his side. A shred of doubt would have been catastrophic.
She doesn't miss the shift in Giorno's expression, or how he sits, or how he's looking at her, all tight and wound up and then loose again as he wrings the tension out himself, and unconsciously...she smooths out the slope of her shoulders, breathes deep, wills herself to stop quivering. He can't...he shouldn't need to worry about her. That's not what she wants, that's not what she deserves. Not from him.
This entire conversation is happening because she's being selfish, and he's allowing it. So if he can be vulnerable with her despite that, if he can talk about something he desperately hates to talk about, she can attempt the courtesy of not wilting like a disobedient flower in front of a nymph of all creatures.
Yeah, he's right. She doesn't like being vulnerable either. That's part of it too, although she mysteriously doesn't confirm or deny his statement.
She shakes her head.]
I was being unfair myself. I still am. With that in mind, I don't want to start over, not entirely. This is...it's important. It's being said because it needed to be said. It's shards of the pieces you're talking about, and I want it to be part of whatever comes after today. Even if those bits and pieces stick out awkwardly all over...it'll be ours, won't it?
[Want, want, want.
But she has to be clear. If he can forgive her so easily...it feels weird to hold that forgiveness, tucked close to her chest, but it makes her...happy. A little queasy too, because part of her thinks she could shatter it for good if she's not careful. If she can't be half the person he sees her as.
But it made her happy to see him that day on the beach, when she thought about it. The last time she saw him, that fateful day back in Rome, he sent her away, and she understood why...but he's wanted to know her.
For some godforsaken reason, the don of Passione wants to build something with a girl who doesn't have anything to offer but herself.
What an odd thing they're going to build together. What an odd, silly thing. But being friends with him was always going to be absurd, wasn't it? She's wondered what it would be like, because they both...want to know one another. They've let their walls down in fits and starts, misunderstood each other. Obstinate bastards both.
She doesn't smile, exactly, but her shoulders are shaking again, this time with the barest laughter.]
You know, Giorno. You've told me all this, and yet I still don't know what your favorite color is.
[God.
Unbelievable.]
I'm starting to think we're terrible at this.
no subject
[He nods. Yes. He agrees with that. The scars on bones from breaks are significant to their strength in the future. His own concerns about imperfection and invulnerability — and hers, it seems, although precise confirmation isn’t forthcoming and honestly doesn't need to be — are what caused this whole mess. They can both stand to wear the scars they’ve inflicted on the space between them while they heal. Someday, they’ll be so faint as to be unnoticeable.]
[His lips turn down slightly at the corners when he sees her shoulders shaking, then up again when he realizes she’s laughing. When he smiles, his eyes turn up at the corners; sometimes even when he isn’t smiling with his mouth, when he’s trying to pretend he’s not smiling at all, his eyes betray him. They’re doing it right now.]
[They really don’t know the first thing about each other. But it’s like Trish said. I would do anything for him. Absolutely anything.]
[It goes both ways.]
Oh. Without question. We’re very terrible at this.
[Mouth twitching, he gives in and grins at her, huffing out a breath that sounds suspiciously like laughter.]
Would you believe me if I said green? And to be fair, you haven’t told me yours either. My favorite food is chocolate pudding. My favorite musician is Prince. I read biology textbooks for fun, and I’m not very good at math. I’ve read Les Miserables cover to cover five times. My hair is something I saw on a Thierry Mugler model from 1992.
Is that somewhere to start? A few building blocks, at least. I think it’s going to be messy by default, if all of that is part of it.
no subject
Until then...
They're allowed to make mistakes. They're allowed to be awkward, and weird, and a little stupid. She hasn't ever allowed that from herself, but these boys seemed determined to drag it out of her. She should resent this, yet there's not a single part of her that does, and a much larger part that's happy to indulge this.
Her smile is nearly imperceptible, but Giorno seems amused despite himself, and seeing him grin after all this is...she brings a hand to her chest. Suddenly, it feels full. It's an odd feeling, like she might burst at the seams. She huffs hard enough to displace her bangs, then, leaning back as she listens.]
