evolvedfromash-blog

bloodiedwolf.

       he handles her, almost, like she’s something fragile, and under
       the bruises of her eyelids arya watches him — trying to place,
       perhaps, whether he proceeds so carefully because he thinks
       her broken glass ( trying not to cut his palms and fingers open
       on her jagged edges ), or if he only speaks as such because he
       thinks her young, delicate.

       ( it’s been long enough, too long, might be, since someone spoke
       to her as a child in earnest — i’ll almost be a woman soon, i’ll be
       eleven, she’d insisted, and yet greenbeard had gotten her all wrong
       and teased something about best watch out i don’t marry you, then,
       and she’d slapped his stupid hand away … — that she’s at least half-
       -forgotten how people talk to children, and she can’t decide whether
       he’s talking down to her or not. )

       the food may hold no answers, but she reasons it’s still better than
       this circuitous unspoken question hanging on her tongue ; she forgoes
       manners, a larger bite than would be needed or appropriate taken in place
       of anything delicate or civil while her hunger still lasts, and if she talks mid-
       -way through chewing, he’ll live. ( not as though she’d listen much if he
       scolded her, besides — she’s grateful for the food, but not beholden to his
       expectations as yet. )

                             aren’t you hungry?

            it doesn’t take long to notice the tough exterior she’s surrounded
            herself with, edges rough to the touch to keep people at a distance.
            he only notices because it’s how he was, and always had been for
            as long as he could remember. he knows better than to pry despite
            his curiosity, deciding to keep his mouth ( and hands ) to himself.

            he leans back against the booth as he grabs the vinegar, finally
            replying with a nod while drowning his fries. honestly, he wasn’t
            all that hungry. the only reason he offered was because ( and he
            wouldn’t admit to ) but the sight of her made his stomach hurt, a
            familiar pain he learned to live with over time. 

            her lack of table manners or words don’t bother him the slightest
            bit, he’d never been all that great at conversing with people he
            knew, let alone a stranger much younger than him.