arvnkas:
—
He makes a point, one that Arina knows entirely too well. It is never the fall that brings pain, but always the crash that inevitably followed. A reality she has grown all too familiar with, one she suspects he is equally acquainted with. Yet, despite herself, she wants to consider the possibility that he might be a safe place to land, even if only for a moment. A growing desire on her part to believe otherwise, the moment is fleeting. It is a notion one she knows she cannot accept. That he wasn’t like the others. That his intentions weren’t of cruel and malicious intent. That, whenever push came to shove — and it always did, especially in her world — that he wouldn’t exploit her trust and honour for his gain. Yet, even with the host of reservations on her part, she cannot bring herself to pull away from his embrace. Not yet. There is an assurance, as small as it might be, in a way that only someone like him could possibly offer to someone like her. Someone who had the capacity to see her, beyond the extravagant facade, with all her vices but also her virtues. Someone who harbored a genuine interest and appreciation in keeping her company. Someone who understood.
“I haven’t quite figured out what I’m going to do with you yet. Though I could be persuaded to make a gesture, given that you haven’t been a colossal waste of my time.” As he turns away, she allows his gaze to focus elsewhere, smiling once she is sure his attention has been diverted elsewhere. She cannot help but notice the departure of those in their vicinity, the dimming of the lights above them, or her delight at the prospect of being alone with him. She places a hand to his cheek, forcing his gaze to align with hers once again as the music resumes. It is a soft and precise melody, as is the movement of her thumb across his cheek. “Would you allow me to?”
--
“And what does it accomplish if you do? I don’t want your money or your brother’s favor. I don’t want anything Arina,” the unwelcome taste of doubt and hesitation burning the back of his throat. He has a purpose, a duty he must fulfill. He is, in no uncertain circumstances, a waste of her time. She’s all the more fool for not knowing it. But then, what does it make him that he does know and still wants to say yes? Her heavy perfume clings to him, stronger in his nose as her wrist passes by. Arina’s fingers are a whisper on his skin. Who knew another person could be soft? His eyes close. Yes is such an easy word and yet it won’t come to him. She’s too soft. The sensation is too unfamiliar. He withers in the kindness and curiosity of her touch.
Rory stops her hand with his own, but holds it there against the carved line of his cheek. He looks at her. Intently. Frozen with her hand held against his cheeks. ‘No,’ his head shakes almost imperceptibly, he wont. He takes a step back, why would she want to? Had she not been in support of the Death Eaters? He pulls her hand away from his face. But she had agreed to dance with him in the first place. Rory smirks coldly, kissing the inside of her palm and curling her fingers around it before letting it go. He smooths his gold embroidered vest and shirt cuffs. “Thanks for the dance lesson, Rich Girl. I think I’ve had my fill sullying your good name. See you at work on Monday,” he gives a curt nod of his head before turning on his heel and skulking off towards the exit. He did hope to see her on Monday and that was the worst part of it.
