[The thing is, she can convince herself she doesn't see a lot of what she sees. Under most circumstances, she could even convince herself that she doesn't see this. And if she did see it, that it wasn't for her. By her own metric, she's not all that special, so a lot of things vanish when she measures them by that scale.
But she feels this. Burningly, blindingly, she feels it.
And she echoes it right back without realizing, her face heating as she watches every subtle shift of his expression and simply...waits. For an answer, for guidance, for some kind of memory to tell her how much she might know about this. Photos are photos and all, but she has to know more than that about making him feel good, doesn't she?
Unfortunately, the movement of the bouquet just draws her eyes down. She doesn't see what it's hiding, but. She's not that dumb.
It would probably be politer not to eye his lap while she thinks about this — or rather, tries to think over the undeniable impulse that's suddenly grasped her. She's forgotten how to be polite, though, because she's just trying to decide whether to be polite.
Maybe it's rushed. There's still so much about him she can't remember. But...it doesn't feel rushed. It feels natural. It feels like they never missed a beat.
So—
She looks back up to his face, eyes wide and intent.] I can help with that if you want.
no subject
But she feels this. Burningly, blindingly, she feels it.
And she echoes it right back without realizing, her face heating as she watches every subtle shift of his expression and simply...waits. For an answer, for guidance, for some kind of memory to tell her how much she might know about this. Photos are photos and all, but she has to know more than that about making him feel good, doesn't she?
Unfortunately, the movement of the bouquet just draws her eyes down. She doesn't see what it's hiding, but. She's not that dumb.
It would probably be politer not to eye his lap while she thinks about this — or rather, tries to think over the undeniable impulse that's suddenly grasped her. She's forgotten how to be polite, though, because she's just trying to decide whether to be polite.
Maybe it's rushed. There's still so much about him she can't remember. But...it doesn't feel rushed. It feels natural. It feels like they never missed a beat.
So—
She looks back up to his face, eyes wide and intent.] I can help with that if you want.
[So it's okay, right?]