Hold still. I mean it. Hold still.
BLOOD ON YOUR SLEEVE, accepting; @shokwav.
❝ no, i'm fine. really! i mean it, you don't have to── ❞
she's already batting his hands away before the first complaint is uttered, lightest of kitten slaps, the dredge of hope welling up inside her uncomfortable. feverish under the skin, prickling. like he might take her dismissals and leave her to it. like he might listen to her for once. he doesn't, and she isn't as shocked as she thought she'd be; no, what settles is compromise. tired eyes, weary from overwork and over worries she'd never state outright, and a lip that is far too pouty for a woman her age. she wants to be irritated, she should be, and maybe a part of her is somewhere when his fingers go to touch the raging wound on her lower arm toward the dip of her elbow; blood gleaming in its' red and golden oil slick light, what flows is amber.
she goes to nudge him away again with a sigh, half heartedly. as though enough attempts may make him give. she could handle it herself, she always did, she wasn't a child! she... just slipped up. should've known to be more careful, quicker, less tired, do better ── she's trying her best! ── being the foundation to hold the hotel, the team together and this... how was she supposed to be responsible for so many when all she did was fuck up? too little sleep, back and forth attendance to her guests and her friends, and too many glasses of wine when she really should've put it down. her very own recipe for clumsy disaster.
her shoulders are tense, uninjured arm forced down by her side in their unclench to clench cycle as though her palms were breathing where she wasn't. waiting for a pin to drop that never did. as if he might see behind the droop of her eyes, or the subtle tangled mess of her hair, and call her a failure again. maybe he'd be right. but ...
when she studies him ── quiet for once save the jiggle off her foot. his blue light an almost holy glow that shelters her, his voice stern in a way that almost wants to make her roll her eyes; lacking the derision she saw that day by half, though still not quite gone... she can't help it. the grin that tugs at her lips in spite of herself. an exhausted smile; a smile with secrets privy only to her. there is no vindication here, only... warmth. you aren't such a bad guy after all, vox.
❝ ... and here i thought you hated me. ❞ is what she says instead, teasing. playful, a not quite laugh tucked behind her teeth.
❝ all that bite, but y'know what i think? ... you're growing fond of meee! ❞
she lullabies like a child, a breath at the end of her words resembling something, maybe something, like the smallest scrap of relief she can find to let go of.
