[ He did, in fact, humour her onceā€”letting her put a cowboy hat on his head before he tossed it back where it came from. He can tell forgetting is what she's doing. Burying herself in the champagne and the random clothes and...well, him. He can't hold it against her. Wishes he could do the same.
(Well. Not that actually wants toā€”)
Anyway.
His eyebrow lifts. Yeah? He takes the belt from her hands, supple leather, silver buckle, still new enough. You know what? ] I don't mind that.
[ Her eyes are bright. Logan's expression softens. He glances out the door, realizes he's been here a hell of a lot longer than he usually bothers with. Most he's stuck around the past few days was a few hours. Somehow, the day's nearly come and gone while he's been with her, and all they've done is pick through people's abandoned shit.
He doesn't mind that, either.
His thoughts are on the how her cheeks flushed pink earlier when he follows her back to her hut. They're still a bit flushed now from the alcohol or the heatā€”warm, but not blisteringly hot. Makes her look lighter, her shoulders less tense. He means to just grab his boots before getting out of her hair. She probably wants to sleep or. Something. They've both got things to do. Except he doesn't, really, andā€”
She asks him to stay. Logan pauses, boots in hand. Then he sets them back down.
Yeah. Alright.
He sinks into a pile of loose cushions strewn in the middle of the floor. The other bourbon sits nearby. Logan uncorks it, and it's that time of night when he drinks straight from the bottle. He's not tense, just. Unsure of what the fuck he's doing. This is usually when he's alone, at a warehouse or a bar or reading in his room. Filling his hours so he doesn't have to think. Being here, Karen, it's...
New. It didn't used to be, but after everythingā€”years on the run, fightingā€”that's how this feels. New. Like he's waiting for something to burst through the door any second now, for the world to go up in flames again. ]
You do this often at home?
[ Does he mean the resort or the looting? He doesn't specify. ]
no subject
(Well. Not that actually wants toā€”)
Anyway.
His eyebrow lifts. Yeah? He takes the belt from her hands, supple leather, silver buckle, still new enough. You know what? ] I don't mind that.
[ Her eyes are bright. Logan's expression softens. He glances out the door, realizes he's been here a hell of a lot longer than he usually bothers with. Most he's stuck around the past few days was a few hours. Somehow, the day's nearly come and gone while he's been with her, and all they've done is pick through people's abandoned shit.
He doesn't mind that, either.
His thoughts are on the how her cheeks flushed pink earlier when he follows her back to her hut. They're still a bit flushed now from the alcohol or the heatā€”warm, but not blisteringly hot. Makes her look lighter, her shoulders less tense. He means to just grab his boots before getting out of her hair. She probably wants to sleep or. Something. They've both got things to do. Except he doesn't, really, andā€”
She asks him to stay. Logan pauses, boots in hand. Then he sets them back down.
Yeah. Alright.
He sinks into a pile of loose cushions strewn in the middle of the floor. The other bourbon sits nearby. Logan uncorks it, and it's that time of night when he drinks straight from the bottle. He's not tense, just. Unsure of what the fuck he's doing. This is usually when he's alone, at a warehouse or a bar or reading in his room. Filling his hours so he doesn't have to think. Being here, Karen, it's...
New. It didn't used to be, but after everythingā€”years on the run, fightingā€”that's how this feels. New. Like he's waiting for something to burst through the door any second now, for the world to go up in flames again. ]
You do this often at home?
[ Does he mean the resort or the looting? He doesn't specify. ]