[She flashes him a playfully scornful look, not missing the way his eyes move over her form, her own finding the very fine view in front of her quite tempting as well. She almost reaches out to pull them back to her in bed, but he escapes her before she can even think to. For the best, probably, considering that she can feel another growl coming from her stomach.
She kicks her feet up to tease him before he leaves, and only once he's gone from the bedroom does she relax again, her head falling to the pillow and staring at the door where he had once been.
Unbelievable that she has found herself in his bed once again, lounging around just like she used to on those cloudier mornings in Waloed. And as much as she prefers those sorts of mornings, listening to the rain and wind clash against the windows, the coolness in the air, there's something different about this morning... lazily tangled up in his sheets that smell so very much like him, the late morning sun beating down over her, with him in the next room making pancakes of all things. Coffee for them to share.
What the fuck is that all about?
It's so very... idyllic. They have had a few shared moments that she thought of this way, but this is so much more than what those were. And it is one thing with it being her bed, but this one is his.
If anyone had told her even five months ago that she would be here and wishing that he were still right next to her, she would have spat in their face.
And maybe... this is all just a dream that they will inevitably wake from. Maybe this is all in her head and she will wake up in her own bed, alone. But she'd like to make this last for as long as possible, in that case.
Make this strange, fluttering happiness last for as long as possible. Shut out the rest of the world until it comes closing in on her again, when she is forced to face whatever this is head-on. She can run and run and fly all she likes, but they do always find a way to find her and catch up to her, don't they? And they have certainly caught up to her now. These feelings, this fondness, this love is far bigger than anything that she can escape from or even hope to control.
The only choice she has this morning is to embrace it. Let it wash over her the way that the sun through the window does.
Once she hears him start mixing in the kitchen is when she finally pulls herself up and out of bed, stretching her arms up high over her head as she takes a better look around his room. While the rest is very... plain... it's the desk that would give away that this place was his in all its organized clutter that she is so familiar with.
She finds that shirt that had been discarded not long after she'd put it on last night and slips it into her shoulders, and he'd said to make herself at home, so she will. She searches through his drawers and slides on a pair of his underwear, folding it at the waist to make sure that it fits, before wandering over to explore his desk. Yes, she's going to snoop, and no, she will feel no shame. She used to do this plenty back then, and would admire his sketches, even if she had no idea what they meant.
There are plenty of those again—words and pictures that Benedikta does not understand. Her nose crinkles at most of them, she shakes her head at others, scoffing fondly at him for being such a tinkerer. He really is too smart for his own good, she thinks. But as long as he isn't burying himself in it...
She picks up one of the journals on the desk and flips through the pages, nothing in there that is worthy of noting, until a piece of paper falls out, fluttering onto the desk face down.]
Hm?
[Setting down the leather-bound book, she turns over the parchment, and what she sees sketched in pencil there makes her heart both stop and leap up into her throat at the same time. It's messy, to be sure, but not difficult to make out in that very Cidolfus Style it's drawn in. She knows that body shape too well, that short bob of hair, the feathery clothes... She knows it well because it's her.
He'd sketched... her?
She tries to inhale, but it hitches, her heart racing a thousand beats a minute as she looks it over.
When? And why?
And gods damn it all, her face is as red and hot as can be now.
The sizzling of the stove startles her out of whatever reverie this had put her under as she stares down at it, the page crinkling a little at the corners between her fingers and their tightening grip. Her gaze snaps to the bedroom door and she wanders there, feet carrying her without a second thought. Carrying her and carrying her until she can lean against the wall and stare at him, watch him as if in complete awe of the man in front of her, with that parchment tucked behind her back...]
no subject
She kicks her feet up to tease him before he leaves, and only once he's gone from the bedroom does she relax again, her head falling to the pillow and staring at the door where he had once been.
Unbelievable that she has found herself in his bed once again, lounging around just like she used to on those cloudier mornings in Waloed. And as much as she prefers those sorts of mornings, listening to the rain and wind clash against the windows, the coolness in the air, there's something different about this morning... lazily tangled up in his sheets that smell so very much like him, the late morning sun beating down over her, with him in the next room making pancakes of all things. Coffee for them to share.
What the fuck is that all about?
It's so very... idyllic. They have had a few shared moments that she thought of this way, but this is so much more than what those were. And it is one thing with it being her bed, but this one is his.
If anyone had told her even five months ago that she would be here and wishing that he were still right next to her, she would have spat in their face.
And maybe... this is all just a dream that they will inevitably wake from. Maybe this is all in her head and she will wake up in her own bed, alone. But she'd like to make this last for as long as possible, in that case.
Make this strange, fluttering happiness last for as long as possible. Shut out the rest of the world until it comes closing in on her again, when she is forced to face whatever this is head-on. She can run and run and fly all she likes, but they do always find a way to find her and catch up to her, don't they? And they have certainly caught up to her now. These feelings, this fondness, this love is far bigger than anything that she can escape from or even hope to control.
The only choice she has this morning is to embrace it. Let it wash over her the way that the sun through the window does.
Once she hears him start mixing in the kitchen is when she finally pulls herself up and out of bed, stretching her arms up high over her head as she takes a better look around his room. While the rest is very... plain... it's the desk that would give away that this place was his in all its organized clutter that she is so familiar with.
She finds that shirt that had been discarded not long after she'd put it on last night and slips it into her shoulders, and he'd said to make herself at home, so she will. She searches through his drawers and slides on a pair of his underwear, folding it at the waist to make sure that it fits, before wandering over to explore his desk. Yes, she's going to snoop, and no, she will feel no shame. She used to do this plenty back then, and would admire his sketches, even if she had no idea what they meant.
There are plenty of those again—words and pictures that Benedikta does not understand. Her nose crinkles at most of them, she shakes her head at others, scoffing fondly at him for being such a tinkerer. He really is too smart for his own good, she thinks. But as long as he isn't burying himself in it...
She picks up one of the journals on the desk and flips through the pages, nothing in there that is worthy of noting, until a piece of paper falls out, fluttering onto the desk face down.]
Hm?
[Setting down the leather-bound book, she turns over the parchment, and what she sees sketched in pencil there makes her heart both stop and leap up into her throat at the same time. It's messy, to be sure, but not difficult to make out in that very Cidolfus Style it's drawn in. She knows that body shape too well, that short bob of hair, the feathery clothes... She knows it well because it's her.
He'd sketched... her?
She tries to inhale, but it hitches, her heart racing a thousand beats a minute as she looks it over.
When? And why?
And gods damn it all, her face is as red and hot as can be now.
The sizzling of the stove startles her out of whatever reverie this had put her under as she stares down at it, the page crinkling a little at the corners between her fingers and their tightening grip. Her gaze snaps to the bedroom door and she wanders there, feet carrying her without a second thought. Carrying her and carrying her until she can lean against the wall and stare at him, watch him as if in complete awe of the man in front of her, with that parchment tucked behind her back...]