Unfortunately for the both of us, we'll have to settle for messy.
[Absolutely tragic. She doesn't seem bothered by this a bit!]
I do think you underestimate how much you like biology. Of everything, even I could have told you that.
[Your biology nerdery is no secret, Giovanna.
The green of her eyes is obscured by her lashes, briefly, as she looks down at the wood of the tree, absorbing the other tidbits. The things that matter, the things that exist in the little spaces between the grand and intimidating qualities of Passione's new don.]
...But I will commit the rest to memory. To make this fair, by the way, my favorite color is actually orange. I'll admit I'm surprised to hear you're not good at math, but I am. We can cover for each other. After all, I'm horrific at natural sciences.
[And she looks up at him again, rubbing at the fur on the back of one hand. She thinks about Maya at the dollhouse, and how she said Giorno was right about her, without having any way to know...and it's odd, the trust they hold. Potentially a fraught thing, but this...if anything, she wants to prove him right every time she can.]
I'll sing for you one day too. But I won't say when. If I share too much, I'll be all out of surprises.
[It wouldn't do to dump everything and inevitably bore him, now would it?]
no subject
[Part of him doesn't know why. The rest of him knows it's obvious. They've both been so, so lonely. He saw her loneliness and her facade and wanted to live in between them. That's why it felt so natural when she first arrived, why he didn't even consider what he was doing wrong.]
[And of course she'll always surprise him. His lips quirk up, surprised.]
Orange.
[Really not that far from gold, all things considered. Just a different kind of vibrance. And singing—]
I can't sing at all. I didn't know you . . .
[Could. But of course he wouldn't. She wouldn't just share that with a bunch of kidnappers. That she's telling him now makes his chest feel tight. In an unconscious echo of her movement, he lifts his hand to rub at the space just over his heart. What does she sing? What sort of timbre is her voice when she sings, and is it different from how it sounds now?]
[His expression is just stupidly, achingly fond.]
It's okay if you don't want to share everything. But I don't want to keep anything from you anymore. I'm going to try not to. I think that's . . . that feels right. I trust you. I want you to know me. Sometimes I won't get things right, or I might not even realize something is important, and I'm sorry for that, but I promise you I'll try. And I'll listen. I'll keep getting better at this. It's — I want to be my best, for you. You know?
no subject
More than that, it's what this is all about, isn't it? Who were they as people outside of that week? Are they capable of being friends without that linchpin? She wants them to be. They never would have met without that week though, so tossing it out entirely is not possible. And she shouldn't. It wasn't the full picture, but it showed them at their lowest and ostensibly highest points. They were all good people when it counted, she thinks. That's why the trust has persisted here.
Orange is...a color always associated with day. Sunrise and sunset. Orange was Donatella Una's favorite color too.
As for what he says, she wonders. Maya told her that Giorno said she could sing, but it's entirely reasonable to assume the dreamworld – a place that could create fake lives and relationships – had shown him something like that. It's admittedly another thing that makes her worry about the degree of separation. That he liked the girl from there so much that the girl in front of him could only disappoint. It wouldn't be the first time she didn't meet expectations.
But she doesn't say any of that, because any words she'd had catch in her throat at his expression. It's weird, isn't it? How someone who holds the microcosm of Italy in the palm of his hand could look at her like that. It's never not going to be weird.
Helplessly, she crosses her arms. It's not done abruptly, nor with hunched shoulders, but still. Listen: if you don't keep up at least one defense, Giorno Giovanna will walk right in, and then it's over for you. The look on her face can only be described as some blend of pleasantly bemused and "really?".]
That's not what I meant, exactly. But if I were to delegate, I'd say...only share what you feel. There's such a thing as too much at once, and that goes for both of us. So do what feels right, and I'll do the same.
[She lifts her chin.]
That's all I can ask for right now. I won't beg for any more than you're willing to give me.
[And...]
You know well enough already I'll nip your heels if you overstep.
