[ It’s impossible to not be charmed by him in some way. Maybe it’s the idea that she has to forgive him for something that simple— it’s not going to inconvenience her one bit if he’s a bit difficult about letting her fuss over him from time to time. It’s himself he needs to apologize to, for not finding the part of himself to unlock and let that in sooner. In some ways, Aerith muses, he must be his own worst enemy. When she looks up at Trahearne to stare at his golden eyes, she thinks he looks like he’s wrestling with a number of things now. Maybe she’s not really helped at the end of the day. Who is to say?
He doesn’t really have to say it. Too many people have wanted her to let them care for her in their lives— thank goodness, she thinks, that he’s more like the charmers in the slums and less like a hulking tower of a man that visits her in her nightmares. She may not know what it is that makes him this way, but she welcomes it in some respects; it makes him easier to tease, she thinks.
The fastest way to her heart, however, is food. Her gaze breaks from staring at him to look at the little chalkboard sign, leaning closer on the tips of her toes. She reads the scratchy white letters for barely more than a second before she gasps and grabs his hand, tightly, already pulling him in. ] Trahearne, look! They have pumpkin drinks! That’s so incredible…
[ The slums never had the luxury of seasonal drinks. It tickles her a little, to think of commercials broadcast from the towers near the reactors, things that they’d never have, reminders of the city overhead that walked on them daily.
He doesn’t know it, yet, as it is, but he’s been taking care of her little by little. She remembers how boldly he says things like he wanted to see her fight something more powerful than a monkey, how he respects her as a warrior and… a friend, perhaps. She hopes. Too often is it that people coddle her. ]
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He doesn’t really have to say it. Too many people have wanted her to let them care for her in their lives— thank goodness, she thinks, that he’s more like the charmers in the slums and less like a hulking tower of a man that visits her in her nightmares. She may not know what it is that makes him this way, but she welcomes it in some respects; it makes him easier to tease, she thinks.
The fastest way to her heart, however, is food. Her gaze breaks from staring at him to look at the little chalkboard sign, leaning closer on the tips of her toes. She reads the scratchy white letters for barely more than a second before she gasps and grabs his hand, tightly, already pulling him in. ] Trahearne, look! They have pumpkin drinks! That’s so incredible…
[ The slums never had the luxury of seasonal drinks. It tickles her a little, to think of commercials broadcast from the towers near the reactors, things that they’d never have, reminders of the city overhead that walked on them daily.
He doesn’t know it, yet, as it is, but he’s been taking care of her little by little. She remembers how boldly he says things like he wanted to see her fight something more powerful than a monkey, how he respects her as a warrior and… a friend, perhaps. She hopes. Too often is it that people coddle her. ]