| |
|
Alorha’s smile lingered as Sage spoke, something soft and genuine settling into her expression as she watched him wake more fully, his voice still rough with sleep and threaded with that quiet, familiar humor she was beginning to recognize. There was something steadying in it, in the way he understood without needing much explanation, the shared acknowledgment of restless thoughts passing easily between them. “That sounds like dangerous advice,” she replied lightly when he told her she would have to learn to quiet her mind, her tone warm with quiet amusement as she tipped her head just slightly. “If I manage that too quickly, I might become entirely unbearable.” The words were playful, but there was a steadiness behind them now, a subtle shift from the unease that had woken her earlier into something more balanced, something willing to meet the day rather than shy away from it. Her gaze followed him as he sat up and began attempting to deal with his hair, and the moment he started pushing loose strands out of his face, her amusement returned in full. She didn’t interrupt, didn’t offer to help, but there was a quiet brightness in her expression as she watched him realize just how much of a mess it had become. “I think you’re discovering the consequences of your own decisions,” she remarked, her voice light, almost thoughtful, though the hint of a smile at the corner of her mouth made it clear she was enjoying it. There was something easy about this—standing there, watching him wrestle with something as simple as tangled hair, letting the morning stretch just a little longer before responsibility came calling. It felt normal in a way the rest of the castle rarely did. As he moved to sit and work through it properly, her attention drifted for a moment, her eyes tracing the room again in the clearer light of morning. The changes they had made the night before felt more real now, more settled. The green tones caught the sunlight in soft, shifting ways, easing the heaviness that had once filled the space, and she found herself pausing just long enough to appreciate it. It was still the same room, still within the same castle, but it no longer felt entirely чужд—no longer something she had simply been placed into. It was beginning to feel shaped, intentional, touched by something of their own making. When Sage spoke again, outlining his plans for the day, her attention returned to him easily, her posture relaxed as she considered it. “You make it sound far more dramatic than it is,” she replied lightly when he mentioned the inevitable mess, though there was a quiet understanding beneath the words. “But I suppose it might be wise to leave you to it if you’re planning to wage war on the walls.” Her tone carried a soft thread of humor, though she nodded after a moment, accepting the rhythm of the day as it settled into place. “The meetings first,” she added, more thoughtfully now, her gaze flicking briefly toward the door as if already aware of what waited beyond it. The nerves were still there, faint but persistent, though no longer sharp enough to unsettle her entirely. “And after that…” she continued, her voice softening just slightly as her thoughts shifted to something far more pleasant, “…I think I would like to go back to the gardens. Or the greenhouses.” A small, genuine warmth returned to her expression at the thought, the memory of fresh air and sunlight cutting cleanly through the heavier expectations of the castle. “There’s still quite a lot we didn’t see.” She moved then, beginning to gather what she would need for the morning, her motions unhurried but purposeful as she adjusted her sleeves and smoothed the fabric absentmindedly. The earlier panic had faded into something quieter, something manageable, and while the weight of the day still lingered at the edges of her thoughts, it no longer felt overwhelming. Instead, it felt like something she could step into—carefully, perhaps, but willingly all the same. One step at a time still counted. And this morning, at least, felt like a good place to start. |
|
|
| |
|
Sage chuckled softly when she mentioned he might be giving her dangerous advice, just shaking his head slightly in faint amusement. "Maybe, but it's worked well enough for me so far," he noted with a grin as he'd moved to shift off the end and towards the chair he then settled on to work at his hair. Her comment about the consequences of his own decisions made him wrinkled his nose slightly, though he obviously wasn't actually upset with her or anything like that. He did throw her a mock offended look, huffing out a heavy breath as he pulled the brush along the very tangled strands. "Yeah, I'm getting that," he grumbled, though he couldn't keep the slight grin off his face despite it all. As she called him dramatic though,he just laughed. "You've got no idea," he noted with a grin. "But it will get pretty dusty in here, and rusty shards of