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. 

            he gives the plate a gentle nudge in her direction, silently
            hoping that she’ll give in and accept the meal. no strings
            attached of course.

            ‘ go on and eat —- i promise their burgers are good. ‘

bloodiedwolf.

       a faint, muted sniff of breath pulls in through
       arya’s nostrils — pine resin, she thinks, and
       the faintest hint of snows to come, and for a
       split second something in her chest aches —
       after a fashion of acknowledgment ; her taking
       his hand is somewhat belated, as though torn
       between wanting touch and abhorring it, but
       when her fingers greet his palm they’re steady,
       callused, if only fleeting in the contact, a clasp
       more than a shake, there and then gone.

        ‘why’re you out here all by yourself?’

          he feels as if he’s accomplished something when she 
          shakes his hand, that maybe she wasn’t as scared or
          intimidated by him than he first assumed, that thought
          alone brings him some relief. her query brings large
          shoulders to rise for a brief moment, stalling to keep
          the real reason he’d be out so late

        ❛ just needed to get some air. ‶ she didn’t need to get
            involved with werewolf business. 

        ❛ —- was thinkin’ about getting a late night snack, do
            you want to join me? ‶

bloodiedwolf.

         ‘ a little. ’

       arya’s gaze flickers lowered, a moment, dark lashes
       to half-mast, then lifts anew ; there’s some discomfort,
       perhaps, that she can almost sense in him, almost taste
       on his breath as though it were yoren’s stale beer, that
       falls into their echoing silence — but something in it is
       more familiar than not, and leaves her tacitly, implicitly,
       wanting to trust in it. ( if not in him — she can’t quite do
       that, can’t quite do that with anyone, not even the sup-
       -erficially kindly, subliminally deviant. does my sweet
       peach have a name? mouth running dry, a moment,
       with the recollection, she swallows, and whatever hint
       of smile had touched the corners of her mouth fades.
       whatever you do, lie. )

               ‘ arry.’

          despite the genuine concern he had for her well-being,
          he can feel that his curiosity makes her uncomfortable
          ( even if only slightly. ) that wasn’t his intention of course,
          but he understood why. and so in attempt to help ease
          that feeling, he leans back slightly, allowing more space
          between them. there’s a subtle rise at the corners of his
          mouth as a smile appears, his right hand extending out
          to her. ( it was just an offer, he wouldn’t hold it against
          her if she choose not to shake his hand. )

                                     ❛ it’s pleasure to meet you, arry. ‶

bloodiedwolf.

                ‘and you know the answer
                   to your own question. ’

       arya’s humour, rare by now, is needfully
       a stunted thing ( ill-nourished just as much
       as the rest of her ) ; but when it arises, it
       does so dry, even arid, oft deadpan or only
       with the tiniest of barely perceptible twitches
       at one corner of her mouth to set it apart from
       a blunted candour, or a well-framed lie — such
       is that which drops, strangely laden and barren
       simultaneously but not as caustic as she could
       be, from her lips, tongue, teeth, now, and her
       eyes seem a minute degree brighter for it, though
       not warmed.

          she was right, the answer to his query was painfully
          obvious and the more he thought about it, the more
          he felt like an idiot for asking. that lost and empty
          look that made it’s home upon her features was all
          to familiar, one he’s made an effort to keep hidden.
          his weight shifts ever so slightly as elbows rest on
          his knees in attempt to get comfortable, clearly he
          had no desire to leave.  

         ❛ guess it was a dumb question, huh? ‶ there’s a
             pause as lips purse together, he wasn’t any good 
             at making conversation, not even with people he
             knew. 

         ❛ —— i’m derek, what’s your name? ‶

bloodiedwolf.

                 ‘ not anymore, i’m not. ’

       it’s not the answer he’s immediately after,
       arya knows, though it does speak for itself
       in turn — and yet, a part of her, reflexive
       almost, moves to curl ragged lengths of
       nails into narrow thighs just out of sight
       in the relative gloom, half-expecting and
       half steeling herself for a backhanded blow
       earned by her own sharp tongue, and only
       relaxes slightly when it doesn’t come.

       his knees bend as he lowers himself into a crouch,
       his gaze now better able to meet the young stranger.
       the faintest sound of a chuckle emits from parted lips
       as his gaze falls to the ground briefly, his hand slides
       from the edge of his jaw and to the back of his neck.
       he’s never been good at this, talking to and showing
       concern for those he didn’t know. when he finally meets
       her gaze again there’s no smile, only a serious look
      of curiosity 

                        ❛ you know that’s not what i meant. ‶

bloodiedwolf.

       fleeting, minute flaring of nostrils fuels and
       confirms an errant, unvoiced suspicion as
       to the other’s nature — wolf and i — but arya
       keeps her piqued interest, attentiveness, to
       herself, keeps the brunt of her reactions
       necessarily under lock and key, and offers
       an idly one-shouldered twitch of shrug in
       their place.

           ‘yeah. are you — ?’

      there’s a brief rise of the corners of his lips when
      she returns the question, he could feel that she
      was keeping to herself ( not that he could blame
      her, he was just some stranger. ) lips press in a
      firm line as his hand meets his jaw, tracing the
      the defined bone in thought. 

     ❛ yeah, i’m fine —- are you out here alone or? ‶

       he’s not sure why someone so young was all alone
       this late, and while he’d rather not pry into matters
       that didn’t involve him, he couldn’t just walk away,
       not without knowing for sure they were okay.

                                      ❛ ——— are you alright? ‶