[Which...hopefully he understands that he can and should stop her when she gets to be too much. They're both a lot, aren't they?
This is hard. Words are hard. She drums her fingers in the crook of one arm.]
What I'm really trying to say is...well, let's not worry about it anymore. Not today. Tomorrow we can start over like we promised, and I won't be running on two hours of sleep.
[Punctuated, inelegantly, by a yawn.]
no subject
[Hm. A smile twitches at the corner of his mouth as he watches her fold her arms over her chest. Protect herself. But not too much. She's still here. She's still looking at him, still listening, still talking. She hasn't left, or pushed him away.]
[They're okay. They really are.]
. . . Thank you. For being willing to pull me back.
[It means a lot. More than he thinks he can articulate. Maybe someday, if she helps, if she stays around long enough, he'll learn how. Although the thought flees his head almost immediately, expression shifting to one of distress.]
You didn't sleep?
[Shocked Pikachu. But that's not what he wanted!!!]
Do you want to go home? I didn't mean to drag this out when you were tired. Why didn't you tell me? [HE THOUGHT YOU WERE JUST CRANKY WHEN YOU SHOWED UP WOMAN]
no subject
Once again, though, it's distressing to be thanked when all she wants is a chance to start at zero and go from there. She thinks of Fugo, and how blessedly uncomplicated interacting with him is. Though, maybe it's because he seems disinterested more than half the time, which she can handle just fine. It's expected. It's normal. That, and he's easy to read. Giorno is much harder. Much, much harder.
Trish doesn't think on that too deeply, though, not when Giorno is radiating distress in her direction. She blinks, slow, like she'd forgotten she even mentioned it. It sort of just...slipped out.
But she remembers not to say "sleep wasn't as important as making sure we understood one another", because she knows that will go over about as well as anything. So her mouth opens in a little 'o', and she has to contend with three questions at once. Whoof.
Okay. Okay.]
...I wanted to make sure you were okay before I went home. It's not like I have any obligations after this.
[A true statement! She is your pink freeloader, Giovanna. She could sleep all day and who would stop her? Anyways, she continues:]
I would be poor company if all I did when I showed up was let you know how soon I wanted to leave.
[Not to mention shitty praxis when she came here to apologize? What do you want from her, sir!!]
no subject
[He's clearly uncomfortable with what she's saying, and he equally clearly understands it. She's right, he knows it, but . . . it seems wrong somehow, being the cause of her physical discomfort along with everything else. This really shouldn't happen again. That is, it shouldn't escalate to this point again. This is just more proof of that. They can't be losing sleep over each other.]
. . . You're right. I'm sorry, then. For making you that upset.
[He holds up a hand.]
I won't say anything else about it! But you can't stop me from apologizing.
[Tucking the bag of pastries under his arm and clutching the thermos to his chest, he scoots to the edge of the little bowl that the tree's branches make and holds out his hand to her.]
Come on. Let's go home. You can rest, and the next time we talk it can be about something more pleasant. [A beat.] So, literally anything else.
reiras hobbit hole...
Being a good and reliable friend, to her, means standing on her own two feet more often than not. And really, being sorely tired from lack of sleep is nothing compared to what he's been through. She can weather it easily, if it's for him.
So he's correct to assume she's about to argue, her mouth opening and closing when he raises his hand, air escaping her nostrils in a huff.
Fine, fine. He really doesn't need to apologize, but he's determined to do it and at this point, she's tired of arguing.]
You're awfully stubborn.
[Pot, meet kettle, etc.
Still, she seems the least tense she's been so far as she climbs to meet him, considers his hand, and whether or not she should take it. But she gets the feeling...it's what he wants. And she's listened, and let him indulge her, so for once, doesn't he deserve the same?
She'll take his hand, then, and it's the first time she's felt the texture of another monster's skin under her palm. Decidedly not human, and her own hand is adorned in soft white fur on the back. Less human every day.
She can't help but snort at his comment either, adding:]
Yes, anything else would be more pleasant. But this was...good. You know? It was good to listen to you again.