[His fingers twitch on the table when she reaches out. Chin lifting on reflex, eyes narrow. Not just because if she moves too fast or pushes too far, she could break his jaw. Snap his neck. Cave his skull into his brainpan. (And that's always been true, but it hadn't yet actively crossed the boarder into a threat.) Just for that, it would be tempting to be the one to blink first. Fold and flinch away. Grab her wrist to stop it—as if it would matter, if she really wanted to push past it.
But as shifts in tone go, this isn't a subtle one. The honesty is, by default, a more familiar look on her than the careful composure—and it makes his teeth itch even more. At least the implied hostility made it easier to know where they stand. Without it, this is not a situation he has very much control over. He's playing Ghost of Christmas Past, but she's got all the cards.
He doesn't need to know what they say to figure that slow, sad look isn't really meant for him.
And that's the real straw that has him sitting back, shying just out of reach. He doesn't take his eyes off her for a second. It shouldn't be that strange on its own right—she's always been a touchy girl. But like the easy confidence and the scar under her eye, the gesture is just off book enough to add up to someone else entirely.]
Six months.
[More or less. Maybe if it had been years, he'd have a better idea how to navigate this. Ramir as he knows her is a friend—he's at least admitted that much to himself by now. He certainly hadn't made it very easy for her. Can he claim to know her well enough to predict her this far down the line? That's not a leap he's ready to put money on.]
no subject
But as shifts in tone go, this isn't a subtle one. The honesty is, by default, a more familiar look on her than the careful composure—and it makes his teeth itch even more. At least the implied hostility made it easier to know where they stand. Without it, this is not a situation he has very much control over. He's playing Ghost of Christmas Past, but she's got all the cards.
He doesn't need to know what they say to figure that slow, sad look isn't really meant for him.
And that's the real straw that has him sitting back, shying just out of reach. He doesn't take his eyes off her for a second. It shouldn't be that strange on its own right—she's always been a touchy girl. But like the easy confidence and the scar under her eye, the gesture is just off book enough to add up to someone else entirely.]
Six months.
[More or less. Maybe if it had been years, he'd have a better idea how to navigate this. Ramir as he knows her is a friend—he's at least admitted that much to himself by now. He certainly hadn't made it very easy for her. Can he claim to know her well enough to predict her this far down the line? That's not a leap he's ready to put money on.]