[Elise. His ears burn at the name. And not in a good way. Not the way he feels when Fenris' leg settles just beside his own, ratcheting his mood in the opposite direction like a counterweight. So maybe it's a mercy he can't see himself like this. Can't tell what face he's making (not practiced, not pretty, not sophisticated like the dazzling woman he studies under without fail)— mouth open and contorted, tension bedded in his shoulders. Staring. Blinking. Working his lips but not making a sound. Swallowing, and it's the loudest thing in the world.
He's relieved to be this close, surrounded by memories from what feels like a lifetime ago to his young mind.
He realizes all at once, with a wave of churning restlessness lodged deep inside his stomach, that he's angry.
Or something like it, knotted and unruly and sharp enough to draw blood.]
No.
[It slips out before he can stop it. Hard-edged. Stupid, he thinks, scolding either himself or that retaliatory tone— he's not sure which. He doesn't really like it either way.]
Because I have standards. [He corrects.
The pitch of his tenor dragging hard like oversteering. A wheel in inexperienced hands apparently only knows how to veer.]
no subject
He's relieved to be this close, surrounded by memories from what feels like a lifetime ago to his young mind.
He realizes all at once, with a wave of churning restlessness lodged deep inside his stomach, that he's angry.
Or something like it, knotted and unruly and sharp enough to draw blood.]
No.
[It slips out before he can stop it. Hard-edged. Stupid, he thinks, scolding either himself or that retaliatory tone— he's not sure which. He doesn't really like it either way.]
Because I have standards. [He corrects.
The pitch of his tenor dragging hard like oversteering. A wheel in inexperienced hands apparently only knows how to veer.]