Ailwin’s gaze dropped to Flea’s open hand, the faintest flicker of surprise crossing his face before it melted away. It wasn’t just a hand extended—it was a bridge, a raw, vulnerable invitation offered without expectation or pressure. Flea’s hands had seen as much of life’s brutality as his, marked by hard-won survival and as guarded as his own. And here they were, willing to offer what little they could in a world that often demanded everything. He had spent years living without a place to call home, yet somehow in this small, candle-lit room with Flea, he felt a fleeting sense of it.
He took a slow breath, steeling himself against the instinct to retreat from the offer. This was her, real and unarmored, trusting him enough to let him into her world. He respected that too much to turn away. Gently, with a tenderness he rarely permitted himself, he reached out and let his fingers brush against hers, resting there with the unhurried grace of someone who knew that trust was more fragile than any glass.
He let the silence stretch, comfortable and steady, letting the simplicity of the gesture speak the things he found difficult to say aloud. He knew, better than most, how words could be slippery things, full of promises they couldn’t always keep. And with Flea, he found he didn’t need them to make himself understood. Actions had always come easier to him, and here, it was enough to let his hand rest in hers.
After a moment, he gave her fingers a slight, reassuring squeeze. He was saying yes—to the walk, to this fragile companionship, to the tentative journey they’d started, unsure of where it might lead but willing to see it through.
For tonight, and maybe longer, they had each other.
@Little Flea
He took a slow breath, steeling himself against the instinct to retreat from the offer. This was her, real and unarmored, trusting him enough to let him into her world. He respected that too much to turn away. Gently, with a tenderness he rarely permitted himself, he reached out and let his fingers brush against hers, resting there with the unhurried grace of someone who knew that trust was more fragile than any glass.
You’re not a fool,he said softly, letting the warmth of her hand ground him.
Far from it, Flea. You’re tougher than most, and if there’s anyone who deserves to find some peace in this world, it’s you.
He let the silence stretch, comfortable and steady, letting the simplicity of the gesture speak the things he found difficult to say aloud. He knew, better than most, how words could be slippery things, full of promises they couldn’t always keep. And with Flea, he found he didn’t need them to make himself understood. Actions had always come easier to him, and here, it was enough to let his hand rest in hers.
After a moment, he gave her fingers a slight, reassuring squeeze. He was saying yes—to the walk, to this fragile companionship, to the tentative journey they’d started, unsure of where it might lead but willing to see it through.
Let’s take that walk,he murmured, his voice low, his expression unwavering. And though he didn’t say it, he knew that wherever that walk led them, he would be by her side, each step a silent promise.
For tonight, and maybe longer, they had each other.
@Little Flea
10-14-2024, 01:12 PM
