[ his eyes naturally follows hers as she examines the gift, not unlike someone may take in a work of art. there's interpretation— the reading of each micro-expression, the lull of each proverbial brushstroke, and everything unspoken. at the end of it all, he can't deny feeling a swell of not just relief but accomplishment when she sees to have enjoyed it.
but, in turn, because he was studying her, the tension she exhibits is just as evident to him. which is why he barely holds back an exhale of humor as he begins pulling the strings that tied the gift together. when he opens it... he sees the horns. for a second, he's reminded of a chat on the anonymous message board, and he can't help but to wonder how much thought was placed behind this gift.
maybe that's why it feels almost too intimate for comfort. as if he's returning to the moment in which they shared a bit of warmth in a way he was always meant to preserve for a certain someone of his past. he feels like he's on the crux of something, and just figuring out what that was felt arduous. strenuous enough where he finds himself desiring to focus on literally anything else. just like the sudden hand that stops him from turning to the book next. he looks back at her, and for a moment, he just doesn't speak.
...
there's a lot that ends up crossing the innermost confines of his mind. but, in the end— ] I'll accept your gratitude. As my best student, I have high hopes for you, Malkuth. [ the rare instance he uses her name as opposed to "miss librarian" and/or any number of nicknames he's used in the past.
even when he hasn't opened a single page, he feels the book in his hand and the horns feels heavier than anything else he's carried before, and yet in it... he wonders if he's also found a sense of peace. maybe this is the moment in which he also realized this place and the people in it... were so familiar to him. the space he occupies with caleb, maybe it was some version of home, and the people like malkuth were also part of this "new world." ]
But, it's kind of cheating to turn your assignment in as a gift.
[ at least her face can be red from the cold, and not from how her name falls from his lips. another win is how he definitely can't hear how hard her heart is beating; if it were any of her boys she'd be in trouble, but octopi probably don't have exceedingly good ears. holes in their head. whatever.
malkuth turns away a little with a huff, ears flicking as she admires the lights. ]
They just happen to be in there, so it's two birds with one stone. And my first plan ended up getting too messy to show...
[ not that that's an issue, because she thinks he'd appreciate it in his own way -- but she had wanted something clear and decisive as her submission, and the sketchbook offers a lot to see the concepts she built on. how her thoughts changed the more she got to know the people she worked to help, the new aspects in locations she'd sketched before, and so on.
... but it makes her happier than with any other gift she'd given that he seems to like it (tail swishing not unlike her foxes'), weighty as half of it is. no, she hadn't forgotten that small, unusual conversation. it wasn't like she had anything else she could do with it anyway, even if that isn't the reason she burdened him with them.
her chest aches. it'd be nice to hold his hand right now, but even that feels too much, too telling. this is enough. isn't it? ]
Anyway, um. Yeah.
[ .........
she's got nothing. just cheeks red as roses and a burning stare at the lights. like all things with him, she doesn't want tonight to end -- even if it must and will, even if she should be more than satisfied with how the evening's gone, even if she knows she'll see him tomorrow... it's a feeling she missed, and one she never thought she'd have again. ]
but, it's true. his senses aren't all the same as they were pre-transformation. though, he'd like to think his eye for detail hasn't changed much. the only difference here is that, he might also want to adhere to this level of ignorance. where they can both somehow pretend like they've always stuck to this same, established distance. a distance in which he deemed was acceptable, and to which he'd like to think he held most individuals by. even if it's a lie, he'd have to believe it for tonight.
he watches her tail, her ears... he's realized that these attributes may have been a curse. it's like they have a mind of their own.
is he relieved to have none of his own? he isn't sure if he'd go that far, not when he own tentacles still cling to the back of shirt, and seem to stir with how dry the air's been. that said, even if he can gather her excitement, he doesn't know much else of what she's feeling... ]
Did I ever say I didn't like messy? [ she's right. he would have been just as fascinated. that said, he gets the impression just by looking at her that she may be expecting something else? that she lingers here with some type of purpose, and he just doesn't know what that is. ... so he does the only thing he can in terms of well-accepted, well-established farewells. he reaches over and pinches her nose. ]
Why are you making such a weird face? You're making it hard not to bully you. [ but, he releases quickly. it probably doesn't feel like much when he's wearing gloves. ] We'll see each other tomorrow, you know.
Days like this are well spent because they're temporary. If you're that frustrated, draw something new.
[ she's swatting his hand for that, ears pinning back before they traitorously lay flat again. ]
I know, I know, I just... want to spend more time out, [ with him, ] so I'll probably just wander around a little more before turning in. A certain fishie's gifts aren't going anywhere, after all, and it's my first time in this life celebrating the season.
[ but it's better if they part before she actually says something she regrets, burning in the back of her throat and scalding the bed of her tongue, because maybe she'll have the mind to say it tomorrow instead. or the next day, or the one after that -- a normal day, uninfluenced by the crowds and stories behind the holiday.
