A gentle grin rested on his lips and he nodded a bit, allowing that to conclude the conversation about her mother. A small chuckle escaped his lips at her reaction, and he pulled his lip between his teeth, squinting slightly as he considered what she might mean. Jetlag, of course, was something one would experience if their sleeping schedule had only ever been suited to their timezone. “Yeah, I get what you mean.” He said, though he didn’t exactly relate. His eyelids had felt heavy since arriving. Elijah had been to America a few times growing up and always remembered feeling exhausted however, perhaps it had something to do with the fact that his stay this time would be somewhat of a permanent one— or at least long term and indefinite— that it seemed to actually affect him this time. “But, yeah… England.” He repeated in a breeze of laughter. “It’s a bit far, but I think that was intentional.”
Elijah blinked slowly when she explained that he was her first friend since she was nine years old. He wasn’t certain of her age now but he thought it would be a safe guess to say that would mean he was her first friend in over a decade. He sensed some sort of insecurity in her when she admitted this to him and couldn’t help but wonder what she thought he would think with this piece of information. Sitting up again, he put his hands in his lap and his eyes focused on her bit steadier than they had been a moment before. It probably shouldn’t have but the idea intrigued him more than scared him again. If the boy was being honest, it made him curious, and almost edged him in the direction of finding out exactly what her life had been like. “Why don’t people like you?” He murmured; his eyes drifting to her lips briefly.
The boy’s eyes lit up at the sight of her flushing cheeks and a friendly grin rose to his lips. “No…” his tone was incredulous, and for a brief moment he thought she might have been joking. “You made that dress?” He said, gesturing to the one she had on. Without much of a pause or warning, Elijah reached out to feel the material along the hem of her dress. “It’s so nice,” he offered simply, pulling his hand away. “I definitely wouldn’t have been able to tell.” The glimmer in the girl’s eyes was unmistakable. His brows pulled together a bit and a bit of laughter escaped. It wasn’t usual for someone to be so excited about sports, at least, not someone who hadn’t been particularly passionate about them themselves. “No, I mean… yeah, I could teach you! —There are few I’m not too sharp on but uh– which were you thinking?” At her following question, a quick smirk lifted a corner of his lips, but not at the question exactly, at the clear enthusiasm, and her slight shuffle toward him. Shifting his gaze to the ceiling, Elijah thought for a moment before returning his eyes to hers. “J. R. R. Tolkien, mainly… and not just because I’ve had years to develop my outrageous obsession with Lord of the Rings.” He explained briefly. Much briefer than he expected he could have. “Other than that, I’ve probably read Lord of the Flies a few too many times…” His gaze skirted along her features and he scooted a bit toward her now. “What about you?”
A look that seemed similar to a bemused child overcame her when Eli confirmed he did, in fact, come from England. “I--I used to have this, it was a book for photos, but I--I filled it with post cards. The ones that... The England ones, they were very pretty.” It was becoming more and more apparent that Sylvi’s hobbies were highly solitary in nature. Post card collecting came from her Father, who used to grab her ones when he traveled. He spent a lot of time in England and often she wondered if maybe he was there now. The slightest shake of her head occurred, trying to push it from her mind. “Did you--You didn’t like it... there?” she questioned, wondering why anyone would choose to leave.
Trying to explain out loud why people didn’t like her was difficult. She wasn’t entirely sure, all her assumptions were just that: assumptions. Flopping backwards into the bed, she laid there, staring up at the ceiling while piecing together a good enough sentence. “I grew up... N-Not really with people. Mom was--She got hurt. I had to... care for her.” She bit her lip when she realized it was generally her mother and the abuse she brought down on Sylvi that made people dislike her. “My upbringing... I-I panic. Get anxious. I don’t--It’s hard to follow people sometimes. I normally just... They don’t want to deal w-with me.” She sighed out, hoping that made a lick of sense to the boy. “I’m--I’m different, and people don’t deal with, with different.” That was the conclusion, along with her scrunched up face looking at the bare ceiling.
Elijah touching the dress triggered an immediate jolt in the direction opposite him. Sylvi couldn’t tell if it was because of the dress, him, or the fact a boy had reach out and grabbed any bit of her clothing. Exhaling out after being spooked, she sat back up and looked to him with an apologetic smile. “Er--S-Sorry. But yes... I made most of my clothes.” The hobby started out of necessity; Her mother was never keen on buying new clothes and just gave her old, unfitting ones from family and friends. “I-I picked it up re-purposing hand-me-downs and... I guess I--It never stopped.” She hadn’t thought much before on it, even after she could have a job and buy clothing, she still preferred to make them.
The compliments were starting to cause a consistent blush on her face, which she hoped he was ignoring. When Elijah mentioned teaching her sports and agreeing to it, it only got worse. “A-Any is fine, really! Whatever you’re--What you’re most comfortable with I suppose.” Sylvi hadn’t actually thought he would agree, and her heart rate was reflecting that. He almost seemed too good to be true, like it was some sick joke. The thought made her feel ill, wrapping her arms around her body in such a way to soothe her anxiousness in a self embrace. Calm down. Smiling through the mild panic, she was pleased at the book choice. “J. R. R. Tolkien is--is good,” a small laugh mixed with nervousness and joy came out. Sylvi didn’t even need to think on a favorite author. “V-Vladimir Nabokov, a lot of his stuff--He’s my favorite. He’s most well-known for, uhm, Lolita, I-I dunno if you’re familiar.” Many people who were younger had issues justifying reading Lolita purely based on it’s plot summaries.She’d be surprised if Elijah had read it.
