[ the protection feels almost instinctive, shielding her off, like he knows the kind of men who could take something small and enlarge it all for the sake of their own swollen egos. of course, he's sworn looking out for her, even if the promise itself had been a miniature thing, pertaining simply to the way that she isn't capable of lying, but in time, it's become a sort of umbrella for more than he'd realized, like he'd somehow taken on her safety as his responsibility.
whether promises or responsibility are a part of it, he looks over her now, his height leaving him hovering slightly from behind her, just to make sure of it, the hold at her hip lingering for a moment longer than it should before he eases the touch away to redirect it lightly against her elbow. ]
How about we be careful about what kind of friends we're making, huh?
[ sometimes he hates that he's so attuned to detail, that his eyes gaze on the fall of her hair against her shoulder, strands clinging to the exposed skin at her collar, damp from a light sheen of sweat, produced by all the dancing. he hates that he can see the faster rise and fall of her chest as she breathes, how his own chest is brushed close enough to her back for him to feel the quickened beat of her heart, almost unable to discern it from his own.
finally, he takes a slight step back, like the distance is necessary, pulling his touch away from her hand, fingers flexing briefly at his side. ] I'm better fit for drinking.
no subject
whether promises or responsibility are a part of it, he looks over her now, his height leaving him hovering slightly from behind her, just to make sure of it, the hold at her hip lingering for a moment longer than it should before he eases the touch away to redirect it lightly against her elbow. ]
How about we be careful about what kind of friends we're making, huh?
[ sometimes he hates that he's so attuned to detail, that his eyes gaze on the fall of her hair against her shoulder, strands clinging to the exposed skin at her collar, damp from a light sheen of sweat, produced by all the dancing. he hates that he can see the faster rise and fall of her chest as she breathes, how his own chest is brushed close enough to her back for him to feel the quickened beat of her heart, almost unable to discern it from his own.
finally, he takes a slight step back, like the distance is necessary, pulling his touch away from her hand, fingers flexing briefly at his side. ] I'm better fit for drinking.