[ Rufus gets at least a short break from all the intent looking she's doing after his hand engulfs hers once they shake. It draws her eye, leaving her debating whether or not his hand feels like she thought it would, her palm soft save for the splay of gardener's callouses, and his, strong like a gunman's but never used for the things she's used her hands for, soft in the places she isn't, and perhaps vice-versa.
But why does it matter? Why do any of these cozy little juxtapositions she finds under every stone she overturns matter?
They don't, they shouldn't, and she knows that. Unfortunately, there's very little time between her becoming conscious of that and Rufus telling her to stop staring at him before he drops her hand in favor of grabbing her waist and pulling her into his lap. She stiffens in surprise as she's pulled along, the drinks in her system working to mute her reactions, pushing the impulse to pull away far out of her reach, leaving her wide-eyed as he settles her in her new seat, giving her a much more intimate view when she looks up at him. ]
You stop staring first! [ There's a paltry amount of reproach in the way she tries to turn this back around on him. He's so close, and her heart is beating hard enough that Aerith is sure he can tell. Her fingers lift, moving to brush away a few of the strands of hair obscuring part of his face, ardent in the way she searches his face from this angle. He could be a painting or a statue, not that it matters, not that there's any way for her to explain away how her eyes follow the slight bow of his lips, or the twinge of want that stems from the sight. ]
At least all the new company banners will look a lot better. [ That wasn't something she intended to say out loud - it just happened, much like the way she pulls her hand away from his hair only to trace the tip of her finger over his bottom lip. ]
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But why does it matter? Why do any of these cozy little juxtapositions she finds under every stone she overturns matter?
They don't, they shouldn't, and she knows that. Unfortunately, there's very little time between her becoming conscious of that and Rufus telling her to stop staring at him before he drops her hand in favor of grabbing her waist and pulling her into his lap. She stiffens in surprise as she's pulled along, the drinks in her system working to mute her reactions, pushing the impulse to pull away far out of her reach, leaving her wide-eyed as he settles her in her new seat, giving her a much more intimate view when she looks up at him. ]
You stop staring first! [ There's a paltry amount of reproach in the way she tries to turn this back around on him. He's so close, and her heart is beating hard enough that Aerith is sure he can tell. Her fingers lift, moving to brush away a few of the strands of hair obscuring part of his face, ardent in the way she searches his face from this angle. He could be a painting or a statue, not that it matters, not that there's any way for her to explain away how her eyes follow the slight bow of his lips, or the twinge of want that stems from the sight. ]
At least all the new company banners will look a lot better. [ That wasn't something she intended to say out loud - it just happened, much like the way she pulls her hand away from his hair only to trace the tip of her finger over his bottom lip. ]