stuff are going to get going around," he added with a shrug. "I'd rather be safe than sorry and take an eye out with a rusty nail or something," he mused. He doubted that would actually happen ...but if he was worrying about something like that happening it would be much harder to actually do the stuff and get the window open. Besides, it was a nice day, so he figured she'd enjoy exploring the gardens and stuff a little bit more. That would give him time to work on the surprise he'd been planning too, for their room ....which he was honestly very excited about, though he couldn't give anything away or she'd figure out he was planning something. He was about halfway through his hair by then, so he tossed the now brushed out strands over his shoulder, bringing the other half around to start working on that as well. "I'll grab breakfast soon," he thought out loud. "Then we have a meeting at ten, and one at noon ....then we can have lunch," he added, trying to plan out the day so far. "If you'd prefer to take lunch outside with you I'd be fine with that too," he added. He could eat quick and then get to work. It took another ten minutes or so before his hair was combed out, so he hurried to get ready a bit more once that was done. His hair style and outfit weren't as ornate as they were before.....he was slowly using less and less stuff to try and make life easier for himself without the rest of the nobles noticing and being cranky about it. It was working so far, though he wasn't sure how long it would last either. It was maybe half an hour before he slipped out of the room to grab the breakfast tray, and was back in the room pretty quickly. They had about an hour or so to eat and such before the meeting at that point, which he figured was a pretty good amount of time. They didn't need to rush to eat or anything. |
|  |
|
| |
|
Alorha’s smile lingered easily as Sage responded, the quiet humor in his voice drawing a softer warmth into her expression as she watched him settle into the task of untangling his hair. There was something grounding about moments like this, something that made the looming weight of the day feel just a little more distant, even if only for a while. “If that’s your measure of success, I may need to lower my expectations,” she replied lightly, her tone teasing but gentle, the faint curve of her smile making it clear she wasn’t truly challenging him. It was easier now to fall into this rhythm with him, to let the conversation move naturally without the careful restraint that had once defined it. When he gave her that mock-offended look, she lifted her brows just slightly in return, clearly unimpressed in the most playful way possible. “Oh no,” she said, her voice carrying a soft note of dry amusement, “the consequences of your own actions. How terribly unfair.” The words were light, but her gaze lingered on him for a moment longer, quietly amused by the way he couldn’t quite hide his grin even as he complained. It was such a small thing, really, but it made the room feel brighter in a way that had nothing to do with the sunlight spilling through the windows. As he explained his reasoning about the windows and the mess it might cause, her expression shifted into something more thoughtful, though the warmth didn’t leave it entirely. “That does sound like the sort of disaster I’d prefer to avoid,” she admitted, her tone softening slightly as she considered it. “I think I would rather not spend the afternoon explaining to the court how I lost an eye to redecorating.” There was still humor there, but she nodded after a moment, accepting his logic even as she glanced briefly toward the windows themselves, as though imagining the effort it would take to force them open after so long. Her attention returned to him as he began outlining the day, and she listened more closely now, the earlier ease settling into something a touch more focused as reality gently reasserted itself. “Ten and noon,” she repeated quietly, more to herself than anything, committing it to memory as she considered what lay ahead. The nerves stirred faintly again at the thought of stepping back into those rooms, but they didn’t rise as sharply as they had before. Instead, they sat just beneath the surface, something she could acknowledge without letting it take control. “Lunch outside sounds… nice,” she added after a moment, her tone softening again as her thoughts drifted briefly toward the gardens, toward something lighter waiting at the end of the more formal part of the day. She moved then, continuing her own preparations with quiet efficiency, smoothing her sleeves and adjusting small details with practiced care as she let him finish with his hair. Her gaze flicked toward him once or twice, noting the way his appearance had subtly changed—less elaborate than before, though still carefully put together. It was a small shift, but not one she missed, and she found herself quietly