Yennefer was animated, eager and emotional and conversational in a way that he never would have believed even the day before this one. She complimented him freely, encouraged his individuality, even stared at him with such--what was that? He couldn't look away from her, not as she spoke or gestured with her cup, not as she got up and moved to drape herself into the seat next to him.
She moved with the ease and grace of a considerable amount of alcohol. It was charming that she could get drunk, that she would--with him, even. His smile became a wide grin as she leaned against him, as she decried the royal seasons and agreed with his choices on such a base level--how had they gone this long without knowing?
She lifts a cup to him and, for that moment, he can feel himself getting a bit misty. He blinks fast and chuckles as he lifts his own cup to touch it to hers. The tin resounds cheaply between the two but it doesn't matter--it sounds better than the finest crystal ever could.
What praises--how sweet she spoke--it goes right to his heart and his infatuation blushes with it, swells, and he is so very enamored with her now. Gods' he had already been half in love--and now--now he would have to write another song about her.
But she is very close, then, and he has had an ill-advised amount of liquor. He doesn't think about how terrible the idea is when he leans in, or about how both of them would be betrayed by this--he only thinks that he feels so much and his heart is so full, he must share it with her. He wants her to feel this as well and tries to speak it--this thing without words--the only way he knows how.
He is a fucking idiot, at heart.
His lips ghost over hers, the shape of his smile fitted nicely to her own delight and the shape of her laughter. It is a chaste thing, full of adoration and appreciation, and he has no desire to deepen it. He kisses her with a breath of wonder to him and leans his forehead forward to glance against her own.
Gods' help him, her hair is so soft.
"You are utterly beyond compare, my dear," he says, very softly, gladly, into the space between them. Were he not so soused, he would be terrified--for so many reasons--but he can only feel happy, now.
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She moved with the ease and grace of a considerable amount of alcohol. It was charming that she could get drunk, that she would--with him, even. His smile became a wide grin as she leaned against him, as she decried the royal seasons and agreed with his choices on such a base level--how had they gone this long without knowing?
She lifts a cup to him and, for that moment, he can feel himself getting a bit misty. He blinks fast and chuckles as he lifts his own cup to touch it to hers. The tin resounds cheaply between the two but it doesn't matter--it sounds better than the finest crystal ever could.
What praises--how sweet she spoke--it goes right to his heart and his infatuation blushes with it, swells, and he is so very enamored with her now. Gods' he had already been half in love--and now--now he would have to write another song about her.
But she is very close, then, and he has had an ill-advised amount of liquor. He doesn't think about how terrible the idea is when he leans in, or about how both of them would be betrayed by this--he only thinks that he feels so much and his heart is so full, he must share it with her. He wants her to feel this as well and tries to speak it--this thing without words--the only way he knows how.
He is a fucking idiot, at heart.
His lips ghost over hers, the shape of his smile fitted nicely to her own delight and the shape of her laughter. It is a chaste thing, full of adoration and appreciation, and he has no desire to deepen it. He kisses her with a breath of wonder to him and leans his forehead forward to glance against her own.
Gods' help him, her hair is so soft.
"You are utterly beyond compare, my dear," he says, very softly, gladly, into the space between them. Were he not so soused, he would be terrified--for so many reasons--but he can only feel happy, now.