His words are honey sweet, and just as thick. The weight of them settles over her body slowly like molasses and envelop her in both comfort and heavy significance. What was the power of a day when before they had felt so inconsequential? Something so finite now feels infinite and endless. What could they do together in that time? What could they be together? She can feel some rugged and sharp parts of her that she had always wanted to conceal becoming polished and new, some locked away parts being cracked open by something akin to hope. If this was possible from one day with Emmett she cannot imagine what was possible the next day or the day after that. Had she deprived herself of this feeling all of her life? And had it been so difficult from her own doing? She had resigned herself so long ago to being perfectly even, never too happy and never too upset. It was no surprise then that most often she was unsatisfied with what life was or what she thought it was supposed to be. But this? What she is overcome with tonight feels almost overwhelming. She cannot name it yet. It is so foreign she fears she doesn’t have the language, or that if she designated a label to it that it might lose its power. What she does know is that she has never wanted to hold onto something so tightly before. What she knows is that now when she pictures a new day, her heart doesn’t feel heavy. Tillie had gone through much of her life so alone. The thought of somebody wanting to share any of it with her now makes her slightly unsteady. But here Emmett was, hopeful, willing, and ready. Sparks of some new electric current flare and twinkle inside of her chest. She gazes into Emmett's eyes, and the promise of change and of solace reflect back at her. Whether from the warm light she senses within him or her burgeoning optimism, she does not know for certain.
Her hand lingers where he has placed it, palm resting softly on the warm skin of his cheek. It surprises her how easily she can fall into all of this touching - the indulgence of closeness and intimacy. Something inside of her has longed for it and was satiated every time they connected. But, dubious from his admission, her hand drops back to her side. Who would not be taken by him? Who could not be charmed? In all of the years they had been at Le Troadec, and in the brief moments she had observed him from afar, she watched the ways it felt like he had everyone wrapped around his finger. She always assumed that it must come very easy to him and that he had grown accustomed to all of the fawning - That he liked it. Before, it had vexed her. Now, she understands. He wasn't trying to be anything more than himself, she knows that now. The magnetism she and everyone else sensed was a part of him, as real as his smile. Her head understood this, but nonetheless, she catches herself still trying to glean the earnestness from his charisma. Without it, she can't stop the nagging feeling that his words, although lovely, were empty and untrue. “I seriously doubt that.” Her eyes stay locked on his as she gives him a playful shove away from her. Shyness is the least of her concern. She is doing tremendous work in her head to fight the thoughts that he enjoyed embarrassing her, or that he reveled in her discomfort. There was, she was slowly figuring out, a childlike part of her that never forgot what it felt like to be picked on, and was always waiting to react to any semblance of that particular sting. She doesn't know why there must always be a battle in her body or why she could not just take Emmett at his word. He had said a sweet thing, so why couldn't she leave it at that? She tries, and swallows the pathetic need to ask him what made her so special. "I'm not shy and i'm not cute. I'm a respectable, even-tempered, normal person." She says, feigning seriousness, but cracking almost instantly under his teasing gaze. "You're the - the cute one." A few muscles in his face color it faintly with a tint of surprise. She smirks. "You think I don't love watching you try to woo me? Yeah. That's cute."
Perhaps on another day, one where she didn't feel so stubborn, she could feel what he feels. She envies how easily it seems to come to him, the pushing desire to discover as much as possible about the unknown, to dive headfirst and damn the rest. But this wasn’t an ordinary quest for knowledge. She can sense the danger it carries the way you can smell rain before a storm. She blinks at him, unsure of whether she should continue to fight or finally resign. As much as she would like to believe in their benevolence, she just doesn't know how much good she can trust everyone wants to do. But she doesn't quite understand why she feels that way. They had done nothing to show her that they could be capable of anything malicious, but when she tries to imagine any of them delving into this the way Emmett wants to, a dark feeling looms in her mind. There is also a deeper fear she isn't ready to admit. That, perhaps, she would not be able to trust herself with all of this. But Emmett's example conjures up different thoughts. She tries to remember something her mother had told her once about her grandfather. She had called him a healer, but Tillie never knew what capacity she spoke of and now it was too late to ask. But then, if maybe someone in her family had done it - could she? She sighs. “Please just promise me a bit of caution.” Tillie whispers, painfully earnest. She can see the glint of something squally within him, something turbulent and wild, but only in certain moments, if the light caught his face just so. Fear rumbles at the base of her stomach for the potentiality of his investment in that energy. When he continues, though, the rumbling eases slightly. She nods her head slowly a few times, a sense of calm resituating itself back in her veins. "You and me" - Like they were already a team, like the essence of them had already become fused into some amorphous being. Emmett-and-Tillie. She smiles at this, and it only widens at the rest of his proposition. "Ah. So definitely... like, not a date or anything..."