approving of it without needing to say so aloud. When he slipped out to retrieve breakfast, the room fell briefly quiet again, and Alorha took that time to steady herself once more, her hands pausing for just a moment against the fabric at her wrist as she drew a slow breath. The day was beginning in earnest now. Meetings, expectations, decisions. But when Sage returned with the tray, the quiet sense of normalcy came back with him, and she turned toward him with a small, genuine smile as he set everything down. “Perfect timing,” she said lightly, stepping closer as the faint scent of food filled the room. There was something reassuring in it, in the simple act of sharing a meal before everything else began. It gave the morning structure, something familiar to hold onto before stepping back into unfamiliar ground. She settled near the table, her posture relaxed despite the lingering awareness of what was coming next, and allowed herself to focus, just for a little while longer, on something uncomplicated. |
|
|
| |
|
Sage couldn't help but laugh at her comments about lowering her expectations, shaking his hand slightly. "No, don't do that," he chuckled. "Those are important to have," he added, amusement still heavy in his voice. "I'm just a goof who doesn't have any because people are stupid," he noted, still mostly joking around. But only mostly....he'd learned not to have expectations long ago. But maybe he had more freedom now so he might form some expectations. He supposed he had a few already - like he expected Alorha to back him up if any of the nobles or noblewomen tried to hurt him or force him into anything like that. He just gave her a mock look of offense as she mentioned the consequences of his own actions, shaking his head as he finished yanking the brush through his hair and picked out the hair from the brush, since he'd yanked out more than a few of them while detangling it all. He hummed softly in agreement to the rest of her comments, glancing over at the window again. "Yeah," he hummed. "I don't even want to think about how they'd all respond to that," he added with a wince. As she mentioned liking to eat lunch outside, he just have her a grin as he headed for the door. "When I grab it later I'll tell the cooks to make it to go for you," he chirped lightly before slipping out the door to grab breakfast. He was back in only a few minutes, offering Alorha a grin when she spoke up. "We've got about an hour," he noted, placing the tray on the table and plopping down on his normal chair, tossing a berry in his mouth. "Eat up," he added lightly. He was in a good mood, he supposed....maybe it was because they'd had a good time last night painting. Maybe it was because he was excited to work at the windows and rest of the room. Maybe it was a bit of everything. He wasn't sure, really, but he was glad of it. |
| |
|
| |
|
Alorha couldn’t help the small, bright laugh that slipped from her as Sage brushed off her comment about expectations, his easy humor tugging something lighter in her chest despite the quiet weight that still lingered from the morning. “Oh, I don’t know,” she replied, settling into her chair as he set the tray down, her tone warm and teasing. “Lowering them slightly might be a survival skill in this place.” Even so, she let the moment soften rather than linger too long, turning her attention to the breakfast in front of her. The simple act of eating grounded her, giving her something steady to focus on before the day inevitably pulled her back into the structure and scrutiny of the castle. She found herself glancing at him once or twice as they ate—watching how easily he moved, how much lighter he seemed than when they had first begun speaking like this—and something about that made her feel a little steadier too, even if she didn’t entirely understand why. Time passed quickly, as it always seemed to in the mornings, and soon enough she was setting her food aside, brushing her hands lightly against her skirts as she stood. The earlier calm didn’t vanish entirely, but she could feel the shift beginning again—that subtle tightening in her chest as her thoughts turned toward the meetings waiting ahead. Still, it wasn’t as sharp as it had been before. She drew in a slow breath, steadying herself, and turned toward Sage with a small, composed smile. “I should go,” she said gently, her voice quieter now but no less certain. “You don’t need to come to this one—I’ll manage.” The words felt important, even if they were simple. Not a dismissal, but a decision. A small step forward. The walk through the castle felt different without him at her side. Not worse, exactly—but more exposed. The corridors seemed longer, the silence between passing footsteps more noticeable, and the occasional glance from servants or nobles carried a little more weight without the quiet reassurance of his presence just behind her. Still, she kept her posture straight, her steps measured and steady as she moved through the halls with practiced composure. She was beginning to understand how much of this role was not about certainty, but about appearing certain anyway. And so she did. When she reached the meeting chamber, the doors were already open, voices drifting out in a low murmur that quieted slightly as she entered. This room was smaller than the last, more contained, with fewer nobles gathered around a shorter table scattered with parchment and ink rather than large maps. Administrative matters, she guessed again—but that didn’t make them simpler. If anything, the lack of a clear focal point made it feel more intricate, more dependent on careful listening than bold decisions. She moved to her seat without hesitation, smoothing her hands lightly against the table as she sat, her gaze lowering briefly to the documents before her. Without Sage nearby, she felt the absence more than she had expected—not sharply, not enough to unbalance her, but enough to notice. Enough to make her straighten just a little more, as though compensating for it. The meeting began quickly, voices weaving together in discussion over supply inventories, taxation adjustments, and disputes between smaller regions that required mediation rather than force. At first, it felt like too much again—too many details layered over one another—but this time she didn’t let it overwhelm her. Instead, she focused on what she could follow. She listened. Not just to the words, but to the patterns beneath them—who interrupted, who waited, who was heard when they spoke. Without meaning to, she found herself searching for the same kind of structure she had relied on before—the quiet guidance of someone beside her—but when she didn’t find it, she adjusted. Her fingers rested lightly against the edge of the table as she leaned forward just slightly, anchoring herself in the present moment instead of letting her thoughts spiral ahead. When a disagreement began to form over the allocation of resources to repair a failing irrigation system in one of the outer territories, the conversation started to circle—voices repeating points, tension building without resolution. Alorha felt that familiar hesitation rise again, the instinct to remain quiet and let them resolve it themselves, but she didn’t retreat from it this time. Instead, she let the silence stretch just enough before she spoke, her voice calm and steady despite the faint flutter in her chest. “If the system fails entirely,” she said, her gaze moving between the speakers, “then the cost will be greater than the repair. Not just in coin, but in lost harvests.” She paused briefly, not faltering, just measuring her words. “Would it not be wiser to act before it reaches that point?” The room stilled—not dramatically, but noticeably. A few of the nobles shifted their attention toward her, and for a brief moment she felt that old flicker of doubt press in again. But it didn’t take hold. One of the older advisors nodded slowly, his expression thoughtful. “Preventative action is often less costly in the long term.” The conversation shifted after that. Not because she had commanded it—but because she had contributed to it. And that, she realized quietly, was enough. The rest of the meeting passed more smoothly. She spoke when she needed to, listened when she didn’t, and found that the rhythm of it all came a little easier without her overthinking every moment. It wasn’t perfect. She still felt out of place at times, still caught herself second-guessing—but she didn’t freeze. She didn’t withdraw. By the time it ended, she felt something new settling in alongside the lingering nerves. Not confidence. But the beginning of it. As she stood and stepped away from the table, her fingers brushing lightly against the fabric of her sleeve, she let out a slow breath and allowed herself the smallest, quietest smile. There was still another meeting ahead, still more to face—but this time, as she turned toward the door and stepped back into the corridor alone, she didn’t feel quite as unsteady as before. |
|
|
| |
|
Sage had chuckled slightly at Alorha's comment, just shaking his head in amusement. "Maybe," he noted. "But then again you make the rules for this place, so maybe you don't need to," he added with a shrug. He popped another piece of fruit into his mouth, a grin lingering on his face. He nodded when she mentioned she could go to this meeting alone, grunting in agreement. "I can work on the window while you're gone," he agreed lightly, shifting to throw another fruit in his mouth. She was gone soon after they'd finished eating, and he'd moved to clean up before settling in to work on the window. It actually didn't take as much work as he'd anticipated....most of the rust was flaky enough to chip off without too much trouble. Once that was done, he left it propped open and moved to mix up some other paints, to work on the accent