[ Her smile sits easily on her face. There's none of the tension in her now, none of the icy coldness underneath her words, and he can't help but consider what's changed in between the time he left and returned. He'd expected to find her still angry or upset at him for having walked out, for having told her in no uncertain terms that she isn't what he wants and yet is all at once. Instead, there's. This.
Is it as simple as him no longer pushing her away? (If only. He knows it can't be that. Nothing between them is ever so straightforward.)
The conversation settles between them like an old blanket. Comfortable. Effortless. A game they have lazily played, batting words back and forth until one of them confesses a little more than they mean to. And it doesn't matter so much, then, when the hour is late and he can tell himself what's spoken on the cusp of sleep, it doesn't always need to mean anything. Perhaps she might not have ever heard some of what he's spoken out loud with his eyes half-shut. (He knows she's heard.)
Is that all. When he answers, he is joking this time, even if it's hard to tell whether he was before or not. ] The lack of fangs helps.
[ A huff escapes him afterwards—not quite a laugh, but close. Does she realize who she's asking? (No. She wouldn't.) ] Yen. I'm the last person you want to ask for a name. [ His amusement softens around the edges. His curiosity is genuine. It feels important, suddenly, that she name this wolf. (That it means something to her, means something enough that she has a name she will give it.) ] Tell me. I want to know.
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Is it as simple as him no longer pushing her away? (If only. He knows it can't be that. Nothing between them is ever so straightforward.)
The conversation settles between them like an old blanket. Comfortable. Effortless. A game they have lazily played, batting words back and forth until one of them confesses a little more than they mean to. And it doesn't matter so much, then, when the hour is late and he can tell himself what's spoken on the cusp of sleep, it doesn't always need to mean anything. Perhaps she might not have ever heard some of what he's spoken out loud with his eyes half-shut. (He knows she's heard.)
Is that all. When he answers, he is joking this time, even if it's hard to tell whether he was before or not. ] The lack of fangs helps.
[ A huff escapes him afterwards—not quite a laugh, but close. Does she realize who she's asking? (No. She wouldn't.) ] Yen. I'm the last person you want to ask for a name. [ His amusement softens around the edges. His curiosity is genuine. It feels important, suddenly, that she name this wolf. (That it means something to her, means something enough that she has a name she will give it.) ] Tell me. I want to know.