Time shifts into something unfamiliar in the moments that follow the blood. One moment she is looking at him with wide, frightened eyes and in the next, her body follows his lead, sitting where prompted and reclining where led. What the hell was going on with her? Never before had she felt such a complete lack of control over her life - her body. For Emmett to see her this way was grotesque. She wants to wave him away, to tell him not to bother, to run away and clean herself up, but he is so gentle. The way he is looking at her and tending to her makes something come further unwound inside of her chest. Perhaps a wave of adoration or a flutter of panic, she cannot tell. She knows that she can't handle more of his concern, his tenderness or his worry. She doesn't know what to do with it. Something about how he comforts her, brushing her hair away from her face, holding her like she is something fragile, and apologizing for something out of his control makes her lightheaded and she is inwardly glad for her head resting on his soft pillow. “Hey,” she tries to interject. She hates that she is the cause of his alarm and doesn’t know how to help him feel better. On another night she could laugh about it, but the last of her sense of humor has seeped out onto the sleeve of his shirt. "Emmett, Emmett, I'm fine. Really. I'm okay. See?" She offers a small smile, but ends up wincing through it. Dammit. "It's not your fault. I promise."
She does laugh a little, despite how mortified she is and takes the glass from his hand. The water is a cool relief, but she almost chokes on it as he strips off his shirt. He had done it so quickly, so casually, she doesn’t have time to process how crazed she feels. Tillie eyes him intently. “Well, i'm not complaining,” she says plainly. There was no use being coy about it. The situation they'd found themselves in was much too ridiculous to be shy about something like this now. And she really did enjoy looking, even though she was trying her hardest to resist making it too obvious that she keeps sneaking glances at the warm light carving out the hilly contours of the muscles on his arms and his chest. She tries to look away before he notices, though is certain she's likely already been found out. "But thank you. I am sorry about your shirt, though. I can get you a new one, if you like." The recent memory flashes back to her mind of him racing to her and offering up his arm without hesitation. No one had ever risked anything to protect her like that before. She shakes the thought away, afraid of lingering on the sentiment too long and summoning tears. “Thank you.” She says again soberly.
The nosebleeds hadn’t concerned her much until now. She honestly couldn’t remember the last time she’d had a nosebleed before all of this, but her strongest guess would be some distant instance in her childhood. She had always been exceptionally healthy, never suffering from any unexpected malady and she had attributed it to fastidiously managing her wellness. But in the deeper reaches of her mind is the truth that she had never wanted to be burdensome. Even now she is fighting herself to be cared for and cared about. "Yes. No. I mean, I don’t know. Only recently. But I'm sure the air is just drying out as winter rears its head." He isn’t convinced, so she shrugs to further prove her nonchalance. "I'm fine. This is just really embarrassing.” She says the last part with a bit more conviction and it isn’t a lie. The first time she was in his bed and she is a frazzled mess, covered in her own blood. She couldn’t quite think of anything worse. “Maybe I should take my shirt off too and make things less awkward.” She says, putting the glass down on his nightstand. She hadn’t meant it as a joke, but the air of surprise and the bit of silence that hung between them brought instant regret. Her cheeks flush deep red and the heat of them pull her back down to Earth. “Sorry. Sorry, I don’t know why I said that.” She says bashfully, blurting out anything before he has the chance to. "But I - I did get blood on mine and - well, if you don't mind maybe I could borrow one of yours for the night." She hadn’t fully considered what spending the night might look like until now. What was appropriate and what was too much, she couldn’t say. But the thought of laying on his bare chest and sleeping soundly in one of his worn in pajama shirts makes her heart pound in her ears. Her cheeks turn a deeper shade of red.
"I seriously doubt that." The shove is as playful as it is insistent. The unexpectedness of the gesture causes an involuntary laugh to bubble up out of him. He stares at her slightly amused and bewildered. As much as he wants to deny it and play coy, Emmett can sense that it would be of no use - Tillie has already called his bluff. Her eyes travel around his face, searching for the cracks in the facade. It makes him feel somewhat squirmy and his skin tingles with a slight itch. Despite his reluctance to admit to it, Emmett has, in many ways throughout his life, lead with that charm. It has become a protective armor of sorts - the rug that everything else gets shoved underneath. Without it, he is everything that others desire for him to not be. Sullen. Moody. Reclusive. He realizes that even now, standing here with Tillie, he is performing to some degree. Emmett desperately wants to impress her and yet that is constantly at odds with his desire to be truly seen. The thought of this causes a memory to float to the surface of his mind - one he instantly wishes to turn away from. However, its' vividness swiftly takes hold of his senses. "You know, I used to really think you were rather charming...." Sasha's voice is so palpable to him, as if he were truly in the room. "Now I see you for what you really are. Pathetic. Afraid." Emmett shakes his head, as if that will make the painful recollection disappear.
