[The mug is warm in his hands, and with that warmth, the slight sensorial memory of his hands on her face, her determined gaze, her lips--
...
His hands move to the table.
Link watches Zelda as she watches him, quiet, his expression somewhat passive. He has so much he would like to ask, so many things to say, and all of it is so hard to even begin to put words to. It's too big. He has done much soul-searching over the last few weeks, has interrogated his own heart and pulled his thoughts apart only to put them back together. He should say something, He should say anything.
... But he doesn't.
She takes those moments to compose herself, and it gives him the space to take a breath. He can't sort himself out as easily, can't sort through the dozens of thoughts very well in order to make sense out of them. What do we do now? It's an excellent question; one that, in the moment, is difficult to answer. His mind is still reeling, a bit, realizing that she's back, that she's really here, and--
... Oh.]
I think... [A pause. His hands clasp together on the table, his thumb tracing circles across the knuckles of his other hand. Dare he ask? He lifts his eyes to meet hers.] ...for a while, perhaps we allow ourselves just to live.
[It's a hard suggestion to make, especially for him. He is so action-focused, constantly moving forward. But the breakneck pace of their lives has been exhausting almost from the moment of their birth. They know what the future will bring -- or he does, at least. For now, could they possibly take the time to just be in the moment?
If he's being honest, he's not entirely sure. But he'd like to try, at least.]
no subject
...
His hands move to the table.
Link watches Zelda as she watches him, quiet, his expression somewhat passive. He has so much he would like to ask, so many things to say, and all of it is so hard to even begin to put words to. It's too big. He has done much soul-searching over the last few weeks, has interrogated his own heart and pulled his thoughts apart only to put them back together. He should say something, He should say anything.
... But he doesn't.
She takes those moments to compose herself, and it gives him the space to take a breath. He can't sort himself out as easily, can't sort through the dozens of thoughts very well in order to make sense out of them. What do we do now? It's an excellent question; one that, in the moment, is difficult to answer. His mind is still reeling, a bit, realizing that she's back, that she's really here, and--
... Oh.]
I think... [A pause. His hands clasp together on the table, his thumb tracing circles across the knuckles of his other hand. Dare he ask? He lifts his eyes to meet hers.] ...for a while, perhaps we allow ourselves just to live.
[It's a hard suggestion to make, especially for him. He is so action-focused, constantly moving forward. But the breakneck pace of their lives has been exhausting almost from the moment of their birth. They know what the future will bring -- or he does, at least. For now, could they possibly take the time to just be in the moment?
If he's being honest, he's not entirely sure. But he'd like to try, at least.]