The Fool fills the kettle and places it on the stove top as Devin speaks, and is grateful for the moment that he has his back turned. What would Devin be able to read on his face, if he turned around? Always he's worn masks to protect himself and his ambitions, but baring the extent of his fear of rejection now would be too painful--and too selfish. He takes a moment to gather his composure instead, dispensing tea into one cup, then the next.
"I can't pretend you don't--matter as much as you do."
"Then don't. Don't pretend." The Fool takes a breath and turns around to meet Devin's eyes, his own unguarded and sincere. One hand lifts in an artless sort of gesture between them. "We've not had much use for pretence between us for some time, which is as I would prefer it. I would hope it is the same for you."
He seems to deliberate his next words for a careful moment, his fingers twisting in the loose fall of the fabric of his shirt. The he takes a small step forward and says softly, but earnestly, "I care for you, very much--about your safety, your happiness, your... opinion of me," he admits lastly with an almost abashed smile, as though that last admission is almost too callow to be included, and yet he shares it anyway. He did say no pretences, didn't he? He fights the impulse to look away again, though he can only do so much about the bit of colour that's risen to his cheeks and across the bridge of his nose. "I think about our conversations for hours after we've had them, and in a crisis there is no one else in Aifaran I'd trust to have by my side as much as I trust you. When we are together I can put aside the artifice I wear around everyone else in this place, and--" There, he hesitates only a moment before he goes on, "And when we are apart, I find myself hoping to glimpse your face on crowded streets and train platforms just for the chance to see... that look in your eyes, when you look at me."
In the spell of silence that follows, he touches his fingers to his mouth, looking aside. Then, almost too quietly, "No one else has ever looked at me the way you do."
no subject
"I can't pretend you don't--matter as much as you do."
"Then don't. Don't pretend." The Fool takes a breath and turns around to meet Devin's eyes, his own unguarded and sincere. One hand lifts in an artless sort of gesture between them. "We've not had much use for pretence between us for some time, which is as I would prefer it. I would hope it is the same for you."
He seems to deliberate his next words for a careful moment, his fingers twisting in the loose fall of the fabric of his shirt. The he takes a small step forward and says softly, but earnestly, "I care for you, very much--about your safety, your happiness, your... opinion of me," he admits lastly with an almost abashed smile, as though that last admission is almost too callow to be included, and yet he shares it anyway. He did say no pretences, didn't he? He fights the impulse to look away again, though he can only do so much about the bit of colour that's risen to his cheeks and across the bridge of his nose. "I think about our conversations for hours after we've had them, and in a crisis there is no one else in Aifaran I'd trust to have by my side as much as I trust you. When we are together I can put aside the artifice I wear around everyone else in this place, and--" There, he hesitates only a moment before he goes on, "And when we are apart, I find myself hoping to glimpse your face on crowded streets and train platforms just for the chance to see... that look in your eyes, when you look at me."
In the spell of silence that follows, he touches his fingers to his mouth, looking aside. Then, almost too quietly, "No one else has ever looked at me the way you do."