"Alright, well, you caught me." Emmett attempts to put a smile on his face, but only one corner of his mouth will hold it, his ears still ringing. He can feel a heaviness rolling in like a storm cloud over his body. "Everyone thinks I'm charming because I want them to think that. So, yes, naturally I hear that a lot." He shrugs, attempting to appear nonchalant, but his eyes still drop to his feet. He hesitates, momentarily regretting the bluntness of that statement. "Not that I'm - I don't know." he huffs, a bit impatient with himself to find the right words. "I like that you think I'm charming, don't get me wrong. I suppose I am. I guess I sort of want that to be the first thing on everyone's minds when they think of me and not - well, not....other things." Emmett can hear the melancholy in his tone and he detests it. He knows he's being vague, but he is slowly beginning to feel like an open wound the more he picks at the sutures. Emmett is quietly thankful for the playful mood shift from Tillie and he lets it sway him from the depressive lull nipping at his heels. He know she's teasing him, but he still blushes when she calls him cute. "So you think I'm cute, is what I'm hearing and I should keep it up." Emmett smiles and it feels genuine this time.
Emmett can hear the anxiety in her voice and he immediately feels himself nodding before he can think, desperate to alleviate these feelings of worry from her mind. "Yes. Of course." He finds himself feeling grateful for their conversation and the way it has dampened his feverish momentum. Lost in his own echo chamber for weeks, it had been difficult to put the brakes on his endless searching. Witnessing this hesitancy from Tillie reminds him that perhaps he's forgotten to let himself feel that way - too steeped in the research to be doubtful. Deep down, he knows that she is right to be treading so carefully. Emmett's ears perk up at the word "date". It rushes through him like a welcome breeze on a hot day. His stomach flips nervously at the idea that she would even want to go on a date with him. Emmett thinks back to the first time he'd ever considered asking her on a date, quickly deciding against it however, given their intense and rather unforgiving dynamic at the time. Against all odds, another chance has come his way. "Sort of like a study date." he smirks to himself. "But I'd love to take you on an actual date sometime....y'know, outside of our studies."
His heart aches watching her venture to convince him that she's okay. She doesn't want him to worry, he senses that. It's obvious enough. Pangs of sadness poke and prod at him as he ponders this even further. Did she feel like an inconvenience for needing comfort? Care? Emmett fusses over her regardless, catching the momentary wince that contorts her face. "Fuck the shirt. Don't even worry about the shirt. I'm just glad you're alright." Relief floods his body watching Tillie drink water. He pets her hair slowly. The bleeding has slowed now and he could feel his heart-rate slow with it. The quiet way her voice cracks as she says "thank you", the tears blooming in her eyes - Emmett draws his brows together, perplexed. Still, he reaches out to gently stroke her cheek with the pad of his thumb. "It's okay." His voice is low and soothing. He can feel it welling up inside of her. The shame she feels. "It's not too much. I just want to make sure you're alright."
Tillie's eyes keep flitting to his arms and his chest, which Emmett has forgotten are now bare. Confusion gives way to understanding - he smiles to himself, unable to contain how good he feels underneath her gaze. In spite of the seriousness of the moment, he cannot fight the fact that he longs to be desired by her, in that way. Luckily, Emmett is re-grounded in reality by Tillie's explanation before his mind has long enough to escape him. Emmett shoots her a look of disbelief and internally, something tugs at him, but he doesn't push the topic any further. Emmett's mind flashes with images that he cannot make sense of in the moment. He stashes them away for later. "Hm. Well, let's keep an eye on them, especially if they become more persistent." He can play along for now.
Emmett blinks a few times slowly. He is certain he could not have heard that right, but she stares at him with a shy flirtatious glint in her eyes. As the initial shock wears off, his gaze begins to reflect it too. There is a moment of silent yearning between them before he nods his head. "I don't mind at all." Emmett digs through his dresser drawers until he finds a faded, soft black t-shirt with white lettering that is faded from many years of wear. He sits back down on the bed, handing it to her. "Will this be okay?" Despite the stressful chain of events preceding this moment, he can only think about Tillie in his bed now. Tillie sleeping in his shirt. Tillie curled up on his chest, sleeping soundly. His brain turns to foam as she begins to take her shirt off.
