Bastien's eyebrows raise when he first speaks, his gaze flickering from the rocks to Ellis with a smile.
He's known Ellis too long to be surprised. And before Ellis, he knew too many people who never seemed interested in anything. It's alien, the absence of an instinct that's driven Bastien's whole life—even as a child, he never passed a window he didn't want to peek through. But it's a type of alien he has plenty of experience with. Maybe the surprising part is that, in Ellis, he finds it more charming than dull. An honest heart (or a wounded one, or both), not the incuriosity of the sluggish or self-involved. Ellis is neither of those.
The smile stays in place during Ellis' hesitation, but Bastien's gaze moves to his hands. Silence. Nerves. It's tempting, to talk. To save Ellis from whatever he's thinking about. To say, I know, overconfident as it would be, or a less daring thank you for coming to find me, or a torrent of chatty babble to sweep them away from this entire territory of conversation and into something simpler. That last one—that's what he would do if he didn't care.
But Ruadh is still and waiting. Bastien follows his lead. Halfway, at least. He waits, but he also moves, lifting his dangling hand from the mabari's shoulder to settle over Ellis' twisting fingers. His thumb taps thrice, reminiscent of a let me in knock, but mostly friendly levity. It's alright if he wants to say something. And in a different way, one against all of Bastien's natural and learned instincts but that Ellis is nonetheless owed, it's alright if he doesn't.
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He's known Ellis too long to be surprised. And before Ellis, he knew too many people who never seemed interested in anything. It's alien, the absence of an instinct that's driven Bastien's whole life—even as a child, he never passed a window he didn't want to peek through. But it's a type of alien he has plenty of experience with. Maybe the surprising part is that, in Ellis, he finds it more charming than dull. An honest heart (or a wounded one, or both), not the incuriosity of the sluggish or self-involved. Ellis is neither of those.
The smile stays in place during Ellis' hesitation, but Bastien's gaze moves to his hands. Silence. Nerves. It's tempting, to talk. To save Ellis from whatever he's thinking about. To say, I know, overconfident as it would be, or a less daring thank you for coming to find me, or a torrent of chatty babble to sweep them away from this entire territory of conversation and into something simpler. That last one—that's what he would do if he didn't care.
But Ruadh is still and waiting. Bastien follows his lead. Halfway, at least. He waits, but he also moves, lifting his dangling hand from the mabari's shoulder to settle over Ellis' twisting fingers. His thumb taps thrice, reminiscent of a let me in knock, but mostly friendly levity. It's alright if he wants to say something. And in a different way, one against all of Bastien's natural and learned instincts but that Ellis is nonetheless owed, it's alright if he doesn't.