wall. It was a vine design, one that he hoped Alorha would like. It was because of her old story about her bean plants back home - maybe this would make her feel more like she was in her old room. It wasn't just painting on vines though....he'd made pots out of the clay when he had a chance here and there. Well, half pots really, cut in half so he could attach them to the wall. And that's exactly what he did...attach them to the accent wall and plant beans in them. The plants themselves weren't very big yet, but there were small hooks along the ones he'd painted, so they would grow along them. The panted ones looked pretty real too, so he hoped Alorha would like it. He took most of the time before lunch doing that, and while he'd finished before she'd walked into the room, he still had messy brushes and clay on him, so he sort of froze when she walked in and then gave her a sheepish grin. "I uh, I finished," he noted, clearing his throat slightly. He just really hoped she liked it. "I'll clean up and then get lunch," he added quickly, hurrying to work at washing out the brushes and cleaning up the supplies scattered all over the room, face red. He wasn't sure why he was blushing....maybe it was because he'd done this all for her and was nervous she wouldn't like it or something. He didn't know. But either way, he busied himself in his work, sort of just...avoiding the topic entirely. He wasn't sure what else to do. |
| |
|
| |
|
The walk back felt different from the one earlier that morning. Lighter, somehow. The corridors no longer seemed quite so imposing, and the glances from passing servants didn’t linger in her thoughts the way they had before. She still didn’t feel like she fully belonged—not yet—but she was beginning to understand how to exist within these walls without shrinking under them. That, she realized, was its own kind of progress. By the time she reached the door to their room, her steps had slowed slightly, not from hesitation, but from something closer to quiet anticipation. The thought of stepping back into that space—the one they had begun to change, to make their own—felt grounding in a way the rest of the castle did not. When she opened the door and stepped inside, the first thing she noticed was the light. It caught differently now, softer against the newly painted walls, reflecting in a way that made the entire room feel warmer, more alive. But that wasn’t what stopped her. Her gaze shifted—and then stilled completely. The accent wall. For a moment, she didn’t move at all, her breath catching slightly as her eyes traced the design stretching across the surface. Vines, carefully painted, winding and curling in a way that felt both deliberate and natural, their shapes soft but detailed, as though they might continue growing if she looked away for too long. And then—her gaze lowered slightly—the pots. Not just painted, but real. Attached to the wall itself, small and clever and alive, each one holding the beginnings of something that would grow and climb, guided by the very vines painted beside them. It took her a second to fully understand what she was looking at. And then it clicked. The beans. A quiet, almost disbelieving breath left her as the memory surfaced—her small room, the way the plants had crept along the walls, how she had never quite meant for them to take over but had loved them anyway. She stepped forward slowly, drawn closer without thinking, her fingers lifting slightly as if she might reach out and touch one of the painted vines, though she stopped just short. It was so specific. So intentional. Not just decoration, but something remembered—something understood. Behind her, Sage’s voice broke the silence, hesitant and a little uncertain, and she turned just enough to glance at him, catching the faint flush in his expression, the way he busied himself almost immediately with cleaning rather than meeting her reaction head-on. For a moment, she didn’t say anything—not because she didn’t know what to say, but because there was too much of it all at once. Then she laughed. Soft at first, but bright—genuine in a way that filled the room just as much as the light did. “You didn’t just paint it,” she said, her voice warm with quiet amazement as she turned fully now, her eyes moving between him and the wall again. “You actually built it.” There was something almost incredulous in her tone, like she couldn’t quite believe he had gone that far, that he had taken something she had mentioned so casually and turned it into something so carefully real. She stepped closer to the wall again, this time letting her fingers brush lightly along the edge of one of the small pots, her expression softening as she looked at the tiny beginnings of the plants inside. “They’re going to climb,” she murmured, more to herself than anything, her gaze lifting to follow the painted paths they would eventually take. “You even gave them somewhere to