[size=9pt]She smiles, and for a moment, he gets lost in it. He feels like a dumbass in a badly written romance novel as he watches the lovely crease that forms around her lips, the crescent shape of her eyes as her mouth lifts. It keeps fucking happening-- he keeps getting caught up in how gorgeous she is, and he'll flick his gaze from the ground to her face and back again because he doesn't want it to be obvious that he wants to stare, but she's magnetic; he can't look away. She draws him back again and again and he has no fucking idea how he ended up like this, but there's no stopping it now. In his head, he thinks of the scene in The Polar Express where the train ends up on ice and the breaks don't work, and it's racing over thin ice towards an inevitable disaster, and Moon never liked that movie that much, but he feels like the train, now.
Her mouth forms shapes and he realizes he's zoned out a little bit. He catches the tail end of her words; '--sous toutes les coutures'. Something intensely fond blossoms in his chest. She's back with the the obscure french statements, again. His mouth curves into a close lipped smile, and he wanders impossibly closer to her, bumping shoulders and paws and staying there, because Moon never had any self control, anyway. His head ducks in close and it looks casual, playful, almost, but when he speaks its molten and rich and heated, the air begins to crackle between them, and the part of his brain that's self-aware has it's palm over it's face, shaking its head in dismay, because this is how it starts. "Thought you would have learned by now that I'm too slow for that shit, Frenchie." They're close like they were back outside the Observatory, but there's no stares burning into his back, now, and he's dragged in by the scent of her, the recent memory of his face in her fur. He nudges the side of her face, because he can, because he's hooked and he's not putting up a fight. "I know you do that on purpose. You playing me? Taking advantage of my linguistically lame brain, Angel?"
The rare moment fades. He sees the uneasiness in her and is reminded of his own, and he wishes he could soothe hers with his presence, but the reality was that not even Imperia being here, with him, was calming his own anxieties. He still felt unsteady on his paws and his heart still beat too fast, feral and unsettled in his chest. There's no changing some things. They'd just have to live with it. "It's okay." He says, words short but genuine. He kicks a rock with one muddy paw. "All that matters is you're out, now. Next order of business is convincing Bast to ditch the Star Nerd theme and burn down that rat trap shithole."
Her mouth forms shapes and he realizes he's zoned out a little bit. He catches the tail end of her words; '--sous toutes les coutures'. Something intensely fond blossoms in his chest. She's back with the the obscure french statements, again. His mouth curves into a close lipped smile, and he wanders impossibly closer to her, bumping shoulders and paws and staying there, because Moon never had any self control, anyway. His head ducks in close and it looks casual, playful, almost, but when he speaks its molten and rich and heated, the air begins to crackle between them, and the part of his brain that's self-aware has it's palm over it's face, shaking its head in dismay, because this is how it starts. "Thought you would have learned by now that I'm too slow for that shit, Frenchie." They're close like they were back outside the Observatory, but there's no stares burning into his back, now, and he's dragged in by the scent of her, the recent memory of his face in her fur. He nudges the side of her face, because he can, because he's hooked and he's not putting up a fight. "I know you do that on purpose. You playing me? Taking advantage of my linguistically lame brain, Angel?"
The rare moment fades. He sees the uneasiness in her and is reminded of his own, and he wishes he could soothe hers with his presence, but the reality was that not even Imperia being here, with him, was calming his own anxieties. He still felt unsteady on his paws and his heart still beat too fast, feral and unsettled in his chest. There's no changing some things. They'd just have to live with it. "It's okay." He says, words short but genuine. He kicks a rock with one muddy paw. "All that matters is you're out, now. Next order of business is convincing Bast to ditch the Star Nerd theme and burn down that rat trap shithole."
[align=center][div style="width: 500px; height: auto; text-align: center; font-family: ; font-size: 9pt; color: COLOR; letter-spacing: -.5px;"][i][b]and die like a hero going home.[glow=black,2,300]