originallutece | ic contact;

[It isn't the time to laugh, and he doesn't, thank the Maker. It's just that how Rosalind describes the aftermath of laying with a man here is the very same dread that filled him when he stepped through the exact place of work the following morning, and it's so very ironic. Perhaps down the line, when they're much more comfortable with each other, he will laugh without worry of treading on her sensibilities. He'll say something along the lines of I thought taking it was supposed to leave you feeling well and good, done properly. We're doing something wrong here, my dear.

For now, he keeps a solemn face - a sure face. There isn't room to let her see doubt here, as often as it threatens to eat at him when he lies alone at night. He will do what that man did for him that night when he poured his heart out about his homeland. He'll try to make it apparent how ridiculous pretending it's something to be ashamed of is, at their age. He'll try to reiterate the only path is to live freely and truly.]

I learned to stop caring when I told the man I was bedding the second time... here. On this planet. Two months ago, I believe. [He counts the months under his breath, then returns his gaze back to her with a certain smile.] Yes, yes, nearly three. My indulgences were fleeting when I left home, nothing... nothing of note, no room to talk after. Not what you were expecting, was it?

[Not at all, and her surprise is clear on her face. She'd have thought . . . oh, twenty-five, perhaps. Older than so-called normal people, but still, ages ago. He's so comfortable in his skin, she never would have thought . . .

But she ought to know better. She of all people ought to know better, because they're so alike in this way. It isn't that he's so comfortable in his skin; it's that he's so good at appearing comfortable. Relaxed and at ease and perfectly flippant all the time . . . she takes half a step forward, just for the comfort of having him in proximity.]

No. Not at all.

[A beat. She offers a slight smile, tired and companionable.]

That's the trick, is it? Faking it until it becomes real?

Ah, close. Faking it until you comes to terms with the fact that the only opinion that matters is yours, regarding matters of the heart.

[He takes a full step, turning to put his arm around her shoulders as he gestures towards where they store their liquor. It's such a grand gesture for their small space, and he does feel quite silly, but his grin remains none-the-less.]

And until then, you get piss drunk with the best housemate you could possibly have. Then you'll compliment him on his dinner, even if it's actually as burnt as ever... and I'll eventually give up and order us something. How does that sound?

[It's a ridiculous gesture, but it works as intended: Rosalind huffs a laugh, resting her weight lightly against him.]

Let's worry about dinner before drinking, hm? Only I'd hate to burn down the house. Unless you'd rather skip the middle step and simply order now, so we can give up pretense and start our evening early.

Are you truly so opposed to seeing it all play out? I'd hate to see all my ingredients go to waste... by not going to waste. A burnt waste is better than one left to sit, or... something.

[Is it, really? Judging by all his last attempts, he's not really going to learn anything from it. So he concedes with a huff:]

I'll cook, you can order, we'll have food left over if it goes well.

Pasta, then.

[Ros isn't that like the third time in two weeks you've had pasta, maybe try something else??? No? Okay.]

What on earth did you buy, anyway? I want to know how high your hopes are for this endeavor.

[She seems in a far better mood now, and smiles as she takes a step forward, heading for the kitchen. Truth be told, her heart is singing-- because it seems miraculous, really, that they're on the other side of this with no repercussions. That somehow, impossibly, she's told him a secret only one other has ever been privy too, and that there's been no consequences.]

Be honest instead of trying to brag and I'll tell you more about some of my amorous adventures.

ic contact;

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject