Okay. But then we can't forget about it. Or it'll burn.
[All things considered she's like 5% concerned about the chowder and like 95% concerned about the boy at the moment, which is really saying something considering Summer and her relationship to food.]
He's not moving, either, though, except for an eventual, slight tilt of his head.]
Um. A...Aestas?
[Just saying her new name, the name just for him makes his face warm.]
Do you want... I-I can't tell, I have to ask. I don't--know this stuff. Do you want...
[He can't look away from her. At all. His nerves are lighting up all over like fireflies on speed and all he can do is look at the beautiful streaks of color in her eyes, up close like this.]
[It's actually a little mortifying, how audible her breath is when she sucks it in on reflex, hearing that question. She's usually not so...well, so stupid about things like this, except that sort of distantly she recalls that no, deep down she actually is. She used to be. Before she was a witch, before everything became about survival and advantage and illusion, she was really, really bad at this.
He's bringing that out of her. The being bad at this. The being someone who was bad at this, once.
That's why she doesn't have an immediate answer, when she usually does. That's why she's chewing on the edge of her lip, feeling like his expression is as magical as her cloak — leaving her wanting to look at it but still strangely difficult to keep her eyes on it for long.]
...Yeah.
[Aestas. It'll take a little getting used to, that's for sure. But so did Flora. So did Sabrina. So did Morgan and Tamsin and Igraine.]
When it, um. When it...god, this is going to sound stupid.
[Hasn't stopped them yet.]
When...and maybe this is now, I don't know, because that's kind of the point, is only you can know, really, but. When, if, if it's because it feels right, not just like you're supposed to. That's when I want you to. Does that...make sense?
[It makes sense. It's just not very helpful. Uncertain, Prompto glances down at her lips, then quickly back up to her eyes, visibly trying to gauge the rightness of whatever it is he's feeling, whatever it is this moment calls for.]
Uhhh... it felt pretty right to me, just now. [Standing together so close, having worked out what they are to something. To something they want to exist; that wants to exist between them. He swallows.] What do you think? Felt okay?
[This time, the word is almost inaudible, it's so soft.]
It's just...
[She leans forward, pressing her forehead against his shoulder, resting her weight against him and seeming to let a sigh lift from her shoulders as she makes contact.]
I always get let down by fairy tales. I'm not...not looking for some fairytale kiss. That's what I meant.
[Without thinking about it, he lets his arms circle her again and ends up rocking her slightly, slowly, the natural thing to do with her sighing into him so softly like this.]
You could eat some soup first, or we both could. And then, whe...when we kiss, we'll taste like potato. That's not very fairy-tale. Right?
Aw, girl, I don't wanna be in that kind of comedy. We can't aim for, like, bad, but not painfully bad? You know, just... kinda charming! Not physically cringe-inducing.
[He's joking, but also, he's not.]
I don't wanna do stuff that hurts you, ever. Ever again.
[That's like the hottest thing anyone has ever said to me, she thinks idly, and doesn't say it out loud because that's sort of super depressing, but also it's sadly also completely true.]
Then maybe you should kiss me.
[As entertaining as goofing around about the particulars is...well.]
Since that's pretty much the exact opposite of hurting me.
[His brain blanks out again, but in a weird, soft way, like it's full of soft, clean cotton, not drowned in noise. Like he's temporarily stopped working, his mouth opens halfway, but nothing comes out, not even breath. He can't even.
And, because every part of him wants this, to be in this more than he's wanted almost anything in his life, his systems start booting up again. So he can. He can even.]
No, it's absolutely forbidden. Way too fairytale, letting me have your first kiss and all. Quick, kiss Jericho, he's a love-em-and-leave-em kind of bird, that heartbreaker.
[Her tone couldn't be drier, her deadpan more obvious. She works her hands up between them, pulling her elbows in close, and lightly runs her palms up his chest, heading for his shoulders.
The next time she speaks, her voice is a lot softer.]
Do you want to kiss me, even knowing what I look like under all this magic?
[For a second, it's almost like she's going to leave it at that, but then she finds another handful of words and goes on.]
Because I want to kiss you. Even knowing you haven't, ever.
