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. ‶