[As he walked, he may have seemed as if he was confident or expectant of her to follow him...but in truth, he was straining his ear to hear her steps, only relieved when he could hear them right behind. She easily could have taken the opportunity to part ways from there, and he's not sure if he would have tried to stop her. That they've managed to last this long is a miracle in itself... But deep down, he's glad. Relieved—and glad.
Once she meets Barnabas, hell knows what she'll do. And again, he wonders if he's cheating like this—trying to sway her without pulling too hard. But even when he wasn't thinking about it, everything just came naturally. As if the years of bitterness, hate, and hurt had disappeared after his passing—her passing—with seeing her in that room, bloodied and half out of her mind only driving it further away.
Not gone, of course. They may be having a "good day" right now, but he knows all too well that it's too tenuous. Too uncertain. At best they're at a "truce," using their familiarity to figure out this strange new place. But one wrong word, one wrong move, and they could be at each other's throats and everything gone, just like that.
...Though it seems that usual "line" is a little farther than before.
And now, as they've reached the top of the slope and he steps up to the railing, he'll glance back behind him, just enough over his shoulder to see her before he fully turns around so he can lean against the railing, arms draped languidly against it.]
Not a bad view, though.
[He says. But he's not even looking out at the port, his eyes only focused on one specific figure before he turns back around before she can see it—even if she might have felt his gaze first.]
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Once she meets Barnabas, hell knows what she'll do. And again, he wonders if he's cheating like this—trying to sway her without pulling too hard. But even when he wasn't thinking about it, everything just came naturally. As if the years of bitterness, hate, and hurt had disappeared after his passing—her passing—with seeing her in that room, bloodied and half out of her mind only driving it further away.
Not gone, of course. They may be having a "good day" right now, but he knows all too well that it's too tenuous. Too uncertain. At best they're at a "truce," using their familiarity to figure out this strange new place. But one wrong word, one wrong move, and they could be at each other's throats and everything gone, just like that.
...Though it seems that usual "line" is a little farther than before.
And now, as they've reached the top of the slope and he steps up to the railing, he'll glance back behind him, just enough over his shoulder to see her before he fully turns around so he can lean against the railing, arms draped languidly against it.]
Not a bad view, though.
[He says. But he's not even looking out at the port, his eyes only focused on one specific figure before he turns back around before she can see it—even if she might have felt his gaze first.]