[God, Ros, that's nosy, but on the other hand, it's not as if he's compelled to answer, and one never gets anywhere by being soft. Her gaze is intent, but not piercing; she's not just asking to get more information. She rather likes talking to this boy; it's natural she wants to learn more about him.
Less natural is the way she seems compelled to want to brush her fingers over him, an impulse odd enough that a little frown flickers over her features. It's the most absurd urge, but his hair is damp and hanging in his eyes and suddenly Ros wants nothing more than to sweep it back.
No, she tells herself, annoyed that the thought had even come to mind in the first place, and tangles her fingers together in her lap to stop herself from acting on it.]
no subject
[God, Ros, that's nosy, but on the other hand, it's not as if he's compelled to answer, and one never gets anywhere by being soft. Her gaze is intent, but not piercing; she's not just asking to get more information. She rather likes talking to this boy; it's natural she wants to learn more about him.
Less natural is the way she seems compelled to want to brush her fingers over him, an impulse odd enough that a little frown flickers over her features. It's the most absurd urge, but his hair is damp and hanging in his eyes and suddenly Ros wants nothing more than to sweep it back.
No, she tells herself, annoyed that the thought had even come to mind in the first place, and tangles her fingers together in her lap to stop herself from acting on it.]