[ one of. it's ominously vague, but alina doesn't dig deeper to unbury what's unsaid. instead, she props her cheek onto a loosely curled fist, a sculpture of thought as she looks at him. no, not looks — contemplates him, the little speechless wrinkle stretching between her eyebrows like a drawbridge.
nothing about her should have invited that ease. she'd been pricklier than cactus spikes, and twice as guarded. but he'd persisted, regardless, despite her bristling. a long, slow blink stalls the moment further, as if she's stuttering through her brain's failure to fully process the sentiment. ]
Shouldn't you allow yourself to take more credit than that?
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nothing about her should have invited that ease. she'd been pricklier than cactus spikes, and twice as guarded. but he'd persisted, regardless, despite her bristling. a long, slow blink stalls the moment further, as if she's stuttering through her brain's failure to fully process the sentiment. ]
Shouldn't you allow yourself to take more credit than that?