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For a little while the both of you are still, your faces unwavering from the warmth of the molten liquid. It is in this silence that you begin to think he did not hear you, and while any other time you may have felt slighted, a distinct sense of relief pulses through your heart. But, like your humor had been crushed by his stare, so too are your fledgling hopes. ‘Why Enna, are you flirting with me?’ His sarcasm is indeed lost on you. Your juvenile attempt at straight up flirting was simply that painfully obvious, and the more you think about it the more you want to cringe, to turn your little butt around and hightail it from this cave, him and the strangeness he has awoken in you, the hold of his stare. But you do not; your knees too wobbly and your legs weighted with stone, your worries turning to ash because of that fucking smile. “Flirting? Mm, maybe, though I hardly think you can blame me.” Your voice is braver than you had expected it to be, for you do not feel very brave at all. Small, confused, a little shallow and slightly amused, perhaps, but not brave. His words offer respite from your insecurities and you take it gladly, your lips curling easily into a smirk mirroring that of his own. “Why Rohan, are you accusing me of deceit?” His wink, that chuckle, is met with a feigned indignity, your eyes narrowing and mouth tightening against your smile. That is the end of your defense, however, and you let him believe what he will, nearly preferring that he think of himself as something special, that you would not do the same for anyone else. Even you do not fully understand your complacency, but you shrug, concluding that it does not actually matter what he thinks, about you or about what you would or wouldn’t do. It had all just been a joke, why should this be any more serious than the rest of it? ‘—As fetching as yourself for instance,’ Another jest, and yet as he croons his head you cannot help the way your heart leaps, your body igniting in waves once more, your head (and hormones) in a whirl. It isn’t like you, you had never cared about boys before; for the stupid way that they did things, or how they thought about you or the way that they looked, or all the silly ways they would try to impress anyone or anything that would give them so much as a glance. And yet… a perfect stranger that has only made jokes mostly at your expense despite your obvious part in it, here you are swooning. Suddenly the thought of growing up is terrifying, and you quiver against the warmth of the cave, but there is no escaping it, and, and… Your eyes swoop upwards to meet his again, rushed with a sense of desperateness that you somehow hope to find an answer to within the calmness of his. But he is off, rolling his eyes at the mention of your gracelessness. It allows you a moment to breathe, his lightheartedness releasing the choke-hold discomfort that had begun to settle in your bones. You do not suppose he has any idea, and for that, at least, you are thankful. It is in this moment that you think; trying to convince yourself that you will just have to deal with it as it comes. You scrunch your face, moving your lips and nodding your head side to side in mockery, much like a disrespectful child would when scolded, but it is in jest as you try your best to immerse yourself back in to him. You roll your eyes in return as you still, the budding, fragile happiness returning to your grin. “I try. It’s nice to know my efforts aren’t completely in vain.” You laugh then, in part at your own embarrassment and in part at his reaction to it all, the situation you, in a rather rare moment of utter clumsiness, have created. You are indeed taken by this sandstone man and his smile, his laugh, the weight behind those green, green eyes, and captivated by the thought of all the mysteries they could hide. All joking aside, you are happy with your decision to follow him, despite your stupid girlishness kicking in. This, however, you find better to keep to yourself, all too conscious of the rebuttal you would likely receive. At that thought you quiet, catching his gaze as the humor drains from your face slowly, brows furrowing as you trace the well thought out lines of his own boyish façade. You are sure now that there are secrets that he has swallowed, and though you suppose everyone has at least a skeleton or two, your brows furrow all the same. “Will you tell me something about yourself? Anything?” |
@[Rohan]
odearsweetbabyjesusonabike, i wrote you a novel. .____.
i'm sure some of this doesn't make sense AND I APOLOGIZE FOR IT BUT ITS LIKE SUPER LATE AND IM SUPER TIRED AND SICK OF LOOKING AT THIS WALL OF TEXT.
she also has a mini freakout mode about liking the opposite sex, rofl.
also, i thought his whole 'its done well in the past' would be overlooked by her, seeing as she was distracted and it was quiet in the first place. i hope you don't mind?
that being said, ilu and i hope this is at least reply-able c:
