[he has messed up his hair again, hasn't he, but in all fairness, it's always a bit of a curly and tousled mess, blown hither, thither and yon by the wind even if he isn't raking his fingers through it. still, he's grown well versed enough in Huaisang's little reproving looks that he knows when he's been scolded, even affectionately. with muted huff of laughter at himself he drops his hands back down and laces them together, elbows on his knees.]
Very well. Sorry. [Nighteyes' apology is a quiet and sleepy-sounding thing even when it can't be spoken aloud, and maybe it's a mercy that his wolfish consciousness is already lapsing back into a deeper, dreamless sleep. Fitz watches his Wit partner with lingering, exasperated affection, before looking back to Huaisang again. he chews at his lower lip absently, frees one hand to scratch his beard again, and takes a breath.]
It's been--enjoyable, for me, having you here. I know it isn't much, [a somewhat self-conscious look around the interior of the small cottage out in the Trenchwood, humble in its furnishings, but warm and comfortable even with the press of darkness outside the windows,] certainly it can't compare to your rooms at the Red, but I've... I've liked it quite a lot, actually--your companionship, sharing what I have with you. I think--
[a beat of silence while he plucks at a loose thread on his sleeve, studying it before he makes himself look up again, to risk a glimpse of Huaisang's expression while he says,] ...I think--that is, what I'm trying to say, Huaisang, is that I'd like you to--to... [no; the thought is simpler than what his verbose subconscious keeps trying to spin it out into. he reels it back in, endeavouring to be patient with himself, and says simply instead,] ...I care for you. As, [another slightly awkward pause, twisting his hands together,] more than a man cares for a brother, or a friend.
[there, that wasn't so hard, was it? ...maybe it was, given he's staring self-consciously at the floor again.] I think I have for a while now, but only just-- [a vague gesture,] figured it out myself.
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Very well. Sorry. [Nighteyes' apology is a quiet and sleepy-sounding thing even when it can't be spoken aloud, and maybe it's a mercy that his wolfish consciousness is already lapsing back into a deeper, dreamless sleep. Fitz watches his Wit partner with lingering, exasperated affection, before looking back to Huaisang again. he chews at his lower lip absently, frees one hand to scratch his beard again, and takes a breath.]
It's been--enjoyable, for me, having you here. I know it isn't much, [a somewhat self-conscious look around the interior of the small cottage out in the Trenchwood, humble in its furnishings, but warm and comfortable even with the press of darkness outside the windows,] certainly it can't compare to your rooms at the Red, but I've... I've liked it quite a lot, actually--your companionship, sharing what I have with you. I think--
[a beat of silence while he plucks at a loose thread on his sleeve, studying it before he makes himself look up again, to risk a glimpse of Huaisang's expression while he says,] ...I think--that is, what I'm trying to say, Huaisang, is that I'd like you to--to... [no; the thought is simpler than what his verbose subconscious keeps trying to spin it out into. he reels it back in, endeavouring to be patient with himself, and says simply instead,] ...I care for you. As, [another slightly awkward pause, twisting his hands together,] more than a man cares for a brother, or a friend.
[there, that wasn't so hard, was it? ...maybe it was, given he's staring self-consciously at the floor again.] I think I have for a while now, but only just-- [a vague gesture,] figured it out myself.