laslow·:
his heart flickers when she intertwines her arm against his own. something in his gaze softens with a concoction of affection and bittersweet familiarity, and for a moment laslow wonders to himself if he’s really able to go through with this. she has only been in his presence again for a few fleeting minutes, but he already feels like he might break down and weep in her arms if she shows even the slightest sign of remembrance. ( he wants to ask her why ; why she’s been so cruel to have done this to him. but laslow holds his tongue. he knows he’s the one at fault, the one that left nothing more than an envelope upon their kitchen table that declared his absence, that he has no right to accuse her of such things. )
maybe she found someone to love her better than he did while he was gone. maybe it was better this way, if he never found out.
❛ of course, robin, ❜ he can’t disguise the faint melancholy in his voice, as much as he tries. it’s a feeble attempt. ❛ unfortunately, we have little more than war rations at our campsite at the moment… but i do have a few connections, you know, with the royals. perhaps i can sneak us into the actual kitchen ? do you think you’re any good with cooking, or has that slipped your memory as well, milady ? ❜
he already knows the answer; he asks anyway.
She thinks she might be staring—she doesn’t really know for how long, but long enough that there’s a noticeable pause before she begins to answer his question, too busy trying to figure out just what it was about him that her mind seems fixated on. The look in his eyes and the sound of his voice, both soft in a way that seems to let on more than simply kindness to a stranger, tug at her heartstrings in a way she couldn’t describe, and it’d be an exaggeration to say that it’s driving her mad but ... She supposes that’s some things she’s found out about herself quickly enough; a large dislike for not knowing, combined with a penchant for thinking too much. “Oh, um ... I can’t say I recall,” and there’s some mix of begrudging frustration despite the little bit of laughter she trails off with. “Shocker.”
Whatever feeling she might have about her usefulness in the kitchen could be wrong, couldn’t it? Or maybe she’s misinterpreting something completely. ( or maybe she’s just stubborn, and amnesia isn’t nearly enough for her to forget that either. ) “I suppose we’ll find out soon enough, right? Although— I wouldn’t want to get you into any trouble, sneaking into places. I’m certain rations would be more than enough, really ...”
