sancteum:
holy faith told her to accept his benign offer (Mother taught you manners!); however, common sense warns her with blaring alarms that this interaction would sprout the weeds to the garden of her life. nonetheless, her meager fight put up earlier dies down and holy faith easily won out. as it always did. her hand hesitantly placed against his own, undoubtedly their hands were the perfect fit much to her dismay. gripping it lightly it though there was some sort of revolution as there is fascination; a cause and effect.
“you sure you don’t want anything? not even coffee?” a poisonous tongue dishing out lies and continuing the masquerade of a pure-hearted girl who seemingly prolongs his stay. which leads to the question: why is she continuing on with this horrid, caricature version of a tacky rom-com?
the answer is simple: she was too devoted to her image, to the pretense of a normal girl to ever break out of the mold. disgusting but painful truth, one that she herself would never admit out loud. instead she accepts his company, a physical representation of fodder for her growing image of a ‘benevolent person’ who denies no one. not even him.
“the shop is actually a couple blocks down from here.” a quiet murmur that falls into silence as she took a step towards the mentioned direction, pinpricks of pain shooting up her leg but she ignores it steadfast. there has been worse and this is little in comparison. with that said she remembers something she had long forgotten amongst their cliché meeting– her gratitude albeit it being reluctant.
“thank you, you know.. for this.”
A couple blocks down from here. As in, not the one that they’re closest to? Well, that kinda sucks. He wasn’t planning on going much further than, say, 10 paces. But he’s committed now. There’s a moment where he almost audibly sighs.
And he almost answers yes, he could definitely go for a cup of something right now, but he holds his tongue. He can’t afford much, but he can afford this.
“No, thanks.”
His hand is uncomfortably comfortable in hers and he has to take a second before he guides her arm around his neck and slips his around her waist. The height difference is enough to make it just a tad awkward, so he makes sure to slouch just a little.
“C’mon, let’s get going.” He says, taking a slow step forward, “And don’t worry about it. Goodness of my heart, ‘n all that.”
It’s as they’re walking away that he finally realizes the music that he’s been hearing has been coming from the store they’d been standing outside. It fades gradually, eventually consumed by the other cacophony of the streets.
He tries to take it at a pace that she can keep up with with her ankle being the way that it is. Not too fast, but not so slow that they’ll be hanging out for a half hour.
“Gotta ask though,” he starts, because things like a basic understanding of when not to say something insensitive don’t exist in his world, “Are you always so clumsy?”
