The moment he blurts out his consent, Joan finally exhales. She’s been keeping her breath through the few moments silence had kept between them simply because she was afraid of having overdone it. With time, she aknowledged that some matters require time with him---and that affection was one of them. She isn’t a particularily patient person, but she is making a subtle effort; but there isn’t really any effort she wouldn’t make for Jean.
However, eventually, things must happen, right? So she decided to act on it, with the needed gentleness. The thing is she didn’t expect him to enable her suggestion.
Joan’s left with his back facing her, and even through that dark messy hair, she can see that his ears are pinker than they were before she asked---he’s definitely embarassed, and this prompts her to feel a little embarassed, too. But it doesn’t stop her from observing, for a moment, the tattoo in front of her.
Joan has always thought that tattoos need to have a meaning, and she wonders what his might be. His meaning for these wings. She finds them absolutely enthralling, and fascinating---enough for her to lie about it. She did see it properly ( in more than one occasion ), but she wanted an excuse to touch it. After a soft hum and a purse of lips, finally she gets closer to the skin; and her slim fingers ghostly caress the inked back.
“It’s so nice...” she blurts out, absent-mindedly. “It fits you.” her index keeps tracing slowly the wings’ outer lines, purely mesmerized by the slight difference the ink causes. The untainted skin feels different, somehow. “What does it mean? Why did you get it?”