[Loathe though he is to extricate himself from her - she's warm, and responsive, a marvel on it's own after watching her and the Hero of Time sleep silent and still for so long - he does so in order to lift the edge of his hastily thrown on tabard to her cheek, dabbing at the corner of her eye with the Champion's blue she bestowed upon him.]
I said you may remain here as long as you wish. [In contrast to her smile, his lips, uncovered for once in his hurry to check the door, purse into a thin line, adamant as he repeats himself.] I did not speak falsely. I have no need or desire for you to hurry yourself on your way out of consideration for me.
[Ask him a year ago if he thought he'd ever allow this to come to pass, and he would have asked the questioner in turn if they were truly all right in the head. He was too fearful, too defensive to allow anyone to so much as know where he might put his head down for the night, let alone share a living space for a prolonged period of time. But he's become used to being around people during his time in Songerein (and being around Zelda in particular), and... to be alone in his own grief now, even if he is able to mask the fact that he is grieving at all, would be torturous.
Has been torturous.
They had gotten off on the wrong foot, and their relationship was... strange, at once too familiar and too distant at the same time, but Sheik had valued the Hylian Champion's company nonetheless. To say nothing of the ranch girl whose sunny smile he will see perhaps but once more as her strange, wild animal-esque friend, neither of them remembering their dance amongst the flowers or sleigh-riding through the snowy night. Perhaps tending to the Princess' aching heart might aid in mending his own. He has to hope so, anyway.
His arm shifts around her shoulders so he can continue to keep her close as he leads her inside. His house, such that it is, is quite small, seeming to be barely more than two or three rooms. But he does have a couch at least in the main living area, which he leads her to, though Zelda's not wrong to assume she already has dibs on the bed tucked away in the loft up above. Guiding her to sit, his hand lingers on her shoulder, a steadying weight in either direction as he asks:]
Have you had anything to eat recently? To drink?
[Did you throw yourself into your work so you wouldn't have to think? It's what he would have done. ... It's what he did.]
no subject
I said you may remain here as long as you wish. [In contrast to her smile, his lips, uncovered for once in his hurry to check the door, purse into a thin line, adamant as he repeats himself.] I did not speak falsely. I have no need or desire for you to hurry yourself on your way out of consideration for me.
[Ask him a year ago if he thought he'd ever allow this to come to pass, and he would have asked the questioner in turn if they were truly all right in the head. He was too fearful, too defensive to allow anyone to so much as know where he might put his head down for the night, let alone share a living space for a prolonged period of time. But he's become used to being around people during his time in Songerein (and being around Zelda in particular), and... to be alone in his own grief now, even if he is able to mask the fact that he is grieving at all, would be torturous.
Has been torturous.
They had gotten off on the wrong foot, and their relationship was... strange, at once too familiar and too distant at the same time, but Sheik had valued the Hylian Champion's company nonetheless. To say nothing of the ranch girl whose sunny smile he will see perhaps but once more as her strange, wild animal-esque friend, neither of them remembering their dance amongst the flowers or sleigh-riding through the snowy night. Perhaps tending to the Princess' aching heart might aid in mending his own. He has to hope so, anyway.
His arm shifts around her shoulders so he can continue to keep her close as he leads her inside. His house, such that it is, is quite small, seeming to be barely more than two or three rooms. But he does have a couch at least in the main living area, which he leads her to, though Zelda's not wrong to assume she already has dibs on the bed tucked away in the loft up above. Guiding her to sit, his hand lingers on her shoulder, a steadying weight in either direction as he asks:]
Have you had anything to eat recently? To drink?
[Did you throw yourself into your work so you wouldn't have to think? It's what he would have done. ... It's what he did.]