... besides, "we'll see each other tomorrow" is pretty nice to hear. ]
I'll text you when I get home, and you text me when you get home. Okay? I don't wanna hear about a new ice sculpture come morning just because you froze to death in the night.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
but, in turn, because he was studying her, the tension she exhibits is just as evident to him. which is why he barely holds back an exhale of humor as he begins pulling the strings that tied the gift together. when he opens it... he sees the horns. for a second, he's reminded of a chat on the anonymous message board, and he can't help but to wonder how much thought was placed behind this gift.
maybe that's why it feels almost too intimate for comfort. as if he's returning to the moment in which they shared a bit of warmth in a way he was always meant to preserve for a certain someone of his past. he feels like he's on the crux of something, and just figuring out what that was felt arduous. strenuous enough where he finds himself desiring to focus on literally anything else. just like the sudden hand that stops him from turning to the book next. he looks back at her, and for a moment, he just doesn't speak.
...
there's a lot that ends up crossing the innermost confines of his mind. but, in the end— ] I'll accept your gratitude. As my best student, I have high hopes for you, Malkuth. [ the rare instance he uses her name as opposed to "miss librarian" and/or any number of nicknames he's used in the past.
even when he hasn't opened a single page, he feels the book in his hand and the horns feels heavier than anything else he's carried before, and yet in it... he wonders if he's also found a sense of peace. maybe this is the moment in which he also realized this place and the people in it... were so familiar to him. the space he occupies with caleb, maybe it was some version of home, and the people like malkuth were also part of this "new world." ]
But, it's kind of cheating to turn your assignment in as a gift.
[ but, he seems oddly pleased by it. ]
no subject
malkuth turns away a little with a huff, ears flicking as she admires the lights. ]
They just happen to be in there, so it's two birds with one stone. And my first plan ended up getting too messy to show...
[ not that that's an issue, because she thinks he'd appreciate it in his own way -- but she had wanted something clear and decisive as her submission, and the sketchbook offers a lot to see the concepts she built on. how her thoughts changed the more she got to know the people she worked to help, the new aspects in locations she'd sketched before, and so on.
... but it makes her happier than with any other gift she'd given that he seems to like it (tail swishing not unlike her foxes'), weighty as half of it is. no, she hadn't forgotten that small, unusual conversation. it wasn't like she had anything else she could do with it anyway, even if that isn't the reason she burdened him with them.
her chest aches. it'd be nice to hold his hand right now, but even that feels too much, too telling. this is enough. isn't it? ]
Anyway, um. Yeah.
[ .........
she's got nothing. just cheeks red as roses and a burning stare at the lights. like all things with him, she doesn't want tonight to end -- even if it must and will, even if she should be more than satisfied with how the evening's gone, even if she knows she'll see him tomorrow... it's a feeling she missed, and one she never thought she'd have again. ]
no subject
but, it's true. his senses aren't all the same as they were pre-transformation. though, he'd like to think his eye for detail hasn't changed much. the only difference here is that, he might also want to adhere to this level of ignorance. where they can both somehow pretend like they've always stuck to this same, established distance. a distance in which he deemed was acceptable, and to which he'd like to think he held most individuals by. even if it's a lie, he'd have to believe it for tonight.
he watches her tail, her ears... he's realized that these attributes may have been a curse. it's like they have a mind of their own.
is he relieved to have none of his own? he isn't sure if he'd go that far, not when he own tentacles still cling to the back of shirt, and seem to stir with how dry the air's been. that said, even if he can gather her excitement, he doesn't know much else of what she's feeling... ]
Did I ever say I didn't like messy? [ she's right. he would have been just as fascinated. that said, he gets the impression just by looking at her that she may be expecting something else? that she lingers here with some type of purpose, and he just doesn't know what that is. ... so he does the only thing he can in terms of well-accepted, well-established farewells. he reaches over and pinches her nose. ]
Why are you making such a weird face? You're making it hard not to bully you. [ but, he releases quickly. it probably doesn't feel like much when he's wearing gloves. ] We'll see each other tomorrow, you know.
Days like this are well spent because they're temporary. If you're that frustrated, draw something new.
no subject
I know, I know, I just... want to spend more time out, [ with him, ] so I'll probably just wander around a little more before turning in. A certain fishie's gifts aren't going anywhere, after all, and it's my first time in this life celebrating the season.
[ but it's better if they part before she actually says something she regrets, burning in the back of her throat and scalding the bed of her tongue, because maybe she'll have the mind to say it tomorrow instead. or the next day, or the one after that -- a normal day, uninfluenced by the crowds and stories behind the holiday.
... besides, "we'll see each other tomorrow" is pretty nice to hear. ]
I'll text you when I get home, and you text me when you get home. Okay? I don't wanna hear about a new ice sculpture come morning just because you froze to death in the night.