[Prompto says it breathlessly, the way he says everything he doesn't think about, an answer coded so powerfully in him his body can give it without the fifty stupid checks his brain has to handle. He blinks, and then very gently moves her hair aside, tucks it behind her ear. His expression goes faintly strained and soft at once. He must know how a reassurance like that sounds.]
Remind me to tell you, later. About Ignis. I mean, if you don't believe me. But I...
[Belatedly, he notices his hand's stayed where it was, bent knuckles brushing the side of her face, framing it. She's been looking up at him, and he realizes he hasn't seen anything but her, her eyes, her expression, for quite some time, now.]
I want to kiss you. I'm. ...Gonna do that now.
[And for all his stammering, for all their delays, for every stupid mention of potatoes, when he closes the distance between them in some kind of slow motion, when he cradles her cheek in his palm and presses lips to lips, when I never changes to only with you--
[Who does he think he is, just...saying things like that. Just four easy words that coming from anyone else she would've insisted were utterly untrue, except that when he says them it's just so natural to believe it. Who does he think he is, making this so easy, when somewhere underneath the dreamy disbelief she knows that she'd be petrified right now if he were anyone else, and yet here and now she isn't scared in the slightest.
She's so used to being scared, all the time, always. She's so used to scheming and planning, anticipating and manipulating. She's so used to expecting the worst and distrusting the best. She's so used to being alone, because she has to be, because she needs to be.
But as it turns out, all this time while he hasn't been seeing anything but her, she hasn't been thinking about anything but him.
He's tall, and he's warm. His lips are soft and a little chapped from where he bites them; hers are, too. His hands are smoother than she would've expected from someone who handles guns, but he wears gloves, he takes care of them. He takes care of her, too, even if he doesn't realize it. Even when she doesn't deserve it. Even when she ought to say how much she appreciates it and she can't or won't or just doesn't.
It's just the two of them, alone in a hideaway with flowers in her hair and forgotten soup gone cold on a table. His freckles look like fireworks across the night sky of his nose. She's wearing a pair of his pants because she hadn't wanted to give them back. His secret is under wraps on his wrist. Her scars lie hidden beneath the glamour on her face.
Her shoes aren't glass. His last name isn't Charming. No spell winds up broken. There was no spell there to begin with.
There's just the two of them, boy meets girl, him and her and this fragile hopeful eager thing between them, and she always gets let down by fairy tales, except that this time she doesn't.]
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no subject
I... can put it on the stove. And come back.
[You can have your
boycake and eat it, too, Summer. Don't eat the boy, though. We're not there. Yet.]no subject
[All things considered she's like 5% concerned about the chowder and like 95% concerned about the boy at the moment, which is really saying something considering Summer and her relationship to food.]
So. ...You should go do that.
[She says, not letting go of him.]
no subject
[Oh, honey.
He's not moving, either, though, except for an eventual, slight tilt of his head.]
Um. A...Aestas?
[Just saying her new name, the name just for him makes his face warm.]
Do you want... I-I can't tell, I have to ask. I don't--know this stuff. Do you want...
[He can't look away from her. At all. His nerves are lighting up all over like fireflies on speed and all he can do is look at the beautiful streaks of color in her eyes, up close like this.]
Do you want me to kiss you first?
no subject
He's bringing that out of her. The being bad at this. The being someone who was bad at this, once.
That's why she doesn't have an immediate answer, when she usually does. That's why she's chewing on the edge of her lip, feeling like his expression is as magical as her cloak — leaving her wanting to look at it but still strangely difficult to keep her eyes on it for long.]
...Yeah.
[Aestas. It'll take a little getting used to, that's for sure. But so did Flora. So did Sabrina. So did Morgan and Tamsin and Igraine.]
When it, um. When it...god, this is going to sound stupid.
[Hasn't stopped them yet.]
When...and maybe this is now, I don't know, because that's kind of the point, is only you can know, really, but. When, if, if it's because it feels right, not just like you're supposed to. That's when I want you to. Does that...make sense?
no subject
[It makes sense. It's just not very helpful. Uncertain, Prompto glances down at her lips, then quickly back up to her eyes, visibly trying to gauge the rightness of whatever it is he's feeling, whatever it is this moment calls for.]