go…” There was a pause then, quieter, her hand lingering against the wall for just a second longer before she turned back toward him again. This time, her smile was softer, but no less bright—something steadier beneath it. “I love it,” she said simply. Not polite. Not careful. Honest. She took another step back, glancing around the room as if seeing it all again with this new piece in place, the greens, the light, the way it all came together into something that felt far less like a borrowed space and far more like something that belonged to them. “It doesn’t feel like the same room anymore,” she added, a hint of wonder still in her voice, before her gaze flicked back to him, catching the way he was still half-avoiding the moment by focusing on cleaning. That made her smile widen just slightly. “You know,” she added lightly, a hint of playful warmth returning to her tone as she folded her arms loosely, “you could at least pretend you’re not waiting to hear what I think.” |
|
|
| |
|
Sage had focused on putting the supplies back in the crates as she moved closer to the wall. He was anxious to know how she'd respond, but at the same time he couldn't turn and look at her. Not yet. It was odd - he desperately wanted to watch, to see her face light up, to get her approval. But he was too scared that she wouldn't be as happy as he expected, or she'd like the plain wall better. So he kept his gaze on the cleaning, heart pounding in his ears. Part of him was still scared that doing something on his own would mean getting punished. Getting hurt. And if she ever did anything like that....well, he didn't think he could bear it. He knew she'd never actually hurt him like that on purpose ....but even just saying she liked the plain wall better would cut deeper than she'd realize. Maybe he was just being dramatic about it....maybe he had gone so long just seeking approval that was just how the rest of his life was going to be. But then he heard her laugh, and the tension in his shoulders eased slightly. He paused what he was doing as she spoke, face heating up slightly more. "I...I thought they might make you feel more at home," he murmured, moving to grab the dirty brushes and work at cleaning them off. "And it would give you a hobby," he added with a shrug. "Something to...calm your mind when you need it." He'd added little boxes outside all the windows as well when he'd opened them ...sort of like mini gardens that she could plant things in. They'd have to be smaller plants, but things like strawberries or flowers or something would work. He nodded to them with his head, humming softly. "We can raid the gardens or greenhouse for more later," he added with a small smile, shifting his weight awkwardly and admittedly still a little nervously. At her comment about pretending he didn't care what she thought, he offered her a sheepish grin, turning back towards her as he moved back to place the brushes gently in the crates. "I wasn't sure if you like it or not," he noted. "Scared me a little," he admitted with a kind of nervous laugh, now fidgeting nervously with the hem of his shirt. "Can't remember the last time I did something on my own accord like that that didn't end in ...well...you know," he added softly, dropping his gaze again to look at the boxes of art supplies. "But I'm glad you like it," he added, voice softer this time. He found himself choking up slightly, which surprised him a little bit. He hadn't ever been one to get emotional over something so small. But she liked it, and he was just so relieved, it felt like a crushing weight had just been lifted off his chest. |
| |
|
| |
|
Alorha watched him for a moment longer as he kept his attention fixed so carefully on the brushes in his hands, the quiet tension in his movements far more noticeable to her now than it might have been before. It wasn’t just that he was cleaning—it was the way he stayed there, like turning toward her fully was somehow harder than the work itself. And when he spoke, when she heard that slight hesitation in his voice, something in her chest softened almost immediately, her expression shifting from quiet admiration of the wall to something far warmer, far more focused on him. She stepped away from the vines then, closing the space between them without hesitation this time, her movements easy and unguarded as she came to stand just in front of him. “Hey…” she said gently, her voice light but steady, carrying a softness that hadn’t been there in the meeting rooms, that didn’t belong to the castle at all. Her hand lifted without much thought, reaching out to catch lightly at his wrist—not to stop him, exactly, but enough to draw his attention away from the brushes and back to her. “You didn’t just make it nice,” she continued, a small smile already forming as she tilted her head slightly, trying to catch his gaze even when he dropped it. “You made it feel like mine. Like ours.” There was a quiet