[There is something different in the way she monitors him. The way she looks at him, now. The unusual path and the weight of her gaze, and he's noting where it settles. Where it rests. Perplexed, for a moment. Knowing this was not typical. Usual. Knowing there was something being touched upon. Beyond his knowledge. Something formless and shapeless. Unable to be traced or marked with his fingertips. And part of him wishes to explore what stillness it is that now lies between them. Foreign. Part of him wishes to dig into the corners. To attempt to place it - but he is not pushing it. Not prying into it. Not quite pulling for it. Knowing she will voice it in her own time. Knowing - and he's straightening. Shifting. If only slightly. Too aware of the rustling of bags. The way the blush has failed to fade yet as he glances to her. If discreetly. Curiosity flickering at the edges of his expression.]
no subject