she’s observing him shamelessly in the sunlight that glances off bronze skin. he’s distracted, fiddling with the edges of his sleeves in that dumb way of his as if trying to hide his own fingers from view. maybe it has something to do with the flecks of paint inked into and underneath fingernails. but he should know out of everyone, she could care less. as long as he takes a shower every once in awhile and doesn’t smell, he can keep his hands dirty.
though she’ll never admit it, she likes it when his hands are covered in paint. likes to think he’s spent all day at the easel where he’s most relaxed, most focused, most at peace. it puts the tense knots between her own shoulders at ease ~maybe a product of the parabatai bond~ but it helps her anyway.
“stop fidgeting,” she chides, gently tapping the arm closest to hers. “they’ll be here, okay?”
@notfated | pre-plotted starter