Uhhh... it felt pretty right to me, just now. [Standing together so close, having worked out what they are to something. To something they want to exist; that wants to exist between them. He swallows.] What do you think? Felt okay?
no subject
[This time, the word is almost inaudible, it's so soft.]
It's just...
[She leans forward, pressing her forehead against his shoulder, resting her weight against him and seeming to let a sigh lift from her shoulders as she makes contact.]
I always get let down by fairy tales. I'm not...not looking for some fairytale kiss. That's what I meant.
no subject
[Without thinking about it, he lets his arms circle her again and ends up rocking her slightly, slowly, the natural thing to do with her sighing into him so softly like this.]
You could eat some soup first, or we both could. And then, whe...when we kiss, we'll taste like potato. That's not very fairy-tale. Right?
no subject
[You know what is the height of romance in her culture? The way that he's so gently rocking her right now, effortless.]
You could headbutt me and give me a nosebleed.
no subject
[He's joking, but also, he's not.]
I don't wanna do stuff that hurts you, ever. Ever again.
no subject
Then maybe you should kiss me.
[As entertaining as goofing around about the particulars is...well.]
Since that's pretty much the exact opposite of hurting me.
no subject
[His brain blanks out again, but in a weird, soft way, like it's full of soft, clean cotton, not drowned in noise. Like he's temporarily stopped working, his mouth opens halfway, but nothing comes out, not even breath. He can't even.
And, because every part of him wants this, to be in this more than he's wanted almost anything in his life, his systems start booting up again. So he can. He can even.]
I. I haven't, ever... You know that.
[Breathe.]
That's okay?
no subject
[Her tone couldn't be drier, her deadpan more obvious. She works her hands up between them, pulling her elbows in close, and lightly runs her palms up his chest, heading for his shoulders.
The next time she speaks, her voice is a lot softer.]
Do you want to kiss me, even knowing what I look like under all this magic?
[For a second, it's almost like she's going to leave it at that, but then she finds another handful of words and goes on.]
Because I want to kiss you. Even knowing you haven't, ever.
no subject
[Prompto says it breathlessly, the way he says everything he doesn't think about, an answer coded so powerfully in him his body can give it without the fifty stupid checks his brain has to handle. He blinks, and then very gently moves her hair aside, tucks it behind her ear. His expression goes faintly strained and soft at once. He must know how a reassurance like that sounds.]
Remind me to tell you, later. About Ignis. I mean, if you don't believe me. But I...
[Belatedly, he notices his hand's stayed where it was, bent knuckles brushing the side of her face, framing it. She's been looking up at him, and he realizes he hasn't seen anything but her, her eyes, her expression, for quite some time, now.]
I want to kiss you. I'm. ...Gonna do that now.
[And for all his stammering, for all their delays, for every stupid mention of potatoes, when he closes the distance between them in some kind of slow motion, when he cradles her cheek in his palm and presses lips to lips, when I never changes to only with you--
It's all very fairy-tale.]
no subject
She's so used to being scared, all the time, always. She's so used to scheming and planning, anticipating and manipulating. She's so used to expecting the worst and distrusting the best. She's so used to being alone, because she has to be, because she needs to be.
But as it turns out, all this time while he hasn't been seeing anything but her, she hasn't been thinking about anything but him.
He's tall, and he's warm. His lips are soft and a little chapped from where he bites them; hers are, too. His hands are smoother than she would've expected from someone who handles guns, but he wears gloves, he takes care of them. He takes care of her, too, even if he doesn't realize it. Even when she doesn't deserve it. Even when she ought to say how much she appreciates it and she can't or won't or just doesn't.
It's just the two of them, alone in a hideaway with flowers in her hair and forgotten soup gone cold on a table. His freckles look like fireworks across the night sky of his nose. She's wearing a pair of his pants because she hadn't wanted to give them back. His secret is under wraps on his wrist. Her scars lie hidden beneath the glamour on her face.
Her shoes aren't glass. His last name isn't Charming. No spell winds up broken. There was no spell there to begin with.
There's just the two of them, boy meets girl, him and her and this fragile hopeful eager thing between them, and she always gets let down by fairy tales, except that this time she doesn't.]