[Nervousness. And he's reading it easily in the way she moves. The way she shifts. And he's quietly placing the bags down. Not quiet crossing the distance. Not quite moving closer. Not yet. And he can see the way she hesitates. The way she seems to catch herself. The way she stills herself. Seems to think it over. For a moment. Seems to - And there's something else, buried there. Beneath the fluttering notes of tension, but he cannot seem to place it. Cannot seem to lay a finger on it. To determine the source nor the origin. Something that he has not encountered. Something -
It does not entirely register, at first. Does not entirely sink in, until he sees the way she hides her expression from him. The way she seems to shrink back. An attempt to shield herself from what she's said- and he's quiet, for a long moment. The flush clicking into place. The notes of aggravation. The kind of tension that had lingered and still lingers along the lines of her body, and he's not entirely certain if that is what she means. If it is what she means. Something specific or something general - and he's letting a hand come up to rest against the curve of his throat. Unable to smother some indication of surprise. Unable to completely subdue it. Unable to -
It was not a question he had expected. It was not something he had thought about. It is not something he tended to think on - not often. Not unless provoked. Not unless another had queried him, in the past. Something he had taken as a gesture. As a function. Something necessary and yet wanted and - he is quieter than he intended, when he speaks. Awkwardness and something more peculiar settling, flickering, behind his ribs. Seeping down, deeper, into his bones.]
no subject
It does not entirely register, at first. Does not entirely sink in, until he sees the way she hides her expression from him. The way she seems to shrink back. An attempt to shield herself from what she's said- and he's quiet, for a long moment. The flush clicking into place. The notes of aggravation. The kind of tension that had lingered and still lingers along the lines of her body, and he's not entirely certain if that is what she means. If it is what she means. Something specific or something general - and he's letting a hand come up to rest against the curve of his throat. Unable to smother some indication of surprise. Unable to completely subdue it. Unable to -
It was not a question he had expected. It was not something he had thought about. It is not something he tended to think on - not often. Not unless provoked. Not unless another had queried him, in the past. Something he had taken as a gesture. As a function. Something necessary and yet wanted and - he is quieter than he intended, when he speaks. Awkwardness and something more peculiar settling, flickering, behind his ribs. Seeping down, deeper, into his bones.]
... What is it you happen to mean?