originallutece | (no subject)

[he glances at her, fidgeting with his bottle. it's a nervous tic although he doesn't realise it at all, when he fidgets with his hands]

You think he'll really want to talk to me again?

Of course he will.

[She doesn't hesitate for a moment on that answer.]

He doesn't scare away so easily, to begin with. He's not so fickle as to give up on a friendship simply because of a few harsh words; he and I never would have lasted if that were the case. And besides which . . . it's an argument based on the fact that he cares about you, enough to grow angry that you kept something potentially dangerous from him.

[A few seconds pass, and she adds:]

Trust the logic of it, if not the sentiment. The evidence points in your favor.

Yeah. The evidence...

[then he looks back up at her, turning his head]

I imagine what I feel about him... is a lot like a dad. Him, being like a dad, I mean.

[that's embarrassing]

...and now that the embarrassing's out of the way, [he's actually flushing] I just don't wanna let him down. I don't know what standards are there to keep.

[It's not entirely a surprise that Prompto feels that, but still Rosalind smiles faintly to hear it. Good, then. One could do a lot worse than Ardyn Izunia to look up to as a father figure; he's caring and warm, sweet without being soppy. God knows her first instinct is to flee to him when she's upset; small wonder Prompto feels such a thing.]

I don't know if there are any standards, really.

[She thinks briefly of her own father, but dismisses the thought almost immediately. He was-- is, really, he's still alive-- a distant man, cold and disapproving; there's nothing to be learned from him.]

I don't think you'll disappoint him, though. All you have to do is act like yourself.

..I'll try to be a little better than just myself.

[is what he says quietly, smiling distantly at rosalind's vote of confidence. having others believe in him is actually pretty nice.]

[they're approaching the red car again, and it's only now that prompto notices it. it's so out of place here, it's most likely rosalind's. it's... most definitely hers, really. prompto removes his hat and fixes about his hair a bit.]

Walking helped.

I'm glad.

[She means it, too. Rosalind glances up at him, then towards her car. They're at his home, and presumably that means they ought to part ways, but . . . well. There's something about his smile she doesn't like. It's genuine, that's for certain, but it's slight and wavering, and she doesn't feel good about leaving him be.

She glances up at him again. His hair's still mussed from the hat, and this time Rosalind gives into her impulse: she leans up, brushing her fingers through his hair, smoothing it out. Her fingers are slender and cool, and though it only lasts for a few seconds, she's attentive in her task.

But she won't linger. After a few moments, she steps back and says briskly:]

Want a ride?

[he is surprised at her touch to his hair, feeling a lot like a young boy. it's a nice feeling though, is what he thinks, and he's appreciative of it. he finally stops fidgeting with his hands, now that that's done with.]

[at her question, he can't help but feel a bit... confused. his place is right here, isn't it?]

[--oh]

Would it be okay to go to a bakery?

Of course.

[She smiles as she heads towards the driver's seat. Someday, maybe, possibly, she'll let him try driving it, because while she loves her car, she's also growing increasingly fond of Prompto, and surely that's a treat.

But for now, it's enough that he'll get a thrill out of riding in it. The ride is fantastically smooth, the engine so silent you can barely hear it, and Rosalind adores pushing past the speed limit.]

Hungry for something in particular?

[this car is so pristine inside and out that prompto's afraid of moving around too much.]

[at her questions, he edges around for an answer, settles for keeping his eyes out on the road... considering... and then turning to glance back at her]

I wanna buy a cheesecake. Noct likes sweet things.

[??]

--do you also like sweet things? Would you want some?

[Oh, lord, but he's sweet. Rosalind smiles again, startled and pleased by the question.]

I like sweet things on occasion. Not cheesecake, though. My preferences run towards biscuits-- ah, cookies, to you.

[Americans.]

A pity I don't any any English sweets. You might like them - our chocolate is superior, frankly.

I can't really have anything with milk in it.

[he looks down at his lap and puts his hands against his tummy. he loves sweets, but why you gotta make him sick for it...]

Chocolate's kinda hard for me to like.

But... [he's determined!] If there's something at the bakery you like, let me get it for you, okay?

[She makes a note of that. It's not that she's about to start baking him things, but hey, if she ever feels inclined to get him something sweet, now she knows what to avoid.]

A cookie, then, if you please. Perhaps you can even come in this time when you deliver it to my home, hm?

Wow. You mean you don't live in your office?

[clearly, he's teasing. and, clearly, this is a sign that he's feeling slightly better. and that he finds himself comfortable enough around rosalind to joke around like this.]

[he turns with a bit of a smile]

It'll be more than just the one, uh... biscuit.