warmth in the way she said it, something genuine and unguarded, like she wasn’t weighing the words before letting them out. At his mention of wanting it to feel like home, her smile softened further, and she gave the smallest, almost amused breath of laughter. “You really listened,” she murmured, glancing briefly back toward the wall before returning her attention fully to him. “I talked about a messy little room with beans climbing everywhere and you…” She gestured lightly toward the vines, the pots, the windows beyond. “You turned it into this.” Her fingers shifted slightly against his wrist before she let them slide down to his hand instead, a small, instinctive motion, grounding and warm. “And a hobby?” she added, her tone lifting again with a hint of playful brightness, though it didn’t lose that underlying sincerity. “I think you’ve just given me an entire garden.” When he admitted he’d been scared, that quiet, vulnerable edge in his voice made her expression soften again almost immediately. This time, she didn’t hesitate at all. Her other hand lifted, resting lightly against his arm, anchoring him there with her as she met his gaze properly. “You don’t have to be scared of that with me,” she said, and while her voice stayed gentle, there was something steadier beneath it now—something certain. “Not for creating something. Not for doing something good.” She studied him for a second longer, taking a step back and catching the way his shoulders had eased, the way his voice had softened, and then her smile returned—brighter this time, a little more playful again, as if she could feel the weight lifting and wanted to meet him there. “Besides,” she added lightly, giving his hand a small, reassuring squeeze, “if you keep doing things like this, I’m going to start expecting it.” There was a teasing note in her voice now, but it didn’t take away from the warmth of it. If anything, it made it feel more natural—more like the way they had been speaking all day. Her gaze flicked briefly toward the windows then, noticing the small boxes he had added, and her expression lit up all over again, genuine delight replacing the last of her earlier nerves. “You didn’t stop at the wall,” she said, almost laughing again as she stepped slightly to the side, still half-turned toward him but clearly taking it all in now. “Sage—there are window gardens.” She looked back at him then, eyes bright, the earlier anxiety from the meetings completely replaced by something much lighter. “We’re absolutely going to fill those,” she added, already sounding like she was planning it. “Strawberries, herbs… maybe flowers too. Something that climbs and something that spills over the edges…” Then, softer again, though the smile didn’t fade, she added, “Thank you.” |
|
|
| |
|
Sage had paused when she'd grabbed his wrist, looking over at her with a slightly cocked head. He was mostly curious by then....he could tell she wasn't upset by it now so he'd relaxed a bit by then. Though, his face softened slightly at her words, and he offered her a small smile. "Ever since you talked about repainting the room I knew I wanted to do this," he hummed, glancing over at the pots on the walls. As she laughed about it being theirs, and being more than a hobby, he chuckled lightly along. "That's a hobby, isn't it," he mused, voice laced with quiet amusement. But when she reassured him he didn't need to be scared about creating things or doing something on his own, he nodded along with a deep breath, letting it out with a sigh after a moment. "I know," he murmured. "But old habits are hard to break," he added softly, lifting his shoulders in a kind of shrug. "Of course, a few months ago if you told me I'd be doing all this I'd have thought you were nuts," he added with a laugh. It was true....he never had imagined that he'd have any of this. The paints, a friend like her, the freedom to surprise her with something like the wall. Even redoing the room seemed like such a crazy idea. But here they were. And he was very glad for it. When her face light up again as she noticed the window boxes, he felt his grin widen, and he nodded with a light hum. "Those were a key minute addition," he chirped. "I figured once it starts getting colder we could fashion some kind of mini greenhouse cover for them, so you can work with whatever is in them all year," he added. He wasn't sure how to do that quite yet....but they'd figure something out. He nodded along with her comments, face split into a wide grin. He found himself just....watching her. The way her face light up and she bounced around with joy, talking away made something warm and foggy rise in his chest. He wasn't sure what it was, but he liked it. "You're welcome," he noted softly. "This was something I could do for you," he added with a shrug. "So ...I did it." Then he chuckled. "Besides, it was fun," he admitted lightly. |
| |
|
Warming, with Sleet and Heavy Icing
